Tom Holland Imagines

22 | Not Everybody

Requested by unofficialargent

Your brush stroke the canvas with slow movements, your mind captivated by the picture in your head. All you focused on was getting that picture onto the canvas as well as possible. Soft 80s music was playing in the background but you didn't hear it anymore. You had been in front of your easel all day and the sun had set hours ago, but you didn't feel tired at all. 

The sound of your phone ringing broke you from your trance and you dropped the brush you were holding, staining the floor in navy blue paint. You didn't really care though. The floor was covered in stains and droplets of paint, a direct result of it being your favourite place to paint in our apartment. 

Three years ago, you moved into the tiny, cramped New York apartment that was built above a gallery. The woman who owned the gallery offered you a job with her after you spent the afternoon with her drinking coffee and complaining about how none of the companies you had had interviews at was getting back to you. She hired you after you showed her your art portfolio and soon, all you did was paint, paint, paint, and paint some more. Over the years, you had done countless paintings and most of them had ended up either in the gallery or sent to family or friends. A few of your paintings had even been sold for a pretty high price. 

You answered the phone. "Hello?" 

"Good evening, is this Y/N L/N?" a male voice replied. 

"Yes, who's asking?" you asked. 

"My name is Matthew Smith. Mrs McLaren gave me your number after she sold me one of your paintings," he said. 

You sat down on the couch and took a sip of your tea before realising it had gone completely cold. You silently spit it back in your cup before throwing it down the drain. 

"I would love to sit down with you to discuss a commission portrait of me and my family. My wife is turning 50 soon and I'd love to give her that as a gift," Matthew continued. "Is that something you'd be interested in?" 

"Yes, of course. It would be my pleasure," you said. 

"Alright, great. Your paintings it one of the best works I've ever seen." 

"That's really kind of you, sir. When are you available to sit down?"

"I'm free tomorrow at lunch. Does that work for you?" he asked. 

"Yes, that works. Is noon okay?" 

"Absolutely. Meet me at the cafe across from the gallery," he said. "Oh, and don't worry about discussing a price. I will pay whatever you ask." 

You smiled. "That's all right. I'm sure we can settle on something we're both happy with," you said. "I will see you tomorrow and thank you for reaching out." 

"Thank you for doing this, you have no idea how much it means," he said. "Have a good evening." 

"You too," you said before ending the call. You bit down on your bottom lip with a wide grin before a squeal escaped you. This would be your first official commission. And you were beyond excited.

***

"Hi, Joe!" you chimed, entering the art supplies store you'd visited a million times before. 

"Y/N, hi! Nice to see you again." The elderly man smiled broadly. "How have you been?" 

"Pretty good. I just had a meeting with a guy who wants me to paint a commission for him," you beamed.