Tom Holland & Peter Parker Imagines

Stitches | T.H

Summary: Based on the song 'Stitches' by Shawn Mendes. Where Tom is in an unhealthy relationship and comes to you one night when things get too hard,

Warnings: Toxic / verbally abusive relationships!! Please do not read this if it will trigger you.

Words: 1.5k

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You watch me bleed until I can't breathe

"Can I please– Can I please come in?"

You stared wide-eyed, grip limp on the door handle. Your friend– your best friend stood on the other side of the door, eyes red and raw filled with unshed tears that in no way matched the stains that ran imperfectly down his swollen cheeks. Tom looked broken, like glass shards scattered across a kitchen floor or an iPhone littered in messy, piercing cracks. His curls were no longer curls, but strands of hair that looked tugged at and teased and you hated everything about it. Not because he didn't look like Tom– your Tom, but because he looked to be in more pain than you could comprehend and you couldn't work out if it were mentally or physically.

"Get in– god, Tom, you look a wreck."

I'm shaking falling onto my knees

Maybe it wasn't the best thing to say but Tom never expected you to lie to him. Admittedly he felt worse then he looked and he was almost certain that it'd get picked up on an MRI but then again, that wasn't exactly how those things worked. But on the inside he expected a thick line to run down the middle of his heart, splitting the main organ in two– because Tom was always told that if he didn't stop following his heart instead of his head that it'd break soon.

He expected his lungs to be giving up, finally sick of his wailing and consistent panic attacks and my god his brain, that was a whole other story. Tom was surprised he could still think straight after his mind had seemingly run a thousand miles an hour, coming up with every outcome and reminding him of every word she had spat. But maybe it was only a matter of time.

And now that I'm without your kisses

Tom can't even look at you, filled with too much shame and guilt as his body can muster but for what? He didn't know. "I can't breathe. I can't fucking breathe, She– She..."

You grab the blanket that was slung over your shoebox apartment couch, the woollen one knitted by your grandma that Tom had always taken a special liking too and throw it over his trembling shoulders. It was something familiar to him, and something that reminded him of happier times like the time you two sat cuddled up in it and binge-watched the hunger games movies, or the time he woke up at eight am after a wild night out. He had a pounding headache but woke up to a plate of warm pancakes, freshly made by you and the blanket wrapped firmly around his waist.

Then again, that was all before he got with her.

"Tom, look at me." You instruct, guiding him to sit down on your couch. He takes the seat next to you, hugging the blanket to his chest and lets a fresh set of sobs rake over his body. It's enough to make you want to break too but you don't. No, you hold yourself together for him. "Take your time, in and out. You hear me?"

I'll be needing stitches

He does so and somehow in the process, finds his fingers laced together with yours. Tom didn't know when or how, only that one second his legs were tapping up and down manically against the wooden planks and the next he was squeezing your hand as if it were his life support. Your touch was gentle, comforting. Hers was harsh and almost threatening every. Single. time.

"I can't do it anymore, It hurts." He struggled out, gripping the hair on top of his head with his free hand. Every wound was fresh, oozing with emotion. "I feel fucking stupid for sticking around, but I feel stupid for not being enough and I just– it hurts."

Your best friend looked down, squeezing his eyes shut and cried every little emotion he was feeling out. Tears hit his jeans, torn and ragged. Tom was tired and he was hurt, every one of her words as harsh as they were cutting like a knife. He hated himself for beginning to believe her words, because at first he'd shrugged it off and told himself that it wasn't true. Because he wasn't worthless, or stupid, or a no good of a boyfriend, was he? There were a hundred other words he could've reminded himself of.

He looked like a kicked puppy.

I'm tripping over myself

But Tom felt stupid for crying about it because he was a boy and they'd told him to get over it, to suck it up, that he was overreacting. But you'd tell him now that he wasn't and maybe that's why the boy would trust you with his life. He'd lay it all out without a second thought and only now did he really begin to feel guilty for dragging you into his mess. Because it wouldn't have happened if was just a better boyfriend, just a better son, just a better person.

You gripped the couch, black faux leather cracking beneath your grasp and you couldn't care less because you were fuming, every emotion from anger to sadness racing through you at high speed and while you wanted to be there for Tom, you also wanted to show her not to mess with your best friend... and easily long-term crush.

For now, you'd stay and be with him, you'd be the girl that she was supposed to be but wasn't.

"You are enough, you hear me? You will always be enough. This isn't good for you, T, and you know that." You stop and sigh, staring at your intertwined fingers. "We can talk about that in the morning because for now, I think you need some hot chocolate and just to cry everything out."

Aching, begging you to come help

"You can tell me if I'm being stupid or weak. I–I don't want to be a pain, you don't have to put up with it just because you're my best friend. She said that she doesn't like us hanging out, anyway." Tom merely whispered the last part, hating himself the second the words slipped his lips even if he'd already told you that before. But you were his absolute best friend, his number one and not even her words that had the same impact as snake venom could drag him away from you.

Tom reminding you that she didn't like when you hung out made your face fall even more if that were possible and all you could think was how dare she.

"No way are you being stupid or weak, you're hurt and that is enough to validate every single emotion you're currently feeling. You're my best friend, one of my favourite people in the goddamn world." You stopped, eyes brimming with tears. "I love you– I love you and I can't watch you stay with her when she does this to you. You're a mess, Tom. It looks like you haven't slept in days." You sniffle, wiping away the tears that threatened to spill though Tom would admit that he was seconds away from doing that himself. "You're one of the strongest people I know but you don't have to be, got it? No matter what anyone says, your pain is so fucking valid."

And now that I'm without your kisses

Tom listened to every word and it wasn't hard considering it was only the two of you, no radio or tv or phones ringing or clocks ticking. It was just you both and he felt safe, embraced by the blanket that reminded him of simpler times. He never wanted things to change but then again they always did and he had no control over it. He had no control over any of it.

"Can we please go to sleep? Things were really hard tonight and I just need sleep." He looks down at his lap, playing with one of the strands that hung off of the blanket and you only nod, giving his hand one last squeeze before standing up. The couch creaked as you did. Tom was utterly exhausted, drained of any energy he currently contained and his throat felt dry and scratchy, something he had noticed earlier.

Tonight and every night until he was ready to go through with things, you'd give him your bed. Your bed where you'd listened to him cry about her and her wicked words for the first time and your bed that you'd slept in together the night that he helped you move into your apartment.

Because you had given him everything you could in an effort to fix things for him, including your heart time and time again, hoping that one day—instead of using yours, he could pick up his again. But you would continue to allow him to do so for as long as it took. Because that's what best friends did, right?

I'll be needing stitches