Tom Holland Blurbs

frustrated (t.h.)

The force behind the slam of our door alerted me to Tom's frustration. I paused what I was watching on the TV and stood up, making my way towards the angry curses my boyfriend was now spewing as he tried to kick off his dress shoes by the door. He tripped, nearly falling before he finally worked them both off his feet, turning to walk into the living room, only to be met with my concerned gaze.

"Not now, Y/N," he told me curtly, moving around me and stalking off towards the kitchen. I heard the fridge open and shut before hearing the distinct sound of a beer bottle being opened. Something was wrong, Tom wasn't a huge drinker, and he almost exclusively drank to have a good time, not when he was upset. It took a lot to push him to drinking when he was angry. I shifted back and forth on my feet debating on how I wanted to proceed.

"Tom, are you hungry?"

"No."

I didn't want to ask him what was going on because I knew it would set him off, but over the years I had learned that Tom handled things better if he blew up about what has frustrating him and then we talked through it. I needed to know what had made him so angry so that I could help him. He was shuffling around in the kitchen, looking aimlessly through the cabinets, beer in hand, and his black t-shirt un-tucked from his dark green slacks. I leaned against the door frame, watching him for a moment. His hair was a mess, he had obviously been running his hands through it, I knew he hated it when he had to cut his hair short for a project and right now it was cut for Chaos Walking.

I moved into the kitchen, walking up behind Tom as he opened the fridge again. I wrapped my arms around his toned waist and leaned my head in between Tom's shoulder blades. He stopped moving as I started rocking back and forth, his body moving with me. I closed my eyes and breathed him in, his cologne and just the smell of him.

"Breathe with me, Tommy," I whispered. I took a deep breath,slipping my hands under the hem of Tom's t-shirt and rubbing my thumbs back and forth on Tom's stomach softly. He shut the door of the fridge too hard, but with less animosity than he had shut the front door a few minutes ago. I took in a deep gulp of air, exaggerating my breath and closing my eyes in hope that Tom would let me help him calm down a little. He tried to fall in time with me, but he suddenly scoffed, pulling out of my arms. He moved to the island in the middle of the kitchen and set his beer down before leaning heavily on his hands, head hanging down.

I wrapped my arms around myself as I followed him slowly, leaning my back against the counter next to my angry boyfriend. Tilting my head to try and see Tom's face, I realized he was shielding his expression from me because he was trying to stop crying. Tears ran slowly down his face and he was trembling, from anger or the crying I couldn't tell. Tom sniffed hard, leaning on one hand as he brought his other up to wipe his face.

"Talk to me, Tommy," I whispered.

He sniffed again, breathing a little harder and obviously trying to make his hand stop shaking. I had never seen such an overwhelmed and defeated look on his face.

"J-just th-the," he started, working himself up to angry again and now he was getting frustrated with the stutter. Tom's hand shot out and grabbed his beer, tipping it into his mouth before attempting to continue.

"The paps are killing me right now," he muttered. "Just wanted to go to an event and have a good time with the lads. It felt like I couldn't breathe and I'm sure I looked like a proper idiot hiding behind Sam trying to go to the after party."

Tom had gone to the Rocketman premiere tonight, I hadn't been feeling the best so I had stayed home, but now I was regretting not being there for him. At the same time, my presence would have made it even more stressful for Tom because he always worried about me being negatively affected by the constant scrutiny he was under.