Tom Holland Imagines

New York Nights

Your. Day. Was. Sucking. And I mean sucking arse. What made it worse? You were stuck in New York City. It wasn't like you'd missed your plane or anything. You just really wanted to leave, but your flight didn't leave until 2pm of the next day.

New York was your dream city. You loved everything about it and had wanted to go since you were ten years old. Your best friend, F/N had decided to take you there for a week over your birthday and you had been over the moon. The trip had been out of this world. You'd gone on a ferry to Ellis Island, you'd gone shopping literally everywhere, you'd been to every coffee shop, gotten a hot dog at every stand, ice skated at the Rockefeller Centre (because it was December), and even gone to the top floor of the Empire State building.

You were having the time of your life until today. When you and F/N had gotten into your biggest fight yet. It was at lunch at a pizza place in Manhattan. Long story short, F/N had gotten up, stormed out of the little hole-in-the-wall restaurant, leaving you to pay the check and clean up the mess.

When you'd gotten back to the 4-star hotel (which looked fit for a CEO), she'd packed up, left a note on your bed, and gone. You didn't know where. As furiously angry as you were with her, you hoped she was okay. It was 10 at night in New York City...not the time nor place for a young woman to be roaming the streets on her own. 

You, being the sensitive person you were, were sitting in the hotel bar/lounge thinking about everything that had happened between you and F/N. The bar/lounge was on the top floor and silent tears were streaming down your cheeks as you sat on the leather couch that faced the  full-wall window. You had a perfect view of the entire city, its skies now black. Everywhere around you,  all of the city lights lit up the world. It would've been beautiful if you hadn't been in the mood you were.

The waiter strode over to you. "What can I get you miss?" he said from behind your back. You didn't turn to look at him. Instead, you kept your eyes on the skyline and answered, "Double bourbon, straight." 

"That kind of day, huh?" he asked. You nodded. Withing but minutes, the man was back with a square-ish glass full of the familiar golden liquid. You took a long sip and blinked more tears out of your eyes. Suddenly, a man's voice with a heavy British accent was heard.

"Such a waste of a pretty face," sighed the man, sitting beside you on the couch. You chanced a glance at him. He was a few inches taller than you and had curly hair the color of chocolate. He had matching eyes and a jawline that could've cut your finger, you thought.

"Hm?" You mumbled, out of it.

"I said, such a waste of a pretty face...crying like that. What happened to you?" he asked like he'd had an awful day too. He sure looked like it. From the looks of it, you guessed he'd been to a gala or some kind of event. He was wearing a sharp tuxedo with the bowtie undone around his neck. He had bags under his eyes, but he looked at you intently.

"Had a fight with my best friend. It was all my fault and now I'm here in New York by myself," you answered with a sigh, finishing off the rest of your drink. The man nodded. He crunched an ice cube from his empty tumbler glass. "What about you?"

"Along the same lines," he replied, running a hand through his hair. "Except, it was in front of everyone at the awards." Your interest had peaked. Who was this guy? He looked painfully familiar, but your drunk mind wouldn't allow you to think properly. What awards?

"Yikes." You drew in a breath through your teeth. You could only imagine how something like that could affect the reputation of a celebrity. You stared back out the window. The man did too.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" he breathed.

"Yeah."

"I'm Tom, by the way. Tom Holland." The man told you, setting his glass down on the table.

"I'm Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N." Your mind was racing. The Tom Holland? Why hadn't you realized before? You were a huge fan. Suddenly, you inwardly began to freak out, but you remained suave on the outside, thanks to your current mood and the effects of the alcohol.

"If you're here all alone, Y/N..." Tom began, seeming almost nervous, "would you like to spend tomorrow together? I'm quite on my own as well."

"I..." you didn't know what to say. "I'd love that. I'm sorry about what happened."

"Me too. I hope tomorrow will make things better for both of us," he said, rising to take his leave. He slipped you a piece of paper with a phone number on it. "Goodnight, Y/N."

"Goodnight, Tom. I'll call you," you told him.

"I'm counting on it," he responded, winking.