Tom Holland Imagines

25 | Honest

Requested by Kpomaibo! Sorry it got so dark, but I hope you enjoy❤
[Warning: Strong language and feels]

"Come on, Tom. Please answer," you muttered while trying to call your boyfriend for the tenth time this evening. Tears lined your eyes as worry kept you from going to sleep. It was three in the morning and Tom had gone out for drinks with some friends, but he wasn't home yet and he wouldn't answer any of your calls and texts. 

The call went to voicemail, as expected, and you groaned before frustratingly throwing your phone on the couch, only to watch it bounce off and fall on the ground. You figured you wouldn't be able to sleep before Tom got home, so you turned on the TV to distract yourself for a bit.

The rattling of the front door caught your attention and you sprang up, running to the hallway where you were met with a very out-of-balance Tom who had to lean on the wall to stay standing. 

"Tom?" you asked and he shot up straight. He held a glossy look in his eyes and you instantly knew he was drunk.

"Y/N? Why aren't you in bed yet?" he asked, his words completely slurred.

"Why didn't you answer my calls? It's three in the morning, I was worried sick about you," you said. 

"Will you stop shouting? It's three in the morning," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"Tom, you could've at least let me know when you were coming home. I thought something happened to you," you said. 

"Why? So you can keep a check on every goddamn step I take?" he snapped and you were taken aback.

"Sorry?" you retorted. 

"You heard me. I'm sick of you treating me like a toddler. I'm an adult,  I can take care of myself," he told you. 

"Apparently not. You're drunk off your ass."

"Not drunk enough, apparently." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" you asked, crossing your arms. 

He chuckled to himself, fighting his way out of his jacket and throwing it on the floor. "Three years I've had to deal with this crap. Three fucking years. I'm so done with it," he said. 

"Done with what?" you asked.

"This. This endless routine of you trying to be a good girlfriend, but you know what? You're bloody annoying. I can't even go out with my friends without your never-ending calls and texts asking me when I'm gonna be home," he ranted, bringing tears to your eyes. 

"Well, I'm sorry for giving a fuck about you. You've been pushing me away for months and I tried to get you to work through it with me, but all you keep doing is shutting me out. It's exhausting! You get drunk, crash at Harrison's or your brothers'. Do you know how worried I get every time you go out? No, you don't, because you don't give a damn about me," you asked. 

"You're absolutely right!" he shouted. "I don't give a damn about you. I never loved you." 

Tears were freely streaming down your face. "Get the fuck out," you hissed. 

"This is my apartment! You get out," he sneered. 

You looked at him for a second, wondering where it all went wrong. "I hope you fix yourself, Tom, or you're gonna end up somewhere you don't want to be," you told him softly before taking your jacket and heading out the door.

***

Your head felt as if it were filled with cotton balls as you slowly worked your way through your bowl of cereal, sitting at the kitchen table of your best friend. She went to work and allowed you to stay as long as you needed. You kept replaying the fight with Tom in your head, bringing tears to your eyes again.

You heard a knock on the front door and you sat up, checking your phone once more to see if Tom had sent anything but, of course, he hadn't.

In your bathrobe, you padded to the front door, thinking it was probably the mailman with a package for your best friend. She had a habit of ordering random things she absolutely did not need in the middle of the night. 

You opened the door and your eyes widened. "Tom..." you mumbled, almost forgetting how to breathe. 

"Hey, Y/N," he said softly, tucking his hands in the pockets of his jeans. 

"W-What are you doing here?" you asked. 

"I think we need to talk," he said, hesitant to look you in the eye. 

"What's there left to say? You got home drunk, we fought, you said you didn't love me, and I left," you said, feeling tears prick your eyes again. 

"Y/N, I didn't mean any of that. I was angry at myself and I took it out on you. That was wrong and I'm so sorry," he said. "Please, can you find it in your heart to forgive me?" 

You averted your eyes, wrapping your arms around yourself. "I... I don't know what to say," you whispered. 

"Say you'll forgive me," he pleaded. "Or that you'll at least think about it. I am so incredibly sorry for hurting you. That was the last I wanted to do. I knew I needed to let you know where I was and when I was coming home, but I forgot and then my phone died. I was angry with myself and I took that out on you. I'm so sorry, Y/N." He took your hands in his, his eyes glossy with tears. "I can't lose you. Please." 

You inhaled through your nose and blew out a breath through your mouth. "Tom," you started. "You really hurt me and I can't just forget that. Also, I think there was some form of truth in your words. You know what they say, a drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts." 

He let out a groan. "I know, I know. I'm sorry, but I promise you, whatever I said last night is not true." 

You looked at him for a second. "Whatever you said? You don't remember?" 

He pursed his lips together. "Not entirely." 

"Tom!" you exclaimed. 

"I'm sorry, okay? What else do you want me to say or do? 'Cause I'll do it. I'll do anything!" 

You let out a breath. "There is one thing..." 

I'll leave the ending to your imagination!