tom holland oneshots

he remembers

trigger warning. 

If you're reading this, it's probably too late. 

It had been three days. Only three days, but they felt like centuries to Tom. He was sitting in her desk chair, reading the letter inked in her perfect handwriting. His eyes had deep, dark bags under them. His hair was greasy and untamed, and his body odor reeked strongly. He hadn't thoroughly cried yet; he was still in shock, to be honest. He thought things were going great, but obviously, he was wrong. 

I just feel so goddamn empty. 

His brows were furrowed; in anger, in sadness, in confusion. For the first time in a long time, he didn't have the answer. He hadn't expected to find an answer, but walking into the home office for the first time that week, he saw his name on the letter, and rushed to open it. 

I'm sorry. 

Tom paused to take a breath. He placed the letter on the desk and took a deep inhale, trying to compose himself even though no one was watching. He had several panic attacks throughout the week, and he was hoping he wouldn't have to deal with one right now. 

I was so unloved. Though, 

Above all else, Tom was lost. He hadn't expected things to turn out the way they had; he imagined getting married and starting a family and growing old, though life had it's own set of plans too. 

that's partially my fault, for being so unlovable. 

He wanted to scream and shout and cry all at once. He wanted to scream in frustration, for her, for himself. For everything. He wanted to shout the one question he'd been asking himself all week: 'why?'. 

Crying seemed so hard right now. Crying for the girl he was in love with seemed impossible, because the situation he was in, was impossible. Tom was so frustrated at himself for letting things get this far, and for not realizing sooner how not okay things were. Why can't you fucking cry? he asked himself.  He thought he was broken for not letting the tears drop down his face, but he just didn't know why they weren't falling.  

Nothing could've fixed me. 

A memory flashed through his mind. One of him and her on a picnic in a meadow not too far from the house. 

---

They had finished lunch around thirty minutes ago, and now they were laying down on the blanket, side by side, staring at the clouds as if it were a scene from UP. She had just confessed something that had taken Tom's breath away, disbelief at such a dark, horrible thought; she was wrong. 

Tom had talked to her for ten minutes, about how she was perfect and that she was loved, and that even if she was broken, people could still love damaged goods. Tom had kissed her gently, and got her to giggle for the first time in at least twenty minutes. 

---

Tom remembers that day vividly; she was wearing a yellow sundress and her favorite pair of Birkenstocks. Her makeup was natural, almost nonexistent, and her freshly cut hair was flowing freely in the wind. A picture from that day sat on Tom's nightstand.

I never deserved the wedding that comes with this ring. 

Tom glanced into the envelope. Sitting there was the engagement ring he had given her four months back during a bath together. It was unplanned and the opposite of cliche, but she had told him it was a perfect moment, a perfect memory. 

He remembered everything from that day, too. The way her face went through too many emotions the minute he had popped the question. He remembers hugging her and eating sour patch kids in the tub, and he remembers the way her eyes sparkled. 

I'm so weak, so pathetic. 

Now, Tom was the one who felt weak and pathetic. He wanted to know when it went downhill for her, when things started to crash and burn. He thought he was the actor, but she was even better at pretending to be happy. He thought a lot of things, but he was wrong. 

He believed that things would get better, and they'd get their perfect happy ending. The ending they deserved, but he got the opposite. Instead, he got the epitome of melancholy and depression. He got to find his fiance, dying in the very same bathtub he had proposed to her in. Tom had to be the one to make the call for an ambulance, and he was the one to find the empty pill bottle sitting in the bathroom sink. Tom got a lot of things, but a happy ending wasn't one of them. 

So pathetic that I can't even stay alive, even when I'm carrying our child. 

At this, Tom dropped the letter onto the desk, his mouth ajar and his eyes wide and red with tears. A hand flew to his mouth to try and suppress the sobs, but nothing would be able to quiet these. The first of many choked sobs that had been held in the back of his throat were coming out now. The tears were free falling fast, and Tom felt dizzy. His sobs turned into frustrated whales and cries, ones that had Harrison and his mother running upstairs. 

They were staying with Tom until things got a little easier, but Tom had never experienced grief before, so the process was harder than they thought it would be, especially since it had seemed like Tom wasn't even grieving. 

"Tom-!" Nikki had exclaimed, rushing through the door with Harrison on her tail. "What's-"

But she didn't finish her sentence, because Harrison was pointing to the slip of paper on the desk. Walking over, she kneeled down and rubbed his back, whispering comforting words to Tom before he enveloped her into a tight hug and cried the hardest he's cried in his entire life. 

Harrison had picked up the paper, reading it through before quietly gasping and putting it back down, covering his mouth as tears filled his eyes too. He tried to keep them in, but his orbs had betrayed him. 

Twenty minutes had passed, and both boys had calmed down to some degree. Nikki had read the letter, before excusing herself and leaving Tom alone, as he had asked. Harrison had given Tom a tight hug before making his way down the stairs and into the kitchen to make lunch with Nikki. 

He picked up the letter again, finding where he left off before finishing the letter. 

I'm sorry wasn't good enough. I love you too fucking much, and I don't deserve to be in love. 

He wanted to yell again; yell that she was wrong and that she deserved everything good in the world, but Tom was too late. Tom cursed at himself. Repetitively, for the next two minutes. Tears were welling up in his eyes, but they hadn't fallen again, yet. 

l'm sorry you couldn't save me. 

He didn't deserve this, and she didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve the demons she had. Tom thought back to a memory of them in the kitchen, talking about her and her suicidal thoughts. 

We talked about this, he thought. So many times.

And it was true, they had talked about it. Every two to three months, Tom told her how she could deal with those thoughts, and he made sure she knew he was there for her. They had talked about what to do with the thoughts, but never about what to do with the actions.

He saw her neat signature at the bottom, and he swore his heart broke again. Tom had lost his future wife, and his child. A child he never got to appreciate while it was alive. The demons Y/N had once had, were left behind and lingering on and in Tom. They were beating him up, bruising and breaking what was already shattered. 

How much can a broken thing break? he thought. 

It was only a matter of time, before he found that answer too.