The Fame Game || Tom Holland

four: heartache on the big screen

Four: Heartache on the Big Screen (T)

Tom thinks he's a pretty good fake boyfriend, until he almost fucks it all up on live TV.

He's back in London at last, completing the final press obligation for his new film. It's late, and he's sat on Graham Norton's infamous red sofa. It's been a good evening - the drinks are flowing, the audience responsive, and Tom's riding high on the thrill of it all. There's just a little blunder near the end of the show that sends it all spinning off...

"So, what do you think of Y/N's newest film, Tom?" Graham asks, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. A round of excited applause rolls through the studio audience, and the host's smile widens. "I know, it was great, wasn't it?"

Tom freezes. Despite the close call on Fallon two months ago, he hasn't been able to make time to see your film. It's not as if he's been avoiding it, but he's been so busy with the press tour, and his family, and his shooting schedule that it's completely slipped his mind. You have slipped his mind.

"Uh, it was amazing," he bluffs. Tom stitches a bright smile to his face as he sits a little straighter and rubs his palms together. He does everything in his power to appear as in control as possible. "She's so talented, isn't she?"

"Oh, absolutely. What was your favourite part?"

Tom's smile gets a little forced, but he does his best to keep his cool. "Oh, Graham, I see what you're doing," he accuses, squinting his eyes. "You're trying to get me to reveal spoilers, aren't you?"

Thankfully the host takes the bait, and the conversation shifts away from you and back onto Tom, and as painful as it is to relive some of his press mishaps, Tom is glad for the change of topic. It's hard to be someone's fake boyfriend - especially when you've been apart for a month. Tom's never been particularly fond of you, but he'll admit now that it's easier to be your boyfriend when you're around him - apparently long distance is hard for fake couples, too.

The encounter on Norton shakes Tom up so much that he uses his first day off in two months to go into central London and watch your film.

He's glad it's a Thursday, because the cinema is quiet as he walks through the doors at 11am. Tom's alone - wearing a large black hoodie, his grey sweats and a dark baseball cap over his head. He starts out with sunglasses too, but decides that they're overkill when he can barely navigate his way down the vast hallways. He's recognised by the lady who gives him popcorn, and also by the man who checks his ticket, but other than that, Tom manages to fly beneath the radar. He's glad for it - a month-long press tour, for all it's exciting, is draining, and he's relieved to be able to escape it for a few hours.

Tom stows away in the back corner of the screen, and he turns off his phone as the lights go dark, and the story begins.

There's something very poetic about the way you act, he thinks. There's a scene where you're standing in the centre of a golden hayfield, surrounded by a flurry of purple butterflies. The camera sweeps around you, highlighting your figure with a gentle, soft halo of warmth, and it makes you look so beautiful. Tom watches with wide eyes as you interact with the butterflies, their colours stark and vibrant against your skin, your lips, your hair. It's breathtaking.

As the film progresses, Tom finds himself enjoying it - but he will admit it makes him feel just a little uncomfortable to watch you roll around in a bed with your co-star. He feels a stab of something in his chest, and the sensation reminds him of when he'd picked you up from set and seen you messing around with Joe. Shame burns alongside guilt. Tom's felt like a dick ever since he'd pounced on you and kissed you in front of your friend, and he still hasn't been able to figure out why he'd acted so possessively. The urge to walk over and somehow stake a claim on you, in front of everyone on that set, had blinded him - almost as if he was an emotional, volatile teen again. He's not proud of it, and he knows the scorch of shame had contributed to him running out on you the following morning.