tom holland oneshots

every tomorrow

warnings: crying, angst??

summary: tom and reader aren't together to celebrate a release night

word count: 1300

(requested)

Three months ago, your album was just on the brink of completion, ready to be sent to the record company for mix-tape completion. And then you two broke up. 

It wasn't that you stopped loving him, because god, for the life of you, you could never will yourself to hate him even if you tried. Maybe he felt the same, maybe he didn't. But you were so far down, falling so hard, and he wasn't always there to catch you. He wasn't always there to assure you that he wouldn't let you hit the ground. He wasn't there like he used to be. 

You'd had enough of it, and the break up was mutual. 

It didn't hurt any less, though. 

Now, it's release night. This is the first release night you're spending on your own. Fresh from the breakup a few months back, you didn't want to get too nostalgic by hosting  party, so you'd told everyone to enjoy the album on their own, wanting to spend the night alone in your living room with blankets and a pint of ice cream. 

It's so weird, because you're using his favorite spoon and eating a pint the two of you would indulge in together. You're using the blanket he bought you for Christmas, wearing fuzzy socks with Spider-man on them. 

And then you're reminded why you had to break up in the first place. 

It shouldn't be this hard. If you were making an album right now, it would be filled with melancholy and heart ache and everything your body and mind are feeling. But because you made the album while you were still with Tom, practically every song is about him in some twisted way -- sex or feelings or falling in love, or even his words on the record. 

You can't stand it. 

You hate it all, now. 

You had never thought feelings so powerful could make you turn your back on music, make you change your heart about everything you worked so hard for. Music is your safe haven, your comfort zone and your therapist. 

Now, it's a trap you set for someone else. It's hell in your mind, but your entire career in reality. 

The album drops in fifteen minutes and you're not sure if you want to stay up and thank everyone on a social media post, or if you want to avoid the entire night all together and go to sleep like nothing is even happening at all. 

By some will power, you decide to stream the album. 

Before the album was announced, you had listened to each track, each vocal, each instrument. Over and over and over again until your ears bled and you were sure they were completed to perfection. 

Now you didn't know if it belonged in the garbage bin or the recycling. 

The time between now and the album release has narrowed down to ten minutes. You're still sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the fireplace with a spoon in your mouth. There's a knock at the door, and you assume it's more fans dropping off their fan mail and presents.

But then your movements freeze as you realize the knock was so specific, familiar only to you and him. It's the way he always knocked for you, to silently let you know it was him. You're rushing to open to the door, leaving the spoon in the ice cream pint and flipping the blanket off your body, abandoning it on the couch. 

Swinging the door open with your sweater paws, he's standing on your front porch, clad in sweats and a hoodie, a beanie fitted on his head. 

It's the beanie you gave him for Christmas. 

"Hi," he breaths out. You blink at him. "I realized that- that this is the first time we're not together for a release night and well... I thought that- well," he scratches his neck, choking up from your glare on his figure. "I thought that just because we're not together anymore, that doesn't mean we still can't celebrate together."

He's staring at you, taking in your silence as a rejection to his offer, and he moves to turn around and head back to his car, but you're shrieking for him to stop, had reaching out to make a move to grab him. 

"I'd like that," you say more calmly after his attention is back on you. 

You step aside, letting him through the door and into the warmth of your house. He offers a smile, and you turn around shyly as he takes his shoes off. When he turns around, he looks around the room intently, taking in the absences and silence in the room. 

"You're... not celebrating this time," he concludes slowly, almost as if he doesn't want to hear the truth. 

"Well, I am, I suppose. Just alone," you stutter out, sitting back in your spot, blanket going over your lap as you reach for your spoon once again. Tom sees you snacking, and he goes into the kitchen without a word to you. 

When he emerges not thirty seconds later, he's got another spoon in his hand, settling next to you on the couch, the pint of dessert in between the two of you.

Two minutes pass with silence, and the time has narrowed to five minutes. Tom checks the time on his phone, and you realize he's upgraded to the newest iPhone. 

"Five minutes," he announces, and you nod, taking another spoonful of the creamy sweet. 

Tom looks to you, almost with saddened eyes, and he wants to start talking, but he realizes he wouldn't have time between now and the album's release. Taking the leap, he talks anyways. 

"I miss you."

It hangs in the air between you two like mistletoe, only you aren't sure if it's romantic or selfish. It's bittersweet, you decide. 

You swallow, "I don't know if you get to say that. I don't know if either of us get to say that."

"Why not?" he pleads. "It's not like I ever stopped lovi-"

"Please don't finish that sentence." The spoon is out of your mouth as you look at him with a stern look. 

"Why not?" he whispers finally. 

Two minutes. 

"Because I can't handle hearing it," you breath back, tears threatening to spill, and not from excitement. 

"But I want to hear it. I want to say it," he confesses, scooting closer. 

"Tom," you say, defeated. "You know why this ended." 

"That doesn't mean I wanted it."

"I never said I wanted it!" 

One minute. 

Tom checks the time on his phone one last time before talking again. "Then why did we give up?"

"Because it hurt!" you finish, letting it out. "We weren't- we weren't connected. We were in love with- with the idea of being with someone."

"You can't mean that."

"Then why does that feel like the only answer?" You exclaim, letting a tear slip. Tom wipes it off with his thumb and leans his head on your shoulder, taking one of your hands with both of his. 

"I don't know."

You let out a shaky breath, sighing as another tear rolls down. It's one hell of a release night. It's your turn to check Tom's phone, and the two of you notice it's changed to a new hour, your album finally out. 

"Can I kiss you?"

"I don't know what good that'll do," you admit, voice rasping. 

"I want to feel you again."

You looked to him and nodded. His hands cupped your face, hesitantly dipping in for the taste of your lips, and he immediately gets consumed by the familiarity. He's warm and supple, and you're soft and sweet and taste faintly of the ice cream you were sucking on minutes prior. 

When you pull away, you mumble against his lips, and he cracks a smile. 

"Stay the night."

"Every night?" he asks hopefully. You nod, head still in his hands, and he lets out a tear of his own. He's still whispering against your lips, "Happy positions day."