Tom Holland imagines

Don't say that you love me (Peter Parker)

When you saw his face light up your screen, you were ecstatic.

After all, who wouldn't be? Your first boyfriend — the perfect one, in your eyes — calling you and giving you a getaway from a History map you had procrastinated. You felt a smile grace your face as you eagerly grabbed your phone, seeing the picture of him scrunching his face like a child cover your screen. Titled near the top of the phone: Parker Peter. It was an inside joke, one that would leave you smiling for hours just at the thought. You pressed the glowing green button.

"What do you want?" Feigning annoyance, you looked back at your work, pretending to be careless to that fact that your boyfriend had called you. In all honesty, you loved it; talking to him was amazing.

"Hey— Uh, I think we should talk."

Oh, that wasn't good.

Years upon years of being the single friend came handy during scary times like this. You felt your heart drop, worry making your heart pound as you swallowed thickly. You dropped the cheeky act, your face suddenly solemn and brows furrowed. "Yeah. Yeah, sure," you managed, finding it in yourself to look at his face on the screen.

He was in his blue sweatshirt, and was busy propping his phone up onto an item in his messy room. All the snarky comments that you'd make felt caught up in your throat, blocked by a lump.

It took a few seconds, but it felt like forever. The breath he let out before speaking was shaky, his eyes shifting nervously. You knew it was coming.

"I think we should break up."

There it was.

At first, the emotions didn't hit you. You felt nothing but the sinking of your heart into your stomach. Nodding, you managed a close-lipped smile. "Okay." You prayed he wouldn't see right through the act you put up, right through the nonchalantness of your voice and the tense smile you hung up.

But Peter knew the true emotions you held. He could see it, even with the barriers of the phone hiding your true reaction. He could tell by the way you looked back at your map and sucked in your bottom lip harshly, by the way you twiddled with the micron pen you held. His heart broke at your refusal to look at him through the phone, but he had to remind himself: he was doing the right thing.

The short pause of silence was too much to bear. It was you who broke it, with a shaky exhale and a forced grin as you barely glanced at the phone. "I need to do my work," you murmured, barely intelligible past the shallow breaths you took. "Bye."

You knew fully well that he wanted to say more. You knew that he had opened his mouth to speak once more, to say something on his mind, but you cut him off by pressing the bright red button. His face disappeared from view, the screen now showing the map you had pulled up as a reference.

The emotions hadn't hit you yet. You weren't sobbing over him— like hell you would. After years of being the one to tell your friends to never cry over a boy, you weren't going to allow yourself to cry over a boy now. It wasn't you.

—

"I heard what happened."

Betty sat in front of you, her face unreadable as she observed your mannerisms. It was a small habit, you knew that, but you couldn't help but shift uncomfortably under her gaze.

You had helped her with multiple break ups before. Your advice was harsh and truthful, which could've easily passed as insensitive in every way if you weren't confident in you were saying. That was the case for most of your advice, and surprisingly, most of your friends appreciated it. You didn't know how many times you had helped your friends get over break ups and crushes gone wrong. It was your job, the part you played in the scheme of things. You were once the 'single, never has been in a relationship but gives good relationship advice' friend. That is, until the whole situation with Peter.