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peeterparkr · 2 years

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all roads lead to;tom holland; prologue

prologue: 'what leads?'

story summary: when your long time boyfriend breaks up with you and leaves you to find himself in Italy because you’re not spontaneous enough, you follow him to prove him wrong. Along the way you meet Tom , who recently went through a breakup himself, and might help you believe hate at first sight exists. Your trip trying to find your ex in small italian towns will become a desperate call for help, trying to help your new enemy get his relationship back by fake dating, sharing beds, getting lost and finding romance in dubious spots; all while falling in love with the country and the romance of it. Will your trip help you find your ex, yourself, your Romeo and Juliet story or finally lead you to Rome?

New series: fluff, smut, angst-ish (not really)

pairing: tom holland x writer!reader

tropes: enemies to lovers, fake dating, only one bed, road-trip, love triangle (or square), very rom com, idiots to lovers, oops-we-kissed, italian cliches from Hollywood

chapter summary: what leads to love and what leads to heartbreak? word count: 3.7

playlists: Italian vibes | y/n's breakup

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IT'S HERE, BYE HOPE YOU LIKE THE PROLOGUE, REBLOG COMMENT EVEYRHTING

What leads to love?

Falling in love comes easy. Very, very easily. No one really complains about the process of falling in love, though it’s different each time, there is a certain agreement that falling in love is overall a happy process.

Or rather than happy, it’s… simple.

Falling in love sometimes is magical. Sometimes it’s avoided. Sometimes it can be a storm.

But undeniably, it’s easy.

It’s like wine. Bitter, with some sweet notes.

Some people say the older it is, better. Love might turn better with time, into a more mature routine and more developed plans.

The young folks usually prefer a sweeter wine. It’s about… taste, really.

The real connoisseaurs might find disgrace in the cheap wine that people use to get drunk. Like one of those one night stands that might give you a headache the very next day. It’s the same, really.

Love can be described in many different ways. Currently, you decided wine was the very best explanation for it. Or at least how you were drowning it. Wine worked.

The circumstances surrounding might not be as pleasant, however, you can easily fall in love.

You can fall in love with a gentle laugh, a stupid comment and a genuine stare. Falling in love can come from an inside joke, a shared story or a listened to song.

Falling in love can come as a mistake. And making mistakes, well…

It’s easy. It just… comes in so easily and you can’t help it. Though it’s very complicated to describe.

Sometimes you can use colors. Other times you can use flowers. Or wine.

With him, though, how will you ever be able to describe what it felt like?

Was it strategized? Probably. From giving him certain type of smiles or making him like you for the dresses you wore. Pretending to love his favorite films or favorite songs. Learning the different conversations to be achieved through dinner with his friends.

But it was… inevitable. And you wouldn’t change it.

Per sempre, tutta la vita.

That’s what he used to say, he’d heard that phrase once, he never remembered from where, and his pronunciation had probably changed along the way and it was a mere memory of it now. But he had decided to use it all the time. It was for you.

‘Forever, all my life’.

With the promise that he’d love you forevermore. All his life. As long as you were aware of it, he was, undoubtedly, still alive.

How easy had it been to fall for that single phrase. Per sempre, tutta la vita.

Falling out of love, on the other hand, isn’t easy. And that’s something universally agreed upon.

It should’ve been as easy as losing that neck chain. Or forgetting the dialogue of a movie you haven’t watched in a while. It should be easy.

Yet it’s not.

Falling out of love is a forced activity when you’re broken up with. And that’s not easy. A breakup is never never easy. At least not if you’re the one being dumped. It’s like that one bitter cheap wine that you bought in a supermarket and made you sick and gave you a heartache. Falling out of love included the five stages of grief. And wine.

Refusing to fall out of love had probably led you to where you were by now. A plane.

Where you had a glass of wine in your hand and you were gripping to your hopes with the other one.

The conversation was playing over, and over, and over. Like a humorless joke that you can’t help but tell again and again.

“Really? Just like that?” You had asked, as you walked around the kitchen counter. Pouring a glass of wine as you continued cooking dinner for both of you, ignoring his suitcases by the door. “Just… years and years thrown out the window. All our plans--”

The music was still playing the background, the music you decided to play so you could dance while cooking, what you usually did, different plans tonight.

“Y/N, Y/N, I— it’s not. It’s not like that,” Miles followed you with his dark gaze, watching your pathetic excuse for dinner. “This is as hard for me as it is for you. Look, It’s not you, it’s—“

You could not believe it. “Please, do not dare to say that,” You begged, closing your eyes as you stopped stirring the sauce. “Don’t dare saying it, don’t say it’s not you, it's me. That’s what people say when it really is the other person.”

After years of your relationship, he was throwing it away. Just like that, by saying: ‘We need to break up’, which undoutebdly is one of the cheapest ways of breaking up with someone.

It’s useful, though. If it ain’t broke…

“Well, it is me, not you,” he cleared out and poured a wine for himself, thought he was breaking up with you and he’d already packed, this seemed calm enough.

You looked up. “Have you met someone else?” Your gaze was trying to decipher his.

“No,” he took a deep breath. He wasn’t lying. “That’s why I’m telling you this. It’s not about… us, it’s not that the love is gone or… I…” He took a deep breath. “I want to travel, I want to follow my dreams and being here with you just… stops me from it, being tied—“

“Tied? You feel like that? Trapped? Is that it?” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, though. “Is this a prison? Have I not—“

“No, no, I didn’t,” he squeezed his eyes shut. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant, you… You have your life here, alright? And I don’t know if this is who I want to be. I want to travel…”

“We could travel, then,” you said quickly, as you felt your chest ache. Yet, you were still calm. You took a sip of the red wine, bitter. “Yes, yes, yes, let’s travel together. We can plan a trip. We can go places, yes, yes, we can do that. Let’s… You wanted to go to San Francisco, right? Let’s go, let’s travel to San Francisco this weekend, let’s plan it.”

“You… don’t,” he took a deep breath. “That’s the thing, y/n, I don’t want to plan, I don’t want to go… To San Francisco.”

“Where then?” You were desperate now. You knew your voice was cracking because you knew what was going on.

He was tired, you could tell. “I just want to travel, be free, no planning. I just—I want to go travel to without planning.”

“How are you supposed to travel without planning?” You frowned. “However can you travel, you need money, and… and… the plane… and a hotel, or some kind of place to stay and the transportation and—“

“I’m leaving to Italy, without planning anything.”

“Italy is literally the other side of the world—There has to be some planning, and there must have been some considering your stuff is already packed.”

“I—” He took a deep breath.

“Had I known you wanted to break up with me I would’ve planned—“

“This is my thing, y/n, you don’t have to plan everything,” his hands were firm against the table now, he was conflicted. “and you’re always doing it, you plan and then you never go through with it. You just… Plan and order and it’s all—It’s everything, you always have to be under control and there’s no spontaneity—You are scared of everything. You’re even scared of your own dreams.”

“See? So it is me, it’s not the whole it’s not you, it’s me… It is not you, Miles, is it? It is me.”

He took a deep breath. “Maybe, yeah,” he ran a hand through his face.

You gave him a bitter smile. “Yeah.”

“No, no, I—It’s not you. It’s the person I am today, I need—I need some spontaneity in my life. And you are perfect the way you are—I’m just… I don’t think we are the people who we fell in love with, we have changed.”

“But… I love the person you are today,” you knew he had cracked you, finally. “You don’t love me, then?”

“Oh no, that I do, I do, I love you, I need—Some time, but this is about me wanting to go and be free for myself, but I love you, and I always will. Per sempre, tutta la vita.”

You felt your heart breaking. “If you love me then, why are you leaving me?” The world was spinning.

“It’s not about lack of love,” he explained. “I think we have enough love to give,” Miles took in a deep breath.

He meant it, because falling in love is easy. And falling out of love can’t be as easy.

There was love there. You knew it. He loved you; and you loved him and this would be another silly argument that comes with time, when the devils get into your thoughts. You knew you’d eventually end up with your arms wrapped around him, dancing under the moonlight, kissing him better.

“Would you go to Italy with me?” He questioned. As if some sense had gotten to him. “Right now? Let’s go, I need—“

“I can’t leave just like that, I have a job, I have things to take care of—I would need to plan—“

“I’ve never asked you anything, y/n,” he said. “It’s the one thing I’m asking from you. Let’s go.”

Italy had always been a dream of his, and yours too; you’d both been saving for it, for a while now. The time would never seem to come because one thing happened or life decided to slip in and before you knew it, you were spending the holidays again watching Home Alone for who knows what time.

You knew you both wanted this. He was an architect, you were a writer. You were supposed to go there. Learn, travel. Be a romantic and visit Verona, find Romeo or Juliet.

Yet you never did, although you wanted to.

“I—I don’t know Miles,” you said. “I’m—scared, alright? Yes I’m scared to—“

He watched you like he had won the race, as if he was dying to tell you he’d told you so. He only cynically chuckled to himself as his eyes couldn’t look at you.

“Scared to follow your dream?” He questioned. “You’ve always wanted to go there, you always write about having adventures yet you never have one, y/n. Who are you? What happened to you? To us? Why are we even pretending this is working? It’s not. And—“

“It is—“

“No, we don’t work anymore.,it’s always—This conversation, y/n.”

“I—Can we talk about this, please? You’re so suddenly breaking up with me,” you snapped for the first time. “Miles you can’t—do that.”

He sighed. “You act like this is sudden.”

“Well it is,” you frowned. “Something must have happened, you just—packed and you’re leaving and—please let’s—“

“We’ve been having this conversation over and over, y/n.”

You knew he was right, yes lately you had been having arguments but you didn’t think they would lead to… breaking up. It was sudden. Yes, there were arguments but not “packing bags and leaving to another country” arguments.

“But—we can solve this, right?” You asked.

“I can’t keep on trying to push you to follow your reams. I need to follow my own, and if you don’t have the courage to follow yours, then—You need someone else, y/n, not me.”

He was done, and he didn’t have to say it. And it felt like your whole life shattered. Had you not known better you would have thought that every crashing sound was your house glass, or the wine bottle or anything else. But you knew it was your heart, which he had held for so many years but dropped so easily.

“I need someone who can just pack their stuff and leave.” Miles gave you a sympathetic sad state, long enough to see the tears bulking in. “I can’t do it, y/n.”

He left when he saw you had no more left to say, because he had a plane to catch. And the music was still playing in the background and you were left with a pasta for two and an opened bottle of wine.

He needed more, then. How? How could he need more, you only needed his laugh echoing through the apartment. You didn’t need anything more.

You needed him.

And maybe it was the bottle of wine or the playlist that played in the background, very poorly and drunkenly chosen after hearing he’d be leaving for Italy. Maybe.

Maybe it was the fact that falling in love is so easy. But maybe it was Maybe it was the fact that this was so sudden. He had given you no signs.

5 years of your life all thrown out the window in one night.

Maybe it was the fact that he was right. Maybe it was that. Maybe it was because you realized how lonely the apartment looked.

Maybe it was the fact you realized he’d probably spent the whole day packing but he’d left a lot still. Like all those pictures around the house.

Maybe it was the fact that for the first time in two years you’d be sleeping alone. Or the fact that you realized that your bed was too big, too stupidly big. And cold.

Maybe it had been the fact you’d finished the whole bottle of wine. Or the fact that you were going through the five stages of grief in just a few hours.

Denial, first. You had spent 10 minutes waiting for him to show back up. You knew he couldn’t be serious.

Anger, second. Screaming, trying to hide away every single picture. You decided to get rid off the plants he’s chosen for the apartment, very decently, moving them outside your apartment. ‘Get out, our relationship died and so will you! Remember how we said we would love you forever? And take care of you This is just a lie because one day you’re flourishing and the other day? Guess what little plant! You get kicked out of someone’s life! Because you’re not what I want! No. You’re just a stupid plant who can’t travel because you’re stuck. Or maybe you’re not and I’m kicking you out before you decide you can leave me too’

Dancing to Lizzo’s Good as Hell. Then Cher’s Believe. Then, Taylor Swift.

Bargaining, third. You’d texted him. ‘Please. Let’s talk.’ ‘Can we go get breakfast and think about this?’

You didn’t know why Taylor made you realize how cruel you’d been to the plants. You’d gone out to get them back.‘I’m so sorry I said all that. I love you. I’m sorry, welcome back.’

Then you realized, it couldn’t be that bad. Maybe this was your chance to meet someone new? Or perhaps,

Depression, fourth. It had started with the tear streaming down your face as you listened to Italian covers of breakup song.

First ‘without you’ by Mariah Carey was playing in the background. Not that version, though. It was in Italian. Somehow you had found the one playlist with breakup songs all sung in Italian. Nowadays there’s a playlist for anything.

Why? Because your life had lost its sense in the—you looked down at the time, your life had lost its sense 6 hours ago.

“Can’t live, if living is without you,” you pathetically sang along the lyrics in another language. “Can't live anymore,” you sobbed now.

5 years. This wasn’t supposed to end like this.

Maybe it was all of that combined.

Then there was no music, just the sound of your tears as you hugged the pillow that he used every night. With little to no hope.

With pictures of him stabbing you into old reminders.

Probably. Yes, it may have been every single thing that led you to the morning.

That led you to your screen blinding you just enough, and that may have been what led you to drunkenly search for flights early in the morning.

That may have led you to book a flight, pack in less than an hour and get showered as you went to the airport because your flight would be leaving in less than six hours.

That’s what led you to it.

Yes, that’s what led you to your current situation. A plane that would lead you to another plane to get to Verona.

Quietly sitting on a plane. Hugging yourself. Pathetic.

With time to think. Because you knew what Miles’ plan was, you’d practically made it. Arrive at Verona, then a road trip along the country, searching for adventures, inspiration and everything that could be put in your way. Sure, Miles didn’t like planning but without you he’d never get anywhere. Your plans completed him.

You’d called an old friend from college, a roommate you’d had and who had always encouraged you to visit her. Serafina, who was absolutely delighted that you and Miles would finally visit. You’d decided to keep out the part that he’d broken up with you and that you’d gone on a psychotic trance and followed after him to another country in hopes of finding him and getting back together with him.

Minor details.

Because, it all led back to him, to Miles. Didn’t it? This was to prove him that you were what he wanted. Yes, you could travel. He was that push you needed. He loved you, you loved him. You were willing to change for him.

That’s what mattered. Didn’t it?

Besides Italy was leading you to a whole new possibility. An opportunity for you to understand what you would be able to do for love. You’d been broken up with 24 hours ago. Or More? Less?

You hadn’t slept and your heart was still aching. This had to lead to him. To Miles. And you knew fate would be on your side, you’d probably see him in a few hours. Destiny would lead you to him. Because your body was still his. It was impossible to erase him. 48 hours ago you still here by his side. You were sure you could still smell his lotion on your clothes.

You knew you’d never love someone again. Your heart could only belong to him.

You were excited, excited and tired. So, tired. You were barely looking at anything, you were entranced by your hopes, the heartbreak and the fact your eyes had been crying for 24 hours straight without resting anything. But you wanted this to be the best decision you’d ever made.

You tried looking for Serafina who had promised to pick you up, you walked through the crowds and accidentally bumped into someone, making him drop the three cups of coffee he was holding.

“Bloody hell, fuck,” he murmured, angrily as he was trying to get his white t-shirt off contact with his skin. The paper he was holding had been ruined as well. “Guarda dove stai andando!”

“I’m so, so sorry,” You quickly said. “Sorry! Uh, Mi scuso?” You said. He had sunglasses on, which gave away who he was. Having sunglasses inside a room could only mean he was a certain type.

He was annoyed. He took a deep breath as he pulled up his glasses. “Watch where you’re going.”

“I… will.” Yes, it had proved it. He was an asshole.

“Fucking tourists,” he muttered. Though, he was clearly not a native italian either. His accent betrayed him, and his looks.

“I’ll buy you another coffee,” you said. “I’m so sorry for your shirt.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t bother,” he hissed as he walked past you, pushing you just slightly, enough to bother you.

You were tired and not in the mood. “It wasn’t on purpose, asshole.”

He only turned around to give you a smirk and kept walking. Smugly. Like he owned the place. Maybe it was your lack of sleep or your broken heart but there was an urge building upon you to go hit him.

You got a call, saving him from your…violence.

“Fina!” You finally answered, hoping you’d see your friend soon enough. “Oh my God, hello my love! Are you here?”

“Bellissima, y/n, have you arrived?” She asked. “Perdonami amore mio, something came up and I sent my roommate for you and Miles!”

“Oh, er… Yes, I’m here, I… uh, you sent your roommate?” You asked. “What’s her name?”

“Oh, his name is Tom! He’s adorable, you’re going to love him!”

“Oh great!”

“Yes, and he could distract Miles while you and I go out and catch up, amore mio!” She insisted on Miles. She’d always said you both would end up married

You still believed that.

“Oh… yeah.”

“How are you dressed, amore?” She questioned.

Very.. chic. Pants and a hoodie that would disguise your break-up. “Uh, like everyone else.”

“And Miles?” She asked.

“Uh… How is your roommate dressed? How will I know it’s him?” You decided to change the subject.

“He made a sign! I’ll tell him to meet you outside, his car is yellow!” She said.

“Alright! I’ll search for him” You said.

“Si si! Can’t wait to see you and Miles, ciao ciao! Baci!” She hung up.

You waited a bit, trying to know how you would excuse yourself. How in this world would you explain that ‘Miles & y/n’ were no longer ‘Miles & y/n’. How would you explain that you were there looking for your now ex in hopes of getting back together. How the hell would you explain that it had led you to call your boss saying it was a family emergency. How on earth would you tell her that your life had completely been destroyed in less than 48 hours?

Fina had the suspicion that you were engaged.

You decided to face your fears and walk outside, looking for that one yellow car. And you did see him.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you said as you walked over to the guy with three new brand coffees. You saw his sign now, previously ruined. ‘Miles & Y/N’Now distorted and stirred, dripping.

The asshole. With his stupid sunglasses on, but his shirt ruined.

You made your way over. He only glared as he hung up the phone. Your last 24 hours were better considering that you now had to face him.

“Are you here to knock my coffee off again?” He asked.

“Are you Tom?” You asked, as annoyed.

He frowned, arrogantly annoyed, pulling his sunglasses up. “Who’s asking?”

“I’m y/n.”

And you couldn’t believe this had led to him.

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