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junetuesday · 5 years

Text

sweetener - [six]

Look At Me Now

Pairing: Tom Holland x Female Reader - uni AU

Word Count: 3346

Warnings: swearing, sushi, softness

A/N: hello! this part was so much fun to write so i hope you guys like it! lemme know what you think. the title for this chapter is a reference to All Time Low - For Baltimore which kinda fits this chapter perfectly so I recommend listening to that (I’m on such an ATL hype lately it feels like 2010 in my house). p.s. shoutout to @starksparker for the moon story lmao

Updates Sunday nights

You're really fucking cute when you laugh. You're even cuter, Tom thought, when you're laughing at something he said.

Was that a bit egotistical? Perhaps. Perhaps he was a little biased, but he was pretty sure it was true. He was staring, he knew he was, but he couldn't bring himself to look away just yet. Your eyes were closed anyway, screwed shut as you leaned back in your seat, cackling with laughter. As the evening had gone on your laugh had gotten louder, and maybe it was the wine or maybe it was just because you were more relaxed (and maybe one had impacted the other), but what started as a polite giggle had grown into a chuckle, into a chortle that seemed to take you by surprise, and now into an outright cackle. Tom was laughing too, obviously, but he was holding back to make sure he didn't miss anything, make sure his guffaw didn't drown out your giggles.

You started to compose yourself then, so he looked away, looking down at his cider and bringing the bottle up to his lips.

"Okay, okay," you leaned forwards, resting your elbow on the table and your chin on your palm, fingers curling around your jaw. "So he actually thought that each country has its own moon?"

"Yes."

"Like, the moon we see is a different moon to the one they see in the US?"

"Yep."

"Wowww..."

Tom felt a little bad about using his brother's stupidity for his own gain, but only fleetingly - it was his right as an older brother, surely?

"So d'you have any other siblings or is it just the two of you?"

You sank back in your seat again, more relaxed now, running your fingers along the stem of your wine glass as you talked. You'd already been over your family tree, anecdotes and Fun Facts thrown in along the way.

"Yeah, no um, he's a twin so there's those two and then Paddy's the youngest."

"Oh cool, twins. Are they identical?"

"Nah," Tom shook his head. "Both boys but not identical. They were pretty similar when they were little but not really any more."

"Ah okay. All caucasian babies look very similar to be fair." you shrugged, the corner of your lips curving up as you spoke.

"True." Tom chuckled, nodding.

There was a brief pause as you both drank, the chatter of the other people in the bar filling the silence. It was relatively busy, but not so much so that you couldn't hear one another speak.

"Four boys though - Jesus, your poor mother."

"Yeah," Tom smiled as he set his bottle back down. "Our house is, uh, loud, to say the least. Until a couple of years ago there was always at least one broken bone in the house. Mum still sends a Christmas card to the Minor Injuries Unit at Queen Mary's."

You snorted into your wine at that, spluttering, and okay, maybe it wasn't exactly pretty but Tom decided it was definitely the cutest you've looked all evening. Which was saying something, because he was starting to think you always looked cute.

"Don't make me laugh when I'm drinking!"

"Sorry!" He lied, he wasn't sorry at all. "She does though!"

You coughed a little as you composed yourself, still smiling as you set your glass down. Which, Tom noted, was almost empty.

"D'you want another drink?"

"Not yet," you shook your head. "I'm gonna pop to the loo, actually."

"Oh, cool."

Tom watched you hoist your handbag over your shoulder as you stood up, following you with his eyes until you disappeared down a corridor towards the ladies, and he couldn't help but grin to himself at how well the evening was going. It was a little awkward at first, obviously, but only a little. He was saved from that kind of weird interaction of "do we hug? What's the protocol here?" when you first arrived because it was pouring with rain outside, so you were busy shaking out your umbrella anyway. Plus, the weather gave you something to talk about at first, which led to you telling him about how you really needed to get the hole in your boots fixed. You always forgot until it was raining and your toes got soaked, but you were kind of waiting until you went home for Christmas anyway because the cobblers where you lived had a dog that hung out in the shop and you wanted to have an excuse to see how he was doing. That led to him telling you about his dog, and it just kind of went from there, conversation pausing only to order drinks and pick a table to sit at. You'd laughed and aww'd at all the appropriate times when he told you how he'd saved up his wages from his first job the summer after GCSEs to buy a puppy without telling his parents, and were suitably enamored when he showed you photos, whining "oh my God I love her, what an angel" (which, in his opinion, is the only acceptable reaction to Tess). He'd almost choked on his drink when you did a startlingly accurate impression of Harrison, and by the time you were onto the next round all awkwardness and anxiety had melted way.

Tom almost felt stupid - no, he did feel stupid - for how much he'd umm'd and ahh'd about you the previous week, how much time he'd spent whining when he could have been hanging out with you. The thing was, it wasn't that he couldn't talk to girls, or that he didn't know how to flirt, he just struggled to know when to do it. It was fine at work, say - he could make off-hand comments and fire cheeky grins at every other customer, because then there was a barrier between them. It wasn't real, not really. It didn't matter if they liked him or not, it wasn't going to go anywhere and it wasn't supposed to go anywhere. It was just easy. And he knew how to be someone's boyfriend - he was quite good at it, if he did say so himself - it was just the bit in between that vexed him. Past casual flirting, once it got to the "wait do you actually like me? Do I like you?" stage, he lost his footing and got completely thrown off. It'd been so long since he'd actually started a relationship with someone, and last time he didn't even really start it, it just sort of happened, and now he couldn't help but second guess his every move. He hated it, hated how uncertain it made him. He wasn't used to it, and he supposed that was what made it all the more unsettling, like he didn't even know what to do about not knowing what to do.

That all changed though, when that little red (1) badge popped up on his phone next to the Snapchat icon. Once he'd gotten over the initial shock of receiving a photo of you in your underwear, it was like something clicked inside his brain. That couldn't be misconstrued, right? You wouldn't have sent him that if you weren't into him, right? After that, it was all so much easier. He could relax and, as Harrison so helpfully suggested, just do it. He still agonised over what to send back, of course he did, lifting his t-shirt up enough to show a hint of the muscles he worked so hard for and then deciding to just take his t-shirt off altogether (as though that made him look like any less of a dickhead), but after that it was fine. He hadn't even realised how long you'd been texting until you said you were going to sleep, and he decided if he couldn't carry on talking to you right then, he had to ask you on an actual date. A first date? He wasn't sure if the library counted. Probably not. Anyway, this, he was fairly sure, counted as a date.

Tom was snapped out of his thoughts when you set your bag down on the table, so caught up in his own head that he didn't notice you walking back over. Shame, he thought, a missed opportunity to look at you fully.

"Have you eaten?"

You sat down as you spoke, wiggling your skirt down into place. A deep maroon colour, it sat perfectly on your waist, skimming over your hips and stopped at the tops of your thighs. Opaque black tights covered your legs, an off-white blouse tucked into your skirt and heeled ankle boots on your feet.

"Not really," Tom shook his head. "Had a Rustlers at lunch but I don't think that really counts as food."

"No," you laughed. "I'm pretty sure there's no meat at all in a Rustlers burger. Um, there's a Japanese place 'round the corner that I've heard's good, if you wanted to..."

"Sure, yeah." He nodded enthusiastically as you trailed off, picking up his drink to finish off the last bit.

You downed the last mouthful of your wine, smacking your lips together as you stood up. Pulling on your coats, you both headed for the door.

"Think it's stopped raining, thank God."

Tom held the door open for you, smiling when you thanked him. You were right, it had stopped raining, so your wet umbrella, no longer required, dangled from your left hand. Unfortunately, Tom didn't clock that until he was already on your left side, falling into step beside you. If he had, he would have gone to your other side, because he kind of really wanted to hold your hand. Sigh.

"So is this place like sushi or noodles, or what?" he nodded in the direction you were leading him, which he assumed was towards the restaurant.

"Both, I think? You can order proper dishes but they've got a conveyor belt that goes around with little sushi plates on that you just like, take what you want."

Your eyes lit up and you grinned as you talked, the prospect clearly like being a kid in a candy shop to you. It was very cute, and Tom was really kicking himself that he wasn't walking on your right so he could squeeze your hand as it swung about excitedly.

"That's just asking for trouble."

You shrugged. "Instant gratification. Works for me. It's this way."

You pointed to your left, rounding the corner at the end of the block. You turned before him, knowing where you were going while he was just following you, so he fell a step behind. Perfect.

"Oh I see," he sighed, falling back in line with you, only on your right side. "You're high maintenance."

"I'm no-" you gasped, affronted, cutting off when you turned to your left and he wasn't there. You looked over your shoulder before twisting back around to look to your right, rolling your eyes playfully when he started laughing. "That really confused me for some reason, I was like 'where the fuck has he gone?'"

"Too much wine on an empty stomach?"

Tom glanced down at your hand, preparing to reach out and link his fingers through yours - only to find that you'd swapped your umbrella to that hand, your left now free. What the fuck?

"Probably. But no, I'm not high maintenance, I just...I like getting what I want - but doesn't everybody?"

He couldn't really argue with that, so he just shrugged. "Fair enough."

"And right now," you said as you slowed down in front of the restaurant. "What I want is sticky rice and California Rolls."

Perhaps it was unwise to let you sit next to the conveyor, picking things off with a wide-eyed 'oooh' every few minutes. It seemed to make you happy though, so Tom could hardly complain, though he did almost choke on his water when the waitress added up all the plates and gave you your total bill.

"Whoops," you murmured under your breath, biting your lip sheepishly.

Looking up from reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket to see you pulling your purse out from your bag, Tom shook his head vehemently. You'd bought a round each at the bar, though he'd tried to pay for both, but this time he was putting his foot down.

"I'll get it, it's fine."

(It wasn't fine, he was about to go into his overdraft and there were still two weeks left until Christmas break, but you didn't need to know that.)

"No honestly, I ate way more than you did."

He scrunched up his face at that, tilting his head. "I really don't think you did."

The waitress snickered, watching the two of you argue.

"Split it? I'm not letting you pay for my lack of self-control."

"Fine," he sighed exaggeratedly, rolling his eyes. It was clear you weren't going to give in.

You smiled, satisfied, and handed your bank card to the waitress triumphantly.

The bill settled, Tom excused himself to the bathroom before you left. Looking at himself in the mirror, he readjusted the collar of his pale blue shirt, smoothing out the white t-shirt he had on underneath. It was warm in the restaurant, so he'd left his leather jacket discarded on the back of his chair, his arms exposed by the short sleeves of his shirt. Normally he would have rolled them up a bit, but it made his arms look lumpy when he had the jacket on, so he'd left them down. Probably for the best, Adam says it makes him look like a prick when he does that.

After a cursory glance around the bathroom to check he was alone, he gave his armpits a quick sniff - all good - fixed his hair, and leaned in close to the mirror to check that the spot on his chin was definitely still gone and hadn't reappeared since he left the house. On checking his teeth for any rogue bits of seaweed - again, all good - it occurred to him that he'd just eaten rather a lot of seafood, and he really really hoped he had some gum. As luck would have it he did, one piece left in a crumpled wrapper in the back pocket of his jeans. He chomped quickly, aggressively, trying to get the mintiness in contact with as much of his mouth as possible, before tossing it into the bin on top of the paper towel he used to dry his hands. Not wanting to be in there too long in case you thought he was having a shit, Tom left the bathroom after one last look in the mirror, ruffling his hair to make sure it didn't look too done.

When he got back to the table you had your coat on ready to go, your legs swinging off the edge of your seat while you sucked on mint happily. You offered him the other one off the tray that had come with the bill, putting it into your handbag when he declined.

"Shall we?"

He didn't really know what he meant by that, but it's just what you say isn't it. Thankfully you didn't question him for specifics, just nodding and getting to your feet once he had his jacket on. Over the last hour or so your umbrella had dried sufficiently for you to put it away in your bag, Tom noted, both of your hands wonderfully free by your sides. He opened the door for you again, and you waited while he stood there holding it open for an elderly man to shuffle past into the restaurant without so much as a glance at Tom. He frowned as the man passed, but didn't say anything, holding the door open until he was fully over the threshold - obviously, he wasn't going to drop the door on him. You were watching the man too, murmuring 'you're welcome' once it was clear he wasn't going to say thank you. That sort of thing would normally have annoyed Tom, because really there's no excuse for bad manners, but just then he didn't really care, because you smiled as you looked back over your shoulder at him, and he slipped his hand into yours when he came level with you. You bit your lip, but he could see out of the corner of his eye that you were smiling almost as wide as he was.

You walked hand in hand back the way you had come, towards the center of town where the buses went from, a comfortable silence between you as the wind whipped around your bodies.

"You getting the bus home?" you asked as a bus stand came into view.

"Mmhmm," he hummed. "You?"

"Nah I'll get a taxi, bus that goes to mine stops at ten."

Tom looked at his watch, surprised to see it was well past half-ten.

"Shit, sorry, you should have said I-"

"No no," you cut him off, shaking your head with a soft smile. "It's fine, I was having fun, y'know."

You were approaching the bus stop by then, and he was about to say he had fun too, until he saw his bus go past out of the corner of his eye.

"I think that was my bus."

Real smooth.

"Oh."

"They're like, every fifteen minutes though." He checked the live departure board, even though he knew there'd be another one soon, but he could feel you looking at him so he had to do something. "Yeah, due in thirteen minutes."

"Cool." You nodded when he glanced at you. "Should we-" you gestured to the bench under the shelter "-I don't mind waiting."

You dropped his hand as you both sat down, crossing your legs towards him and tugging your skirt down a bit.

"Thanks. But yeah, I, uh, I had fun too."

Your tongue flicked out over your lips, pulling the bottom one between your teeth as you smiled. You must have put lipgloss or something on while he was in the bathroom at the restaurant, because your lips were glistening, little flecks of glitter making them look so plump, so inviting...

"Ahhh-"

A gust of wind blew through the bus shelter, pushing your hair across your face. You brushed it away, but a strand or two stayed stuck to your lips, clearly as drawn to them as he was. Muttering under your breath, you tried to pull them away, but couldn't quite get them.

Cute. Too cute.

Tom chuckled, reaching out and pulling the hairs aside, tucking them behind your ear. His fingers grazed over your cold cheek, and he couldn't have asked for a better opportunity really, so he cupped your jaw instead of dropping his hand back into his lap.

"Thanks," you breathed, and Tom felt more than saw your lips move, because they were right under his, your warmth breath ghosting across them before they connected.

It was different than before - last time was just a peck, really, closed-lipped and chaste. This was more, your lips parting slightly and working with his own. He went to pull back after a moment, but your hand on his thigh stopped him, made him move his hand from your jaw down to the back of your neck. You leaned into him, your lips prising his further apart until your tongue slipped delicately into his mouth. You tasted minty and sweet and vaguely like vanilla - which was ironic, Tom thought.

Or he would have, if he'd been thinking at all, and not entirely consumed with how you were kissing him and how your hand was gently squeezing his thigh and then, oh, you pulled away.

You laughed breathily, your hair whipping against his hand as another blast of wind blustered through. Tom swallowed, glancing between your eyes, down to your lips, and back to your eyes, and all he could think was that he really didn't want to stop kissing you.

"Is this-"

He didn't even get to say "okay?" before you were humming against his lips. He laughed into the kiss, feeling you smiling back.

"Cool."

⋘FIVE | SEVEN ⋙

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