#was so frustrated w this proj but i love it now

[hollandandi]

“you weren’t supposed to hear that.”

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entry for @underoosbws’s 3k writing challenge!🧠💓

tom or peter

type - mostly angst, some fluff🧠💓

word count - 2.5k

warnings - swearing/language

w/n; sorry I’ve been absent lately! family drama has been in my head! enjoy this! and let me know your thoughts, please!💓

tag-list; @therealme13posts @crxssourbones @space-starz

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It had been two weeks since the secrets began filling the hallways, and each room of your shared apartment. It soon began infiltrating your phone, messages being deleted shortly after you pressed the send button and saw the ‘delivered’ font appear briefly. You would glance over to the brunette boy who would sit on the couch, zoned into whatever show was playing at the time of the day, before gently tapping details of the plan into your notes section, and sending screenshots to your closest friends to ensure the idea was bulletproof.

You spent your days online. Reading success stories of similar situations, and researching current trends to ensure you were going about it the right way. You would clear your history after any searches, and would log out of Amazon after any purchases. Your laptop went everywhere you did, and your phone suddenly had a passcode on it.

You felt guilty at times; confiding in your best friend over FaceTime on a Thursday night, in a cropped hoodie and pyjama shorts, but when Tom arrived home early one day, and heard you muttering things like “I just don’t know if this a good idea anymore,” and “I feel bad,” followed by you quickly ending the call when you heard his footsteps along the wooden floor of the main hallway, he finally lost it.

“What the hell are you hiding from me?!” He yelled, spitting anger throughout his tone. “I am tired of this, Y/N! You could not be more god damn secretive!” He raised his arms in a mix of exhaustion and frustration, before bringing them back down to his sides in a swift motion. His head shook, making his hair follow, while he looked up to you with dark eyes, that were equal parts hurt as they were mad. You stood there quietly for a few seconds after the latter outburst, and you stepped closer to him in an attempt to reduce the tension between your two bodies, which were simply standing in your shared loosely-lit bedroom. “I’m sorry, Tommy. It’s nothing, I promise. I’m just researching for a school proj-.”

“Bullshit, Y/N! If you want to lie to me, then at-least have some fucking respect, and don’t do it straight to my face.” He almost yelled, but his tone was more controlled now. His voice was laced with pure exasperation as he expressed his final comment, before turning around, shaking his head once more and slamming the door behind him.

By the time you had pulled open the wooden door which physically separated you, though, the front door was closed too. The handle was jittering due to the force he had used to slam it shut, and your face dropped. Your hands shook lightly, as you pulled them up to run through your slightly greasy hair - your gaze not leaving the closed door he had placed between you both. You sighed deeply, hoping he would not be out for long, so you made your shared-bed, turned on the lamp, and stayed up reading a book he had brought you from his last travel. But your initial hope was wrong; Tom didn’t come home that night.

The next day came, which happened to be a Thursday, and it was now the afternoon - but the morning had dragged you slower than you could have ever imagined. You didn’t know when he would be home, and after several morning hours doing unproductive activities, which included six cups of hot tea; you decided to try and at-least get some of your initial plans to progress. You opened your shared wardrobe, before rummaging through the jacket section and pulling out a large plastic box with three letters scribbled on the side. “Tom.”

As you laid all of the contents out on the living room rug, your body in a crossed leg position, you realised the situation was getting hectic. You attempted to continue the work independently at first, but it wasn’t long until you called a familiar face to help you along. To your surprise, Harrison was free. Majority of your thoughts assumed Tom would be with him, drinking an afternoon beer and expressing his irritations he had accumulated lately.

“No - he’s not here. I can definitely come over and help: we only have a few days left so if you need help, I’m there.” He smiled through the phone, before leaving his apartment and arriving at yours in around fifteen minutes. A couple of hours went by - scissors, glitter, glue, paper, sharpies and string were littered over the carpet. You had laid newspaper down, but it didn’t help that much - glitter was always going to end up everywhere. You were on your phone, ensuring people were still okay to join you on Saturday evening, which you received numerous ‘yes’ replies to, making you smile and feel a lot less nervous.

All was content, and as Harrison helped you pack the previous items, along with new creations, into the plastic container that usually lived in the wardrobe, you finalised a few things that were on your mind. And as the snap sound of the container plastic rang through both of your ears, you didn’t manage to hear the normally all-too-familiar car lock from outside the studio apartment.

Tom made his way to the front door, placing his key within the lock compartment before turning it clockwise to produce a faint ‘click’ unlocking noise, and pushing the door open slightly. He expected the sounds of a Netflix show to be ringing through the building, imagining you sitting on the couch, eating popcorn, either crying over a character death, or laughing at a joke. What he didn’t expect, however, was the sounds of his girlfriend and his best friend, laughing lightly and expressing future plans.

“And you’re still free on Saturday night?” You expressed, moving the box to a couch cushion, ready to be placed back in the bedroom once Harrison had left.

“All fine - I can’t wait, if I’m honest. Today has got me really excited.” He grinned, moving his jacket sleeves back down now any glue on his hands and arms had dried.

“Okay, great.” You smiled softly, tucking a piece of loose hair back in your ponytail carefully. “But remember, no telling Tom.” You looked seriously at him, your eyes not leaving his until he nodded and replied. “I know, I know. I won’t - I promise.” He stood up, stretching his legs out as he helped you with any loose rubbish you two had produced.

“Someone want to tell me why the fuck not?” A voice echoed through the hallway, and into the usually happy, laughter-filled living room. You heard the front door shut, along with the sound of a jacket being flung across the stair bannister, before footsteps marched along the wooden floor. “No telling Tom? Are you fucking serious?” He exclaimed, scoffing slightly as he spoke.

“Oh my, Tom, you, you weren’t supposed to hear that.” You stuttered, your eyes slightly wider before as you froze in your tracks, your eyes quickly glancing to the box that was still resting on the grey couch that was centred in the room.

“No shit. Why the fuck would I want to hear my best friend and my girlfriend making fucking secret plans?” He yelled now, looking at Harrison, before his gaze flicked to you, seeing your eyes drop, hurt filling them from his tone of voice.

“Tom, trust me, it’s nothing bad.” Harrison followed, stepping towards him and placing a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down. Tom quickly shrugged it off, pushing it with his rough right hand, before looking at you, seeing you glance to the box again, trying to turn it with your hip so it was less out of sight.

“What the fuck is in there then? Hm? Clearly it’s got your bloody attention more than the current situation!” Tom’s eyes were dark now, more of a black than a brown. His jaw was tight, and veins were pulsing in his neck and arms as he began to storm over to the couch. Your instinct was to move in front of the box, facing him as your put your arms on his chest. You didn’t push him, but it was more of a physical barrier as you attempted to plead, while attempting to diffuse the situation in anyway you could. “Tom, really, it’s nothing. Just some stuff I’ve cleared out, I’m going to throw them away in a minute!” You let out, trying to move your head to stop his line of sight being available on the contents of the transparent box. This quickly frustrated him even more though, if that was even possible, proved by him grabbing your hands from his chest and pushing them down before moving you to the left of him and ripping off the grey, plastic lid.

He had no idea what to expect in the contents. His thoughts had been all over the place in the last twenty-four hours. It began with the cliché; lingerie, photographs, love letters, romantic gifts, all from other people, or simply, another guy. It moved to other ideas, some a lot more far-fetched than others - at one point the idea of you being an assassin popped up in his mind, but he quickly dismissed this, drank more of his beer, and moved onto a more rational idea, like you contemplating on different ways to break up with him. Advice columns on how to make break-ups easy, good lines to use when doing it, what to expect in the aftermath, etc. His eyebrows were raised, and his lip was bit - almost bleeding due to the pressure he was placing on it. His grip on the lid was tight, his knuckles practically bulging from his skin as he inhaled sharply and opened his eyes to see what the last two weeks had bubbled over for.

What he did not expect, though, was a box full of handmade, glittery banners that read expressions such as “Happy Birthday!”, tens of packets of party poppers, hundreds of metres of different colour streamers, too many balloons to count, and small packets of confetti and place-cards with family and friend’s names carefully written onto them. An invitation card laid on-top, one that had “Tom” written on the top row, with a small wink drawn next to it. After the typical line, ‘You are invited to the birthday party of...’, there was a three letter word, revealing the true intentions of his girlfriend in the past weeks. It explained the secrets, the quickly ended phone calls, the secretive texts, the consistent Amazon packages arriving at the door from places such as “PartiesRUs”, and finally, the all-nighters you had pulled throughout the time.

‘You are invited to the birthday party of...you.’

“I told you, you weren’t supposed to hear us.” You sighed, feeling slightly defeated - the cat was out of the bag. He knew, the surprise was gone.

Two months ago, on a Sunday morning, as the morning sun shone brightly through the curtains next to your shared bed, onto the white duvet cover you were both under, Tom expressed to you that he hadn’t had a birthday party in three years. Due to work, the difficulty to get a date everyone was available for, and one year, pure stupidity, the event had been missed. As soon as his confession left his lips, a plan formed in your mind. You checked his calendar app that night, while he was showering, choosing a date he was free and selecting the ‘busy’ option, but left the event blank.

As two weeks passed, secrets were filling the hallways of your apartment, along with his parent’s home, his friend’s homes, his colleagues’ homes and those of your family too. Each room of your shared apartment had hidden compartments, featuring essential additions to the date. Your bathroom had a basket of receipts under the sink, your kitchen had RSVP’d invitations in an blank envelope, pinned to the board next to the fridge, and your bedroom had a plastic container of decorations, some handmade by you and Harrison.

He dropped the invitation gently into the box, before turning around to face the girl he had yelled at two nights in a row. His eyebrows returned to their usual position, and his jaw loosened. His face dropped, his mouth parting slightly as his shoulders slumped. “I’m so,” He expressed slowly, “shit, my love, I’m so sorry.” He softly held your hand, standing close to you, before looking up to his best friend that was also standing beside him.

“Haz, I’m sorry too. My mind - it just, jumped to the worst conclusions.” He sighed, running his free-hand through his hair, as Harrison smiled sympathetically, patting his shoulder. “No hard feelings mate; we were probably a little too secretive. I’ll leave you two it, though.” He smiled at you, receiving a soft, and thankful, one back from you, before he nodded at Tom, and made his way out of the room.

“Love, I really am sorry - I just, my mind started racing; after all the things you were doing, and the call the other night.” His eyes dropped significantly, and you didn’t know whether you saw them water a little bit. “I thought you were planning on leaving me, especially after you were telling people you felt bad.” He sighed, moving his hair from his forehead, pushing it back. “I should have known you were planning something harmless, something thoughtful in-fact, so fucking thoughtful. But I had to come in and start yelling, screaming and just fucking the whole thing up. I can’t believe I’m such a idi-.”

His words were interrupted by your lips on his, pressing gently, with your right hand softly resting against his chest. He leant into the kiss, but didn’t harden it - this kiss was loving, but calm. It was a ‘I forgive you,’ kinda kiss, and it was all that he could hope for. His right hand laid on your hip, with his left cupping your cheek gently as the kiss continued for a few more seconds. As you slowly pried yourself from his lips, a soft smile curled on the corners of your lips once you saw he was grinning slightly, and a sigh of relief emerged from his lips. You gently nudged his shoulder with your fist, shaking your head jokefully before looking up to his gaze again.

“You’re half-forgiven. You’ll get the other half if I’m happy with your fake-surprised face on Saturday.” You laughed lightly, slowly taking the lid from the couch and clipping it back onto the box carefully. “And until then, no freaking out at me.”

“Deal.” He agreed, a smile plastered on his face as you hid the box behind the jackets, closing the wardrobe and walking back into the living room, where your slightly silly boyfriend was still standing.

“Okay, now show me your surprised face.”

“Bloody hell, that is awful, aren’t you supposed to be an actor or something?”

“Fuck off.” He laughed loudly, collaborating with an eruption of giggles from your lips. He may be a complete idiot, but at-least he was yours.

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