Harry Holland: the cliché

You and your best friend Tom Holland were at your downtown flat, preparing for your monthly movie night. Due to your constant clashing schedules, the consistent date kept you two in sync. As soon as Tom walked across the threshold into your flat, you knew that something was up. He was fidgeting more than usual and kept opening his mouth like he needed to say something, but closed without uttering a word.

"Oh, by the way," Tom said, causally jumping up on your countertop, watching you peek into the oven on the frozen pizza. "You have umm.. plans for next weekend." He fiddles with the chain loosely placed around his neck, and avoids your gaze.

"really?!" You glance over at him and notice his strange behavior. "I thought I was going to be 'so lonley' because you and Harry were going to that concert... You've been talking about it all month." You look at him with an arched eyebrow, coaxing him to explain. "You have a hot date worth canceling or something?"

"Actually, it's you going on the hot date..."

You suddenly look up from the cups of water previously holding your attention.

"Hold up. Come again?" You say, cupping your free hand to your ear.

"I may have accidentally arranged an important meeting on the night of the concert. But I told him you'd go with him instead..." Tom quickly muttered, holding his breath and hoping that the faster he said it, the faster it'd be over.

Your eyes grew the size of saucers as you stared slack-jawed at your best friend. The water cups slick with perspiration slipped out of your grip and fell to the hardwood floors with a *CLUNK*. Tears filled your eyes as you tore the towel from your oven handle and kneeled down to mop up the mess you'd made.

"y/n...?" Tom inquired softly, dropping from

your countertop to the floor where you sat and looked into your overflowing eyes. He grasped your frantic hands in one of his strong ones and tipped your chin to him.

You try to shoot daggers at his sympathetic face through your tears but failed miserably.

"Oh, darling..." He pulls you to his chest and you sob gratefully in his arms, curled in his lap. His string arms engulf you, making you feel secure, and grateful for his presence.

"I thought you'd be happier about this, love!" Tom chuckled, handing you the already wet towel to wipe your nose and eyes. You blew your nose loudly and exhaled with an exasperated sigh.

"I don't know, Tom..." you sighed, half attempting to wipe the rest of the floor, and standing up with the empty water glasses. "I kind of just freaked. I really wasn't expecting to hear those words from you tonight." You pulled Tom up and looked him over as he did the same to you. He was soaking wet. His light jeans looked fresh out of the washer, and his grey t shirt cling to his chest, highlighting his muscles due to obvious hours of training.

Tom reaches around you grabbing the cups you failed to fill and poured soda in them instead.

"But aren't you glad you have a way to get to know him better?!" He glanced at you with a worried look, hoping to ease your stressed out one.

"Tom, I'm only a replacement!" you whip around, facing him. You couldn't tell if you were mad at him for springing this on you, or exasperated that he didn't see your side. "I hoped that our first date would be planned! Ya know... with the cute awkward decision making, preparing for days beforehand... And he would voluntarily go with me! You didn't leave him much room for a choice here..." Turning back to the oven, you bend down and remove the pizza. Tom stands next to you, retrieving paper plates from the cabinet above your head.

"Well I wasn't really supposed to mention anything to you..." Tom sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. Sensing your curious stare, he crumbled and said, "Haz and I have been paying attention to the way he acts when we say your name, or talk about you with Mum." He glances down at his feet and simultaneously wiggles his toes and eyebrows.

"Got something to add, Holland?" You ask coyly, sliding slices of pizza onto the plates he had placed on the island.

"Well Haz thinks he might like you. But I'm always looking for clues that aren't there..." he shrugs, picking up the plates and walking to the couch in the adjacent room.

"You know what Tom? I can't begin to warp my mind around this right now. Boy drama will not wreck another one of our movie nights." You say, angrily slamming the cabinets shut with a dramatic flare. "I need one thing to make me feel a little bit better, and no, you don't have a say."

"Please don't say that bloody stereotypic-"

"THE PRINCESS BRIDE"

"Please not again y/n/n"

"Nope! You forfeited your choosing rights when you told me about that I'm going to a concert with your little brother against my will." you protest, plopping next to your stupid best friend in front of the TV "Besides, you always love it by the end"

"Maybe... but that's not the point"

The night slowly droned on between Tom complaining about the terrible movie quality and you defending Westly and Buttercup's love. Your Harry-related worries we're pushed to the back of your mind. Of course, until Tom left. Then they just jumped in your face again, calling for desperate measures.

Your flat always seemed twice as quiet once company leaves. Your constant bustle of university, work, and a half-assed social life were always your excuses to never getting fully settled into this space. Despite the Holland family's protests, you denied their offers to help you unpack. The boxes of unnecessary nick-knacks gave you a sense of adventure.

Glancing at the piles of uncompleted packing, your hands full of candy wrappers and paper plates, the news that Tom had draped on your shoulders sunk in. Placing the rubbish in the bin, you begun to pace the length of your flat.

Was this really such a bad thing? I mean obviously the circumstances weren't great, but you'd be going somewhere! With the man that you liked! You convinced yourself that, at least for now, you didn't need to get revenge on Tom. After the "date" though... that might be debated.