#enjoooooy

"... y-yes?"

"it's alright if you don't want that type of intimacy." his touch lingers, palming skirting down your body until he delicately takes your hands in his much larger ones. "now, or ever. I'm happy to have you however you're comfortable."

you nearly groan but suppress it. you shake your head. and you curse as you feel the telltale burning in your sinuses.

your tongue feels too thick in your mouth, "it's not that i don't want to."

in fact, you really, really wanted to. you had imagined it any number of times, in any number of circumstances. potential intimacy with nanami had been a late-night comfort and a fantasy you'd kept to your chest in your most heated, private moments. you'd thought about how he'd kiss you— whether he'd be gentle or more firm with you. you'd thought about where he’d kiss you— where you wanted him to kiss.

the execution of such fantasies, however, was far more difficult.

nanami pulls you from your thoughts with a soft call of your name, "is there any way that i can help? perhaps make your more comfortable, or talk things through with you."

god, the bastard was so kind, it almost stung. in a good way, like ice on a swelling bruise.

you take him up on his offer, ducking your head and chewing on your words. choosing them felt like a herculean task— verbalizing such complex feelings for another to understand felt like trying to digest heavy metals.

"i've thought about kissing you a lot." you admit, so softly you nearly miss it yourself. "like a lot. i c-care about you a lot. and i want so much with you physically. i just—"

nanami squeezes your hands encouragingly, rubbing over your knuckles.

"i'm scared." you quickly correct yourself. "not of you-l— not at all. the idea of letting anyone so close to me is terrifying."

you exhale a breath, an old, long and deep one, that you hadn't been aware you'd been holding.

"why are you afraid?" nanami prods, not digging or prying, but inquisitive.

you shake your head, trying to parse through your words once more. you hardly notice how you shrink yourself. how you wind up your body so quickly. how your shoulders rise and your posture goes rigid. you don't notice how strained your knuckles become.

(nanami does.)

"i'm afraid i'll get hurt."

you say it simply, expecting some sort of retaliation. exposing your belly to the beast that is intimacy, potential ridicule and dismissal. you don't know (you don't think) nanami has claws to tear your guts out with, but you could never be sure. people show their true colors so, so easily when you speak with your chest—

"i think that's an incredibly valid thing to be afraid of," nanami squeezes your hands, gingerly beginning to pull them from the knot of fingers and fists they'd become. "and i imagine, that you perhaps have experiences that make this feeling remarkably rational."

god, were you that easy to read?

part of you wants to spit at nanami, claw at him, for making any sort of assertion about your... past, or whatever. he doesn't know shit. why would he make assumptions? why—

another part of you, one you are very proud of, soothes the other. you know why you're so coiled and ready to snarl. you also know, that you are safe. there is no threat, just you and nanami, sitting on rumpled sheets and surrounded by objects you'd built your comfort in.

the combination of those parts gives nanami just a simple shard of information, laden with plenty that he can infer.

you nod, validating his assertion.

"i try really hard," your voice wobbles and you let it, "to not let those experiences dictate how i feel and approach you, kento."

"still," he rubs over your wrists. "you can't expect to forget or erase things that have affected you profoundly."

"... okay, yeah," you let yourself be a bit petulant and huff, "but it'd be easier that way."

nanami chuckles, breaking the tension in the room by a fraction and it eases you, "it would be, but rather than imagine a reality where that unlikelihood happens, i'd rather not let you bear these things alone."

you know he's right, even if its hard to swallow. your throat feels dry and your eyes feel too fucking wet—

"it's hard to share them."

"you don't have to share them." nanami coaxes you to look up, helping you unfurl bit by bit. "you don't have to tell me about the things that have hurt you in such a way. i wouldn't, and couldn't , ever ask that of you. what i do ask is that you let me support you where you can, and that you trust me to do so. if i can ease you, i want to. i want to help you feel good."

"... really?" you don't ask to question the truth of his words, but rather out of your own disbelief.

you finally meet his eyes, really do, and you can see the barest hints of a genuine smile. it punches you in the chest in the best way.

"really." his fingers are intertwined with yours, and you weren't sure when it happened. but, it does feel wholly right. good, even.

"... and what can i do for you?" you feel the need to return whatever favor he's doing for you.

"this is not a transaction. you owe me nothing in terms of what you can 'do for me'," he gives you a mournful look, though it only last a moment. "i only ask that you trust me to support you whenever i can and that you communicate your needs and wants to me. i will do the same."

"that..." oh my god, you're gonna fucking cry, aren't you? "sounds nice."

hard, maybe. but even now, settling into the idea that you could be cared for and have another looking out for you, put balm onto a wound you hadn't realized was still weeping. it wasn't a sensation you were used to. it made your skin crawl, in a soul-starved way. in a way that craved the heat and warmth you'd been denying yourself of, in a way you convinced was necessary for survival.

but, perhaps, you deserve to live.

"I'm glad," nanami has such a pretty smile. it's what breaks the damn, fat tears spilling down your cheeks. "thank you for letting me hear you."

"y-yeah, of course," you wipe at your tears with the heel of your palm before nanami takes over, thumbs swiping just below your eyes. "can i try k-kissing you?"

nanami hums, scooting closer by a fraction, but not enough to spook you, "i'd like that very much."

so, you do.

you stretch to him, and he leans down to you. it's a chaste thing, the touch of his lips against yours. you know the motions, remember it, but it's not as hungry as you once felt. you weren't looking to be burned alive, you were looking to settle by the hearth with someone you cared about.

with shaking hands, you cup his jaw, angling yourself to deepen the kiss. nanami braces a hand against your ribs and another against your cheek. it's firm, but not insistent or greedy. his kiss is sweet, lips softer than you would've thought.

you pull away when you feel yourself begin to shake. whether its tears or nerves, you can't be sure. but you don't feel bad.

fuck, you might even feel good. really good.

"come here," nanami beckons. "can i hold you?"

it's tempting.

try, the kindest part of you urges. if you don't like it, you can always say so.

you move to be thigh to thigh with nanami, and he wraps an arm around your shoulder. it gives you space to pull away, but more than enough touch to be sated.

held. it feels foreign, despite not being new. but, it's good. you lay your head against his shoulder, and, finally, let yourself sag. rest into him. not entirely, but enough that it feels so sublimely good, it keeps your tears flowing.

"how did that feel?" nanami asks with a squeeze.

"good." you say simply, saying far more as you reach down to take his hand in your own.

"would you like to do that again in the future?" he noses your temple.

you let lean into it, into him, "i really, really would."

You’ve been ‘dating’ the actor for eight months now. And by ‘dating’, you mean faking a relationship with him. It was your PR team’s idea: you were both young, single and working together in the Marvel Cinematic Universe - what better PR stunt for the films than to have you both pretend to date for a few months? You were already friends - why not take it a step further?

It’d taken a lot of convincing to get both you and Tom on side, but eventually you’d been won over. When it was just hypothetical situations in boardrooms, the severity of the situation had seemed less than it did now. So when you’d eventually agreed to the arrangement, you hadn’t truly understood the magnitude of just what you were signing. Because as it turned out, you weren’t just signing to create a fake relationship - you were also signing away your heart.

See, before you started ‘dating’, you were only friends with Tom. Close friends, but friends nonetheless. It was never anything more. But once you started acting out the motions of something more - holding hands, being closer, kissing - you found your feelings growing for him. So now as well as lying to everyone in your life about your love life, you’ve also fallen completely and inexplicably in love with your best friend.

The only silver lining is that tonight marks the end of your contract, and with the conclusion of the premiere of Tom’s latest film comes the end of your relationship. A breakup is scheduled for next week, and with that, you’ll finally have your freedom.

But do you really want this all to end?

“Y/N! Tom! Over here!”

The cries from the hordes of journalists fill your ears and you blink quickly, realising you’ve been lost in your thoughts. Thankfully Tom still has an arm wrapped around your waist, so you concentrate on fixing a smile to your face as he chooses which news outlet to visit.

The first is a man, around thirty, and he’s very quick to shove a microphone in your face as soon as you approach him. “Good evening Y/N, Tom,” he greets, his bleached teeth glistening menacingly. “Congrats on the film, Tom.”

From the corner of your eye, you see Tom smile. “Thank you very much,” he replies.

“I have a few questions, if you don’t mind me holding you up.” When Tom shakes his head, the interviewer dives into a few about the film. He soon circles back to you, and you find your nerves bristling when his beady eyes settle over your face. “I see you’ve decided to bring the lovely Y/N with you tonight,” he observes, “Was that your decision?”

You feel Tom’s grip on your waist tighten. “Yeah,” he answers, nodding along. “I had a plus-one, so it made sense to bring her.” He looks at you, and you meet his cheerful gaze. “Who else would I want but my lovely girlfriend?”

The interviewer chuckles. “You’re a very attractive couple,” he compliments, “How are things going? Is a proposal on the cards?” You can tell he’s buzzing with excitement as he tries to get the latest scoop. As annoying as it is, you can understand why: in the eight months you’ve been ‘dating’, the world has gone mad for you and Tom. Your fans seem to live for updates on you both, and any new details about your relationship would be a hot story.

Tom releases an awkward laugh. “Things are going well,” he answers. He trails off and you recognise the way his grip stiffens, so quickly jump in to save him.

“I’m just happy I could be here tonight to support him,” you say, bringing a hand up to pat his shoulder. “I’m so proud of Tom and his film.”

The interviewer nods curtly, and you’re quickly ushered along to the next media stand.

This continues for the rest of the night. Though you try desperately to urge the topic of conversation onto Tom and how incredible his film has turned out, all anyone seems to care about is the both of you. So you find yourself wishing, not for the first time, that you’d never signed the stupid agreement. He deserves more than you being the most interesting part of the premiere.

By the time you’re ushered into the cinema to watch the screening, you feel thoroughly worn out. It’s tiring business, having to answer question after question about a relationship that isn’t even real - not to mention frustrating.

“Are you okay?” Tom asks as soon as you’ve slipped into the comfortable cinema seats. He nudges your arm with his elbow, his eyebrows furrowed together in concern.

You shake your head. “I hate this,” you repeat. “This is supposed to be your night, Tom,” you whine. “It’s not fair that they only care about this relationship.”

He chuckles lowly. “I know,” he murmurs, accent sweet. “But I knew it’d be like this.” When you give him a confused look, he elaborates, “It was like this at Infinity War, and then again when you had your film come out a few months ago. The world just...really likes us, I guess. And it isn’t fair, but I knew it’d happen. Hopefully, once the film is out, attention will shift onto that.”

You frown, but find your lips tugged into a smile when he passes you a popcorn bucket. “Still,” you mumble, “You deserve more than this.”

He meets your eyes, and for a moment you’re blown away by the sight of his coffee orbs. “So do you.”

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The rest of the night goes by smoothly. You end up snuggled to his side as the film progresses, and each time he comes on screen, you find your thoughts wandering to darker places. With the warmth of your best friend seeping into your side, you can’t help but occasionally grow a little tearful. The thought that this - acting so touchy and feely with Tom - ends next week makes you sad. Because as much as you hate aspects of the faked relationships, when he’s touching you, it feels real.

It feels real as you go to the afterparty and spend an hour dancing together, his hands fixed onto your waist. It feels real as you’re photographed together, his arms wrapped around your body as you kiss his cheek. It feels real as he joins you back at your place and he closes the door on the paparazzi, and the both of you grin softly at the other.

You hate a lot about the arrangement, but what you detest the most is the fact that you don’t hate him. It’d be so much easier to frolic around with Tom if the sight of his face didn’t cause your heart to feel butterflies, and a lot easier if your feelings didn’t run deeper than platonic.

It’d be a lot easier if you hadn’t fallen in love with him.

“I’m so tired,” Tom exclaims as he starts to kick his shoes off. You follow suit as you hang your bag and jacket up on the pegs by your door, your bloodstream running high on adrenaline and alcohol. “‘S been such a long night.”

You hum in agreement as you pad through to your kitchen, grabbing a glass of water as he stumbles after you. It’s just after two in the morning, and you’re also starting to feel the burn of fatigue.

Much to your surprise, instead of collapsing down onto your sofa like he’s done a thousand times before, Tom follows you into the kitchen. He wraps his arms around you as you swallow deep gulps of water, and his nimble fingers brush your hair away from your neck as he buries his face in the crook of it. You giggle softly as he kisses over your shoulder, but feel confusion grow nonetheless.

“How much have you had to drink?” You ask, suddenly wondering if you were incorrect in the estimation that he’d only had two beers at the afterparty.

“Two,” he murmurs, “Can’t feel them anymore though.”

You take a final sip of your water before putting the glass down and turning in his arms, feeling him press you against the counter. It’s with wide eyes that you finally realise how close you are, and as he brings a hand up to cup your face, you feel yourself melt into his touch.

“What are you doing?” You whisper softly, feeling his other hand caress your side gently. Tom’s face is close, his lips soft and inviting, and his eyes seem to be nervously skating around your face.

“Jus’ trying to take it all in,” he murmurs, running his fingers over your face.

“Take what in?”

He smiles. “You.”

Your heart pulses in your chest as you feel the familiar pang of longing fill your heart. You let him continue to trace his hands over your body, warm palms smoothing over every inch he can get at: your arms, your hands, your hair, your face. You turn into putty in his hands as he maps your figure with his fingertips, all whilst watching you with adoration floating around his eyes. The moment feels delicate, so you stay absolutely still, wishing that you could stay wrapped in his arms for eternity.

It’s when he leans in to kiss you that you feel confusion spike through your body. You respond, of course, craving the feeling of his lips gliding over yours, but it bewilders you completely. You’ve never kissed in private - it’s always been out in public - and the contract has technically finished, so...why is he kissing you?

“Tom,” you murmur, pulling back a little. You keep your forehead resting against his, and try not to melt when you feel his hands grab at your waist. “What are you doing?”

He sighs quietly. “I don’t want to let this go,” he admits, voice rumbling up his throat. “I don’t want this to end.” He takes your hand in his and squeezes your fingers. “Y/N, I- I don’t know how to say this without risking everything we have, but I- I think I’ve fallen in love with you.”

When you fail to respond, he looks alarmed. “It’s all the- all the café dates and the hand-holding and this trust we’ve built up. You were my best friend before this, but now… Now it feels like you’ve turned into my soulmate, and I know this is all fake, but maybe it doesn’t have to be.”

You gulp. “You… You love me?” You echo quietly. You can’t believe what you’re hearing.

“Yeah?” He says hesitantly. Your face is blank, but for the life of you, you can’t seem to convey how ecstatic you feel about this revelation. Instead, you stand stoically still, reeling from the confession, and wondering if this is real or simply a cruel trick of the universe. “I should go,” Tom breathes out. He hurriedly drops your hands and steps away, “I- I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry. Please- forget this ever happened, Y/N.”

You stare after him as he goes to grab his jacket, and it’s the movement of him starting to slip it on that has you startling to action.

“No!” You call out, springing forwards. “I love you, please don’t go.”

Tom stills, his fingers clenching around his jacket. “You don’t have to pretend to save my feelings,” he murmurs.

You shake your head as you jog over to him, pulling his jacket from his hands and hurriedly hanging it back up. “Don’t go,” you beg, pulling him further into your living room. He looks hesitant, but you’re determined. You’re not about to give him up, not when things are so close to working out. Not when the stars have finally aligned.

“I don’t understand-”

You pause his words by uniting your lips, kissing him with all you have as your fingers go to fist his curls, tugging him close. His muffled sound of surprise drifts into your mouth as his hands settle on your waist, holding you to him as he kisses you back. The kiss is alight with passion, and you try to convey how much you love him as your lips glide over his, clinging to him as if your life depends on it.

“I love you, Thomas Stanley,” you whisper against his lips. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, but these past eight months have been torture for me. Having to- to act all loved up and couple-y with you and then go back to being friends… It’s killed me.” You brush a strand of his hair from his face. “I fell in love with you. I am in love with you.”

Tom bites his lip, his face overcome with emotion for a brief second. “Every time I kissed you, it ripped my heart apart. All I wanted to do was have you as my real girlfriend, and do all those things with you. I want- I want to go to red carpets with you, and go out for ice cream with you, and make cringey Instagram posts with you. I want it all. I want it to be real.”

You nod, grinning from ear to ear as you hear him gush about you. Everything he says resonates deep within you, and you can’t believe that such a complicated situation has ended with you both here - feeling the same, wanting the same, needing the same.

“Let’s make it real,” you whisper, leaning up to kiss him softly. “I want it to be real.”

He nods, grinning peacefully as he takes you in his arms and pulls you into a tight embrace. “I love you,” he says into your hair.

You press your face into the crook of his neck as you giggle softly, squeezing the living daylights out of his torso. “”N I love you too,” you whisper, leaving a sweet kiss to the base of his neck. “So much.”

He presses his warm lips to your forehead, and the feeling in your heart is like coming home. “Never letting you go,” he mumbles.

You grin as you collapse fully into his arms, happiness swirling around every inch of your body. “I never want you to.”

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