Word count: 1520

"And we were all laughing so hard! It was the best you should have seen it!" Your boyfriend laughed loudly, turning to you. You sat crisscrossed on the bed, patiently listening to him tell you about his day. Picking at your nails, you added the occasional half-hearted fake laugh, or 'cool'.

"An-and then, Zendaya and I went to lunch-"

"Wait. You mean you Haz and Zendaya went to lunch? Or Jacob went with you." You cut him off, mid sentence. When he was filming Homecoming two years ago, all you ever heard was Zendaya this, or Zendaya that. It drove you mad. The past year, following the release of the film, had been much better. Tom was still busy filming movies, but at the very least, he spent all of his free time with you, not Zendaya. And it's not that you didn't like Zendaya. She was always so sweet. But she didn't realise the pain it caused you to see her almost replace you in Tom's affections. So you can see why you'd have a problem with Tom going out alone with this girl that he was seemingly infatuated with.

"No." Tom continued, "It was just me and Z. So anyway, we went out to lunch and..." you stopped listening to him, and focused instead on the disappearing amount of midnight blue polish on your fingertips.

Now it's not like they were having an affair or anything... I mean Tom isn't stupid enough to cheat on you, then talk nonstop about the girl, no. If they were, then he'd never talk about her, just pretend she meant nothing to him. But he wasn't doing that. He was obsessed with her. All you ever heard was Zendaya. Even on dates, he'd bring her up at every possible chance. It was sickening. You loved Tom, you did. But it was torture, waiting to see him all day, only to be bombarded by that name.

After a few seconds, minutes, hours, you didn't know, Tom poked you. "Hey? You okay? I asked you a question."

"Oh yeah, I'm fine, sorry," you mumbled, avoiding eye contact, "Just distracted. What did you ask?"

"I wanted to know how your day was."

"Oh. It was good." You responded, as politely as you could muster.

"C'mon, if something's bothering you, just tell me!" He told you, hand resting on your back.

"Really, love, I'm fine." You put on your fakest smile, and hoped it would be enough to fool him.

"I know how to get it out of you," Tom warned, pulling you onto his lap, tickling your torso.

"Tom stop really! That tickles!" You protested, flailing around in his strong grasp. He stopped tickling you, turning you around so you faced him.

Gently kissing your nose, he asked, "Are you sure you're good?"

You nodded, suddenly remembering why you loved him. Because he may have been droning on and on about Zendaya, but that didn't mean that he didn't love you anymore.

It was the next week, and you were trying to prepare the best meal you could for date night. Wiping sweat from your brow, you flipped through the cookbook, scanning the instructions.

"Okay, remove sauce from heat, and sprinkle in salt," you muttered to yourself, as you prepared the bolognese for your spaghetti.

A half hour, and every curse word in existence later, you had two beautiful plates of pasta. Lighting the candles you had set out on the table, you carefully put the plates down. The opening of a door and jingling of keys signified Tom's arrival.

"Hey love. I hope you're hungry, because I made-" you walked into the hallway, stopping short. There was Zendaya. In your house. On date night. "...Zendaya... I d-didn't expect you here..."

"Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you, I invited her over for dinner Y/n." Tom said casually, tossing his jacket to the side. The three of you walked into the dining room, staring at your place setting. Awkwardly, you glanced at the other two.

"Sorry, if I had known you were coming I wouldn't have... well, this." You motioned to the candles, the wine, the table for two.

"No don't apologise! If anything, this is me barging in on your lovely dinner," Zendaya said, as Tom just looked from you to the table, to Zendaya, and back to you.

"Uh..." he paused. "This is really nice babe. I just wish you'd told me!"

"It was supposed to be date night, I guess you just forgot though..." you stared at the plates. How could he forget? Every other Friday, the two of you would do something nice, or fun. And he forgot. "I'll go get another plate." You said, darting into the kitchen.

There, you allowed yourself to rest your back against the cabinets, slowly sinking to the ground. Tears swam around in your eyes as you sobbed silently.

After a minute, you got up. Preparing another dish for Zendaya, you prayed that your cheeks weren't noticeably puffy. Walking back out you set the plate down, grabbing the candles, and blowing them out.

Dinner was as you would've expected, given Tom's enchantment with the girl.

"Did you remember that scene? That was hilarious!" Tom asked Zendaya, as she laughed along. It seemed they had more inside jokes than you. Deciding there was no place for you in the discussion, you got up.

"Excusing, I'll be right back." You said standing up.

"Okay," Tom said, waving his hand almost dismissively.

You went into your bathroom and wiped off all your makeup, before undoing the hairstyle that took forever to get just right. You stared at your reflection for a while. You were tired. And stressed. Distraught. You shook your head lightly at yourself, then left.

You went into the connected bedroom, and changed out of that stupid dress you'd thought might win back Tom's attention, and into sweats. Lying on the bed, you cried quietly to yourself.

He had barely said a word to you that whole evening. All he did was talk to Zendaya. Laugh with her, tease her, smile at her. To anyone looking in, they were the couple and you were the third wheel.

According to the clock, a full hour had passed before Tom entered the room.

"Do you love her?" You asked him as he sat down on the bed.

"What?"

"Do. You. Love. Her?" You drawled out, rolling over so you could face him.

"Zendaya?" You nodded, "I mean I love all my friends..."

"Do you love me more?"

"What? Y/n that's a ridiculous question, of course I do! You know I don't love Zendaya like that..." Tom muttered, staring at you in confusion.

"Well you've spent the past month talking about her, and only her. You invited her to our date night, and then completely ignored me. It was an hour Tom! One fucking hour! And you didn't think to check on me? No, I guess that would be stupid given the fact that Zendaya was here!"

"I thought you were tired. And tha-that was just tonight though Y/n, I'm sorry if I haven't been paying attention to you at dinner, but-"

"Tom it's not just tonight! It's every night, it's- look," you paused, looking up at him. "Tom I love you, I do. But think, hard, when was the last time that you and I have a night without a conversation centred around Zendaya?"

"I don't know-"

"Then that's a problem-"

"You didn't let me finish," Tom protested, continuing, "But what's the big deal? I tell you about one of my best friends, big deal."

"Yes, it is a big deal Tom! If I spent all my time with... Harrison for instance, and talked to you about him nonstop, are you really saying you wouldn't have a problem?"

"I mean, of course I would be at least a little jealous, but I mean... do I really do it that much?"

"All the time," you confirmed, nodding your head.

Tom sighed. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to do it, I guess it just happens, because Zendaya is such a cool person."

"I'm gonna ask you this once and you want an honest answer Tom. Do you have feelings for her?"

"I- no! No, definitely not. I love you, a-and only you- that way at least. Zendaya could never replace you in my heart. I am yours, and only yours." Tom's words soothed you infinitely, and you leant over to hug him.

"I'm sorry if I was being a possessive maniac," you whispered.

"Not a maniac no," Tom chuckled, "And you can be as possessive as you like with me. Because as I said," he kissed you gently, "I am yours."

Garghhhhhh this was crap.

But I love New York City Targets. Look at what I found:

I'm in love. But then I saw this:

WHY? WHY? WOULD. THE. VOICE RECORDING. SAY. 'I AM CAPTAIN AMERICA'? WHY DOES IT NOT SAY 'I AM STEVE ROGERS'?

Agh! Why? Why? Why? I can't. This bothers me too much that it should though.