Chapter 11
The week had gotten away from you both with only simple good morning and goodnight texts. It was perhaps the longest you both had gone without real conversations or even your funny little games. Tom had been excruciatingly busy with preparations for Loki season 2. The majority of the training would take place in Atlanta, however as acting executive producer, there were many more conversations he was privy to besides just his acting role. Had he worked up the nerve to tell you that he would be mere minutes away from you in just a few months? No. His greatest fear was scaring you off. Being involved with an actor, even in an innocent friendship, could be a bit much. The pictures. The reporters. His schedule. His exhaustion level. There was nothing easy about any of this. Your silence hadn’t given him the courage to tell you either.
But what Tom had forgotten, through no malicious fault, was that this was your last week of school with your kids. The mixed emotions were very real. There was a light at the end of the tunnel, knowing that in a week, you’d be able to sit for a moment without knowing there were eighteen other things you should be accomplishing instead. In a week, you could go your entire day without your name repeated thirteen times in a five minute period. In a week, you could sleep in as late as you wanted to… In a week, you could completely transform your schedule to sync with the London time change…
In a week…twenty-five pieces of your heart would leave you. Your job was to instruct. To prepare these ten year olds for the next year. However, it was so much more to you than that. You laughed with them over silly jokes. You cried with them when they shared the troubles going on at home. You guided them. Encouraged them. You loved them.
So, when your last day came around and you had sent those pieces of your heart to their homes—you tried not to think about those few students who wouldn’t hear the words ‘love ya’ until they came back to school in the fall—you packed your school bag and headed home. The entire way back to your apartment, you allowed yourself to cry. That was a mistake, because you had absolutely no reason to stop. There wasn’t anyone at home waiting for you. No students to pull it together in front of for the next few months. Hell, even messaging Tom (though he had been quite busy this week) didn’t mean you had to stop crying.
The thought of being so utterly alone caused you to spiral further and further down the rabbit hole. Alice had it right. The further down you go, the harder it is to see the light—nothing makes sense. Everything is topsy turvey, and you have no idea how to get out of it.
Luckily, that darkness was so intense that it drowned out your own insecurities. You dialed the number that you held onto for weeks—
twhiddleston
Would it make you feel better to exchange numbers, darling? For emergency situations?
cgfan0820
Yes, I would feel much better!
Tom hadn’t argued with you, although the thought process behind the whole thing was rather ludicrous. Even if there was an emergency for either of you, an ocean apart was not conducive to helping during said hypothetical emergencies. But, it made you feel better—so Tom agreed. He kept his own motives to himself. He had hoped that one day, without a pending emergency, you would feel comfortable enough to call him…
And that you did…
“I’m so sorry!” you cried into the phone, into the silence that awaited you on the other end. You didn’t know what came over you, but the only coherent thought you had before breaking out into sobs was I need to hear his voice. There were so many options. Countless interviews, films, recordings. Within seconds, you could have heard him speaking through the videos on Youtube—but it wouldn’t be directed towards you. It wouldn’t be the same. To fill the agonizing silence, you added “I don’t know what came over me. All I knew was I wanted you.”
The shock was so prevalent, Tom didn’t know how to respond. Moments ago, he had been eating a piece of toast, a sorry excuse for dinner after a day of virtual meetings. When he answered the phone, he assumed it was Luke again and so he didn’t mind that he had answered in silence, brushing the toast crumbs out of his beard.
It was your voice. You were so incredibly close. You weren’t talking with a child. You were talking to him. He tried to pick-up on every little nuance in the few words you gave him. There was an inkling of a Southern drawl at the end of your sentences. You had once made the comment that it was more prevalent towards the end of your day, when you were tired, or after a few drinks. Only having been trained in different accents and dialects would he have been able to pick up on it.
He had only really heard you speak to children. There has always been a sense of authority, even if relaxed, in your videos. The vulnerability you exposed now was heartbreaking. The pain that was right there…it pulled at his heart. If he thought you wouldn’t abject, he would have been on a plane to you right this moment.
“Darling—” he breathed, frozen in his spot in the kitchen.
An exhale, timed perfectly as you slid down your living room wall until you were curled up on the floor, “God, you sound so good.” It was one word—you had heard it countless times. He said it to interviewers. Co-stars. Did he say it to a cat before? Was it a dog? He had certainly said it to everything with a pulse—and yet, the word held a different meaning when directed at you. Tom didn’t have time to agree wholeheartedly to that sentiment before you tried to get off the phone. “I shouldn’t have called you. I didn’t even check with you. This wasn’t th—”
“No!” called Tom, throwing his hand up as though you could see him. “You’re alright! You’re alright—”
“I shouldn’t have called!” the panic ever so evident in your voice. “I wasn’t thinking!” and the momentary lapse in crying had finished and you were back in full force.
“Y/N, breathe. Breathe, my darling,” he instructed, as tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He had made countless jokes about how you would be the death of him. If this was any indication of how he handled your pain, he hadn’t realized just how much truth was to the jokes. “What happened?”
You scoffed, immediately drawing a wince from Tom as he assumed he had asked the wrong question. “What happened?” you asked with a punctuated laugh, combined with a sniff. “I chose a profession where I give my heart to twenty-something small people and they leave, Tom.” His name rolled off your tongue. Had you not been so wrapped-up in your emotions, you never could have used his name with such ease. A slight pause ended the silence as you whispered, “They always have to leave me.”
The use of his name had not been lost on Tom, but there wasn’t much time to focus on that addition. Instead, a long exhale was given on his part as he slid down his kitchen drawers to set-up shop on the hardwood floors. Your poses mimicked one another, without any indication.
“Christ,” he began, absolutely ashamed that he hadn’t remembered. “It was your last day… I completely forgot. That’s why you’ve been so quiet this week.” In a past conversation, you two had discussed what the last week of school looks like for students. He had to admit, he was jealous of the movies, activities, and other plans you had shared with him. That is—until he thought about managing that level of chaos, albeit enjoyable, with a pack of school children.
“It’s not your job to remember my schedule, Mr. Hiddleston,” there was a cool edge to your tone. You knew that was an unfair statement to make. He had his own life to live. He had his own responsibilities. You were just some person. A fan. That was it.
And that was exactly what bothered him the most. To have you believe he viewed you as just a fan… “Don’t do that, darling. You know that I care.” There was a strength to his words. He wasn’t scared off by your tactic. He knew you were hurting. “You’ve been dreading this for the last month,” tone a tad softer, as he took off his glasses and rubbed at his tired eyes.
“It’s silly. It must seem ridiculous to you,” the crying slowly coming to a standstill, even as the evidence remained clear across your mascara streaked cheeks.
He shook his head, again as though you were there. God, if only you were there.. “No, I can’t imagine the pain you feel.” He had given his heart away plenty of times. Though, the pain one felt when love wasn’t reciprocated, was a different type of pain than what you were experiencing. “You love with everything you have and I am sure those children felt it. I can hear it in your voice with every video you send. I can hear it now…” If only I could make you feel the same…
“And it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter how much you love someone. They can always leave,” the solemn darkness to your reply laid heavy.
The words held multiple meanings. Were you still referring to your students? Or were your anxieties coming to the surface about something deeper? Although you hadn’t delved into either of your past relationships, everyone has been hurt before. Everyone has been left in some form or another. People can always leave. It’s inevitable.
“Yes, this is true,” finally breaking the shared silence. “That’s what can make it all the more special when someone stays around.” Your breath caught and you hoped beyond all hopes he couldn’t hear it. Tom did, though. It was your reaction that gave him the courage to go on. “We all have the ability to run away, darling. When someone doesn’t…when someone sticks around no matter how hard it might be….it means something.”
Another silence came to rest between you, but without the tension it had held previously. Tom’s words had provided comfort to you, pulling you slowly from the darkness that had seemed all encompassing. His ability to step into the darkness with you and guide you out—he didn’t act as though you were crazy or that your opinions were invalid. No. He agreed that life was difficult. That didn’t make it any less beautiful.
“I’m sorry I didn’t give you a heads up that I was going to call. That was inconsiderate of me.”
“Don’t you dare worry. I was settling in for the night anyway,” looking around his kitchen floor, spotting a grape that had rolled under one of the counters. He had assumed Bobby had eaten it—Yes, he was quite settled in. Though he wouldn’t allow you to think you ever interrupted him. “Besides, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear your voice…”a breathless admittance.
“You’ve heard me plenty of times!” and there it was—your laugh. He stifled back a groan, leaning his head against the wooden cabinet.
“You’re speaking to me, Y/N. Nothing compares.”
“Oh—Please tell me you’re going to break out into Sinead O'Connor,” you teased, biting down on the edge of your bottom lip. Taking the cuff of your sweatshirt (because you liked to keep it impossibly cold in your apartment, in the heat of June), you wiped away any trace of your sadness.
A deep laugh tickled your ear before his response. “Next thing you know, you’ll be asking me to shave my head.”
Your mock gasp, clutching onto your heart, as if he could see you… “Never!” Together, your laughs combined to create a beautiful harmony. There are little moments in life that you never forget–whether they are monumental or not…this would be a moment neither of you ever forgot.
“I can’t believe I’m talking to you…” your voice leveling out as the realization hit you. You were actually talking to Tom.
“You’ve been talking to me for quite some time, love.” And he had the same realization that had hit you. You were talking to him. Not the actor. Not someone who has starred in films. It wasn’t an interview. It wasn’t on a podcast, radio, or talk show. He was sitting on his kitchen floor, speaking to the woman he was clearly forming feelings for…
“This makes it all the more real…” you added softly, fingers rubbing back and forth along the carpet, as you allowed your mind to dip back into the darkness. “That also means it's going to hurt all the more when we stop talking.”
The finality of your words were clear. You didn’t mean when you both gave into your need to sleep and ended the call tonight. You meant when one of you decided to end—whatever this was. What was Tom to say? You weren’t the only one with insecurities. You would inevitably end all of this when you found out just how difficult being involved with him could possibly be… He wouldn’t even blame you.
“I mean, what are we doing?” you continued on, taking another step into the darkness. “You’re going to be busy soon with—all of your acting stuff. I’m going to be ridiculously clingy because I’ll literally be off for months. Soon my mild southern charm won’t be enough to keep you entertained. You’ll become bored or irritated or—” and you were rambling. Spiraling. Deeper and deeper, until…Tom came to pull you back.
“Alright, that’s enough,” coming as close to snapping as he ever had with you before. “We are not going to spend our first phone call together with you attempting to talk me out of enjoying your company. Unsuccessfully I might add. I absolutely refuse,” sitting up a bit straighter, a large palm coming to smack the ground.
“But—,” you wanted to fight him. You wanted to argue. To tell him to stop lying to himself…to you… This couldn’t last forever.
“No, Ms. L/N. It’s my turn,” he commanded. The slight growl that coupled with his dropping octave was enough to make your body melt. He could have stopped right there as you found yourself growing warmer in places that hadn’t been warmed in quite some time.
“I have very little free time and I am sure that once I begin filming, that time will dwindle considerably. All that means is if I choose to spend my time talking to a passionate, funny, loving, beautiful woman then I consider myself incredibly lucky.” It was as though he was reciting poetry, the confidence in his words, in his tone—there was no room for argument. “Do I make myself clear?”
You should have said yes. You should have said yes, sir. There were several ways you should have played this out. But instead…
You scoffed. Immediately, you regretted that choice.
The silence on the other end was eventually met with– “Did you just scoff at me?”
You should have admitted to it. You should have been confident. Instead… “No…,” your breathy response, finding that you too had sat up a little straighter, biting down on your lip once more.
“I distinctly heard that scoff. Now, now.. Ms. L/N…” he purred. Purred. Like a fucking panther ready to pounce. You had never heard a man speak so…delectably.
“It was static…There must be horrible phone quality in London,” you lied once again, but this time you lied quite poorly. The butterflies that were doing cartwheels deep within your belly were no match for the warmth radiating from beneath your legs. It’s the first conversation on the phone. Keep it together!
“Is that…deflection?” There was a hint of something in his voice. Mischief? The chuckle that accompanied the question made it all the more apparent that this man knew exactly what he was doing to you. That made it all the more worse.
Your body betrayed you as you heard yourself let out a little whimper. Had you made those noises before from some of Tom’s questions? Of course. Had he ever been able to hear you before? No!
Luckily, Tom found all of this to be delicious fun. “Eliciting all types of responses from the Queen of Deflection. Can I take this to mean that every time you attempt to change the subject it is usually accompanied by a noise or two?” he grinned into the phone.
“You’re going to pay for this, Tom dear,” you threatened, though there was nothing at all intimidating by your words.
“I fully plan on it, darling.”