The Journalist (A Tom Hiddleston Fanfiction)

Epilogue

It's your night to play host. It just so happens to be the day before his birthday, and you've hatched a plan – an announcement that you hope will make his birthday. He's been celebrating all week, and tomorrow will surely consist of party after event after party to celebrate with friends and family – but tonight is just the pair of you.

Months have passed since The Incident, months of couples therapy and recompense for the leaked texts and stolen photos. Finally it has become old news – the gossip columns have moved on to the next big scandal to rock the scene. It's been months of living apart and making the middling to long commute between the two dwellings. Months of him asking when you'll finally relent and come home. Months of you telling him to be patient.

You smile as you scoop the servings out onto the two plates. Tom had called to let you know he was parking and on his way up. Soon you'll be hearing all about his day – maybe waiting until after dinner to reveal your news. After dessert seems best. You'll tell him you've decided not to renew your lease and see what his reaction will be. At best, his offer for you to move back in with him still stands. At worst, you'll use this opportunity to find a place closer to his and the pair of you can continue to work on ironing out the lumps in the relationship.

True, he's never stopped calling his home "ours" but after months of responses in the negative he seems to have given up asking. He hasn't asked in at least a week, maybe two.

The sound of his key grinding in the lock announces his arrival, followed by the thump and scrape of the front door yielding under Tom's applied weight. That's something you won't miss about this apartment, the way the damned door sticks regardless of the weather conditions.

"Hullo!" He calls out to you, pausing in the entryway to heave the door shut again. "Erngh. I swear one day I'm going to take this damned thing off its hinges and make it so it's not so impossible to move."

Your grin grows a bit and you almost let slip your decision not to renew your lease, but no – the announcement can wait until after dinner. After dessert. You wait for his arms to slip around your waist, turning your head to watch his reaction while trying to be careful to keep the plates level so your hard work doesn't end up on the floor. "Hi. Hungry?"

You've made one of his favorites and aren't disappointed by the way his face lights up upon the realization of that fact. He switches his attention from the food to you, his words coming mumbled into the crook of your neck, "Starved."

A kiss on the cheek just won't suit. You maneuver to set the plates on the table before turning back to him for a proper greeting. It takes you a second to disengage and try to remember the plan for the evening. "So – anyone do anything special for you today, or are they all waiting until tomorrow?"

Noting the absence of drinks on the table Tom busies himself with the task, snagging glasses from the cabinetry and something cold from the fridge to fill them with as he nods. "Yes. A few well wishes here and there. A few old man jokes tossed about..."

"And you used your years of wisdom to rise above it all, I'm sure."

Tom's eyebrows twitch up into arches as he swallows down a sip of the freshly poured drink. The action only slightly delays his chuckled reply. "Careful or I'll use my years of experience in other ways."

"Talk, talk, talk."

He empties his hands quickly, skirting the table to come closer to you. "Who says anything about talking?" You back away from him but your apartment is tiny, there is only so much floor space provided by the kitchen. As he snags you and pulls you into his arms he mock scolds you, "Is this any way to treat someone on their birthday?"