What's Past is Prologue (A Tom Hiddleston Fanfiction)

Chapter Seven

My stomach started turning once we had crossed the river, but by the time we were less than ten minutes from my flat is when things started spinning. I kept telling myself not to throw up all over the black leather interior of Tom's Jaguar, but I was beginning to fear my body would betray me.

Tom glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. "You okay?"

I shook my head, to afraid to talk just in case that triggered the vomit. Where did this come from? I closed my eyes and prayed I would make it to a toilet before anything came up.

Within the next five minutes, Tom was rubbing my back as I threw up in the toilet at home. It was really sweet of him to stay, but I was a little embarrassed. I absolutely hated puking in front of people. It was part of the reason I didn't go crazy on my twenty-first birthday. Plus, I didn't want Tom to catch whatever virus I had managed to contract.

"You should go home. I don't want you to get sick too. We can have our movie night next week."

Tom stayed put and continued to trace his hand back and forth across my back. "I wouldn't worry. It's not contagious," he said.

"What makes you say that?" I mumbled before heaving out more of my insides.

"It's food poisoning." And with that, Tom grabbed his own stomach and joined in on the vomiting session.

After the two of us combined had managed to empty enough food out of our stomachs to feed a third-world country, we relaxed in my full-size bed watching The Princess Bride. Tom had brought in my little TV from the living room and automatically threw in the DVD even though we had watched it together before. He knew it was my go-to sick movie. As Wesley and Buttercup were fighting off the Rodent Of Unusual Size, Tom began to snore, and I couldn't help but follow the pattern shortly after.

I woke up when I felt the mattress shift and heard the sound of a door latch. It took me a while to remember that Tom was there and it wasn't some stranger that had decided to break in and use my toilet. I had heard about stories where that happened.

Oh my god. Did I sleep with Tom? I shot up and immediately regretted it. The food poisoning was definitely still messing with my body. Looking at the window to the right, I could tell it was dark outside, meaning we had slept for a couple hours at least. The last time we had shared a bed was at the inn in Stratford. And that was an outdoor couch. On accident. Which didn't count. I mean, I knew we were both feeling sick, but it was still an intimate thing to sleep next to someone, and Tom and I were just friends. Really good friends. I hadn't had any romantic feelings towards Tom since whatever was going on in my mind in Stratford a year and a half earlier, so why did I have a feeling in my gut that made me think otherwise; that I was thrilled at the idea that we had shared a bed? Must have been the kebabs. I heard the toilet flush and out of instinct I pretended I was still asleep. Okay, now he'll go sleep on the couch, I told myself. Tom had stayed over occasionally, but he always slept on the couch. When I felt the bed sink, I knew my guess was false.

My pulse raced when he rejoined me under the covers, and it got impossibly quicker when he wrapped one of his long, muscular arms around me just under my breasts and pulled me into his body. I didn't want him to know I was awake, so I continued to just lay there, facing the wall.

"Goodnight, darling," he whispered then gently kissed the back of my head. I thought I was going to die. Who knew that lying still and keeping quiet could be so difficult. I listened as his breaths grew longer.

Once he had fallen asleep, I tried to rationalize what had just happened. Tom was tired and sick, two things that could contribute to fuzzy-brain syndrome, as I sometimes called it. Maybe he couldn't remember where he was, or who he was with. Maybe it was like a sleep-walking thing. Or maybe, just maybe, he knew exactly what he was doing. As my body started to fall asleep, I told myself the best thing to do would be to wait to worry about it until the morning.