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

Chapter Twenty-One

After Tom and I unloaded our bags in our rooms (yes, rooms — plural — as in separate) we decided to spend the day walking through the streets of Stratford-upon-Avon and pop into any little shop we felt like. Whereas Tom bought three more books on the history of Shakespeare because he apparently didn't already know everything there was to know on the man, I went ahead and bought wooden wall art with a quote from — you guessed it — The Tempest.

"'We are such stuff as dreams are made on,'" Tom read when I showed him my new purchase.

"It's cute, isn't it? With the whole hand-drawn look?"

Tom smiled. "It'll look great above your nightstand."

"That's exactly what I was thinking." Get out of my head, Tom.

"I know you love The Tempest, but surely there are much better quotes to display," Tom said as we continued our aimless walk.

"Please, enlighten me," I challenged.

"Okay," said Tom, taking my shopping bag and adding it to his left hand where he was already holding the bag containing his books. His other hand then found mine, and I tried to remain calm as we strolled along hand-in-hand while he quoted Shakespeare. This was what dreams were made of.

"How about the most quoted line: 'This above all: to thine ownself be true. And it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.'"

"Pssh. Overrated."

Tom squeezed my hand and gave me a look that said 'I hope you're only joking.'

"Fine. What about Lorenzo's line from The Merchant of Venice?"

I shrugged. "I've never seen or read that one, so I guess I don't know what you're referring to."

Tom stopped dead in his tracks, effectively pulling me to a halt.

"'Look how the floor of heaven is thick inlaid with patens of bright gold. There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st but in his motion like an angel sings, still choiring to the young-eyed cherubins. Such harmony is in immortal souls, but whilst this muddy vesture of decay doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.'"

"How do you just know these quotes offhand?" I marvelled.

"Years of reading and reciting?"

I stepped closer to Tom, moving out of the way of the busy pedestrian flow. "Do you want to know why I love The Tempest so much?"

Tom nodded, his gaze dropping to my lips for just a split second.

"It's because it's a story about love in its purest form. The familial love between Prospero and Miranda, but more importantly the love between Miranda and Ferdinand. It was love at first sight, just like a fairytale."

"What about Romeo and Juliet?"

"Overrated."

Tom laughed. "You keep using that word."

"Well, it's very fitting."

"And Much Ado About Nothing? How about that?"

When I didn't respond right away, Tom continued.

"'I do love nothing in the world so well as you: is not that strange?'" he said, voice lower than only moments before.

The way he was looking at me caught me off guard. Like he wasn't just quoting the play, but like he meant what he was saying. I wasn't ready yet. Not to face whatever was happening between us. So, I said the first thing I could think of.

"Lunch at the Giggling Squid?"