All Roses Must Wilt (a Tom Hiddleston fanfic)

Chapter 8- Convincing

I jump up and head to my room, wanting to dry my damp hair (from the pouring rain) and change into dry clothes (also because of the rain). Lets see, I have some sweatpants I can wear since it's technically night time, right? Or should I wear jeans in case he thinks I'm lazy? Wait, since when do I care what he thinks? Oh, that's right. Ever since Kate was so kind to point out Tom's wonderful features.

I quickly pull on the sweatpants and throw my pants into the laundry basket. Then I pull off my hoodie and shirt, looking around for something more feminine than what I usually wear.

I spend about five minutes practically tearing through my shirt drawer. Oh, screw it. He'll be here soon and I haven't even cleaned up the main room. I slip on a shirt (one that Tom gave me, in fact, from when he was at Comicon last year) that isn't too baggy and actually shows off my curves a bit. Then I scurry back to start cleaning, combing my hair with my fingers as well.

I'm only halfway done cleaning when I hear someone knock on the door downstairs. Mrs. C will surely get it before I can.

"Rose, that man's here again!" Mrs. C calls up.

"Ah, doors unlocked! Come on up!" I shout to them.

I pick up a few papers on the desk and go to my room to drop them in there. Right as I come out, Tom opens the door, coming in. I let out a breath. Sheesh, I can't even speed clean without getting tired.

"Hey, you okay?" He asks, seeing that my breathing is a little uneven.

"Fine, fine... You got here fast," I comment.

"Yes, a taxi was just dropping someone off so I was rather lucky," he explains. He goes to sit on the couch, and I notice I left some of my writing papers there, too.

I quickly grab them so he can sit. "Ah, sorry.. I wasn't exactly prepared." I straighten up some things quickly, and drop the papers in my hand in my room as well. "It's a mess in here.." I mumble.

Tom grabs my wrist lightly as I pass to clean up more. "It's fine, Rose, just sit."

I sigh lightly, doing as he says, sitting next to him. "Listen, Tom-"

"Hold on, now. I know you're a little uncertain of this New York trip, but I truly think you'll enjoy yourself." He gently pays my knee with his long, slender hand in a friendly way.

"Tom, can I-"

"Please just consider it," he insists, putting his hands up to stop me from talking.

I roll my eyes lightly and pretend to consider it. After a few seconds I open my mouth once again to speak. "Tom, it's very rude to interrupt a lady when she's trying to speak," I say, teasing him.

He grins lightly. "Ehehe! Sorry."

I smile. And already he's in a brighter mood. "So, you know how I said 'no' over the phone?" I ask him.

"Yes.. I remember."

"I was just kidding," I explain, smirking.

Tom is unsure whether to laugh or be embarrassed. So he just laughs. "Are you kidding me?"

I shake my head, laughing along with him.

He laughs a bit before catching his breath. "You could have told me!"

"What, you don't think I tried? You had already hung up by the time I tried to explain it to you," I say, still smiling. "So you pretty much came over here for nothing."

"Oh, don't say that, darling."

I raise an eyebrow. "And why not, Mr. Optimistic?" I ask.

"Because I got to see you. This is the most we've hung out in a long time, and just think; It continues. We'll be together for a whole week next week!" Tom is grinning. He truly looks happy that he gets to hang out with me.

"Well I guess that's a good thing... Do you think I'll have time to write in new York?" I ask.

"Write what?"

I shrug. "Stuff. Both articles for work and a little side project I'm doing," I explain.

"Ah, that's right, you're going to be a successful writer, aren't you?" He asks, practically staring into my soul again with those eyes of his. They look a little less blue at the moment, more grey; but they certainly aren't any less beautiful or full of life. "Can I ask what your project is?"

I smile, rolling my eyes. "I am not.. It's just what I like to do in my free time." I think for a second on if I should tell him about my book I'm working on. Tom just smiles, waiting. He knows I'll tell him. He knows me too well. "It's nothing big, really, it's just something Kate suggested... I can't exactly say I'm good at writing that kind of stuff, either.." I start to mumble.

Tom just waits patiently until I stop mumbling. "Well tell me what it is, darling! I'd love to hear about it. And maybe you'd let me read it sometime?"

I blush lightly at the idea of that. I don't think I could ever feel comfortable with Tom reading my stuff. He's used to reading classics, and perfectly written play and movie scripts.. And here I am, just someone who writes a few articles for a magazine. "I, uh... Hold on one second..." I get up from the couch and walk into my room, picking up a few papers I was writing on yesterday. It had the basic outline of the story. Kate helped me a lot with ideas a week or two ago. She was a whole lot better with the whole romance thing. She even reads romance books in her spare time. I quickly return to where Tom is and hand him the few papers. "That's just the basic outline..."

I watched as he smiled and began to read the first paper. Then I began to panic, blushing lightly. Oh God, what will he think when he realizes I'm writing a romance story? Is that weird? Awkward, even? "Er.. Want some tea?"

He glances at me, breaking his gaze from the paper. "Oh, do you want me to make it? You're always the one making tea for me."

"Ah, that's okay. Next time you can make it." I smile before quickly going into the kitchen. I don't want to be around when he reads that. In my opinion, the story idea is quite cliche and cheesy. But what romance book isn't? It's just the way they are.

I try to take my time preparing the tea so Tom will already be done, and if I'm lucky, I can change the subject before he (politely) points out the book's flaws. While the water is still heating up, I pull out my box of Earl Grey teabags. I only use these when Tom is around, just because they're his favorite. And don't get me wrong, I love Earl Grey, too, I just use less expensive tea when I'm sitting around at home. I don't tell Tom that, though. He'd probably start to feel guilty that I can even afford to drink Earl Grey whenever I want and he'll start to give me some on my birthdays and Christmas. That's sort of the way he is. Kind, of course, but he almost feels guilty way to often. Yet he doesn't want to be rude and give me the tea bags for no reason, because that would seem like he pitied me. He'd give them to me when he had an excuse to. Trust me, I know. It's happened before. But then I told him I nearly had too many Earl Grey's so he stopped.

I finish making our teas just the way we like them and carry out the two tea cups on a tray, sitting back in my spot on the couch. It seems as if he's just done reading the papers.

I cringe lightly, setting the tea's on the coffee table in front of us. "So... bad, right?"

He glances at me, putting the paper's aside.

What, that's it? No answer? Were they that bad? I slump my shoulders ever so slightly. I hadn't thought they were that bad...