Twelve Red Roses (a Tom Hiddleston fanfic)

Chapter 14- Kansas

Whew. This chapter is a little longer. Hope you all enjoy it:) Also, I was keeping a mental note on who all I wanted to dedicate these new chapters to, but I'm starting to lose track! So from here on out, I will start writing down the user names of those who vote and give feedback:) Not that voting or feedback is necessary, because it's not, but it's certainly nice, haha. So I hope you all enjoy!

You, know, it's funny. When I first woke up that morning, I thought everything was okay. My mind felt clear, sunlight was flooding into the room, and I felt comfortable in my bed.

But all too soon, realization came over me. Pain shot through my head, and I didn't dare open my eyes. And I felt strong arms around my waist.

My eyes shot open, taking a moment to adjust to the light. I didn't move. I didn't need to. I knew who was sleeping behind me, spooning me like there would be no tomorrow. And I knew it wasn't his fault. Not after how drunk we were last night. It was his fault, though, that he chose this morning of all mornings to not wake up before me.

I wanted to wake him. I wanted to just slip out of his grasp to go get some sort of pain killers for my killer headache, but I didn't. The strange feeling of being so close to a man again was enough for me to deal with the pain in my head. As much as I didn't want to admit it, I liked just sitting there, thinking about the small details. The way his (bare) stomach rose and fell against my back. The way his strong, lean arms were against my stomach. The way I could feel his warm breath against my neck. It seemed that he was burying his face in the back of my T-shirt. I liked the way he did that. It made him seem smaller and more vulnerable. Like he's not always smiling, and not always standing tall.

"Tom," I whisper after quite a long time, my voice hoarse.

I'm guessing it's not loud enough to wake him, though, because although he stirs, he doesn't say anything or lift his head. His legs are sort of tangled with mine, making it even more impossible for me to just leave. I turn my head, almost desperate to just see his assuring face, but I can't.

"Thomas." I pinch his arm lightly, and I hear a light groan-like sound escape his mouth as his body shifts.

"Oh, fuck..." He mutters. He pulls his arms away from me, and he puts distance between our bodies. I take that opportunity to sit up on the bed, looking over at him. His short hair has turned curly at the top, and he rubs his blue eyes, obviously still waking up. The bed sheet stops at his mid-chest, and I can easily see his lean body with his runner's muscles. "I'm so sorry.."

That's it? That's all he has to say, is 'I'm sorry'? I guess I just expected him to apologize five million times and ask what happened and how we managed to fall asleep on the same bed. Because those were the questions going through my mind.

"It's okay," I say.

"How long were you awake?" He asks, sitting up.

Ten minutes. "Not even a minute."

"I'm honestly surprised you're not mad at me for cuddling you in my sleep," Tom admits, shrugging lightly.

"It's called spooning, Thomas. And the only reason I'm not mad is because you were asleep. And you fell asleep drunk."

He grins then. A cheeky, smug grin. "If it makes you feel any better, I slept wonderfully."

"Well I feel like hell."

He laughs. "That, too. I have the worst headache."

"Then how are you smiling and laughing?" I ask, groaning. My head hits the pillows again as I lie back down, cringing. Oh, frack. Today I'm supposed to start my period. But it usually doesn't start until a little later in the day.