Twelve Red Roses (a Tom Hiddleston fanfic)

Chapter 29- London

Super short chapter, I know. Also, the thirtieth chapter may get a little sexual, in case any of you are not comfortable with that. I do plan to keep this story pg-13, though, so it won't be too graphic. I hope you all enjoy! :)

It's weird when you just take the time to think about your life and how much it has changed. When I was much younger, I would try to picture my life and how exciting it would be. I pictured living in some sort of quaint city, where everything seemed bright and cheerful. There would be life, but the streets wouldn't be too crowded. I don't exactly know where this city of mine is, but I could easily imagine myself as a beautiful adult walking down the streets, maybe even with a man. A man who was mature, maybe artsy.

Dreams never really go how you want, though, and I realized that in high school. So I gave up that fantasy quite quickly. And I'm only now realizing that most of the time, the best things in our life don't last forever. Flowers wilt. Songs end. People die. They love and leave. They feel the need to put love as their number one priority when they could be doing so much more than trying to meet their significant other. And they usually regret it. They wish they spent their short, temporary life on something other than the one who left them.

So why am I wasting my time on Tom? Or rather, why is he wasting his time on me? He's in a daze. He's blinded by this fun trip. He doesn't realize he could be doing far better things right now.

And that's why I don't sleep with him. That is why I do not allow ourselves to bond in such a way that we will make promises to each other and to our relationship. He can try to talk me into it all he wants, but I'll never give in, nor will I tell him why not.

He sat on the edge of the bed, sort of hunched over as he scrolled through his phone. I couldn't help myself as I went behind him, sitting up on my knees as my arms gently draped around his shoulders. I watched his screen for a moment as he scrolled, my head next to his, resting on his shoulder. He didn't seem to care.

He recieves so many tweets each day, whether they be from friends, directors, or even just fans. And he reads a lot of them. Even responds to his friends. It's a lot of work for someone on vacation. I wonder how he felt when he basically read the same tweets over and over from different fans.

I love you, Tom! Tom i love u! I LOVE YOU! Tom, please tweet me. I love you tom.

They weren't all like that, though. Some tweets I saw were kind and refined, saying how they missed his tweets or how they couldn't wait for upcoming films.

Before I even realize what I'm doing, my left hand reaches up to his curls, and I genty run my fingers through them, as if brushing them out.

He smiles. "I think I need a haircut soon. What do you think?"

"I think your long curls are lovely. Besides, your hair isn't even that long." I look at his hair then, observing how it was a bit longer at the top of his head and shorter near his ears and neck.

"I suppose I'll wait a bit, then," he answers thoughtfully.

"What about me, should I get my hair cut?" I bring a strand of my hair in between my fingers, observing the ends. The dark brown color seemed rather average to me, and not fun at all.

Tom shakes his head, sparing a glance at me. "Only if that's what you want. You'd look good with any length of hair."

I just roll my eyes genty, plopping back on the bed. I knew Tom had to work for a bit. He couldn't permanately go on vacation. He can never truly get away. I'm actually really surprised we forgave each other that easily. My anger for him immediately dissloved the night we fought, actually, and it killed me he didn't even call me until a whole day later. Plus with his way to ask for forgiveness? Goddamn, Thomas. How could I possibly stay mad at you at all?