Tom Hiddleston and Loki Imagines - Bk. 1

Tom - Think of Me

"Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. (Boyfriend's Last Name)," the hostess greets the two of you. "We have your table ready if you would follow me." (Y/B/F/N) takes your hand into his as you follow the hostess through the restaurant and to the outside eating area. She sits you down and hands you the menus.

"Your waiter will be right out," she notifies the two of you before going back to her post.

"You told them we were married?"

"No, I just didn't correct her." You give him a small smile as you look onto the menu.

"What made you choose this restaurant?"

"It's beautiful, why else? Plus, if I remember correctly, your parents told me how you used to rave about this place. So why not surprise my girlfriend to a lunch date here?" You further conceal your face in your menu.

All the magic that once gave the restaurant joy was gone. Tom was no longer in your life, the two of you having broken up three months prior. You remembered that he treated you to this restaurant every first of the month because it was your favorite, and how you ordered a glass of the sweetest champagne and how he always had the waiter bring out a rose with your dessert, each time the rose a different color to express how he felt.

"(Y/N)?" You snap your head.

"Hmm?" You notice that the waiter was standing at your table, two pairs of eyes staring at you.

"Would you like champagne?" (Y/B/F/N) asked, repeating himself. You shake your head, regressing the feelings as much as possible.

"No, I'll take water." As the waiter left, you turned back to your boyfriend, who leaned forward to you.

"Babe, are you alright?" You were about to tell him when out the corner of your eye, the living memory walking outside with the hostess. Immediately, you forced yourself to focus on (Y/B/F/N) and him alone.

"Why wouldn't I be fine? Just spaced out for a second." He smiles and sits back.

"Alright, if you say so." As you look on the menu, you peek briefly to your right. The hostess was walking away, and Tom was looking at her leave. But when he looked at his menu, you can make out his bloodshot eyes, the dark circles that were forming underneath them, sleepless bags as frames. You conceal yourself once more, trying to lose yourself into the tasteful words.

"What are you getting?" you hear from across the table. You look around at your date. "I'm thinking about the croque--"

"Maybe we should ask about the lunch specials," you suggest while interrupting. Croque provençal. The meal that Tom and you would both get there each month, regardless on the time of day; it was your and Tom's favorite. Since the restaurant didn't serve breakfast after twelve and you always went for dinner, he had to pay extra and call ahead of time in order to let the chef know. He always made sure that that day was as perfect as it could be.

You peek again, and you see Tom's waitress offering him a bottle of champagne. You notice the curves of his mouth and attempt to read his lips. He goes to say yes, but, all too quickly, he declines and asks for a different drink. You couldn't tell which, your own waiter returning with the drinks.

"Do you know what you will like?" You and your boyfriend look up from the menu.

"I'll have this," he says, pointing at his selection. The waiter writes it down then turns to you.

"And you, Miss?"

"Just a side house salad, please." With that, the waiter takes the menus. Your boyfriend stares at you, hands folded.