Tom Hiddleston and Loki Imagines - Bk. 1

Tom - Tonight, Tonight

        The sound of the audience's applause is deafening.  You take your bow, a huge smile on your face as the crowd compliments the performance, your first in the production.  You'd never in a million years think you would land on Broadway, West Side Story nevertheless.  But there you were, on stage, taking credit for your part as Maria, a New Yorker Juliet.

        You clasp hands with your co-stars for a final bow.  When you lift up your head, your eyes scan the audience one last time.  It was impossible to single him out, a sea of heads in your vision.  The curtins close, and you head to your dressing room.

        Admittedly, you were a bit disappointed, not in Tom, but in yourself.  You wanted to point him out, wanted to say, "Yes, I did see you," but you will have to come up empty-handed.

        You chuckle a bit, remembering the days leading up to tonight.

        "Five days and counting," you heard Tom say over the phone.  You laugh.

        "Way to make me more nervous, Mr. Hiddleston."

        "Don't worry, darling.  I'll be there, and right before the performance, when you peek behind the curtin, I'll hold up a sign saying, 'That's my girlfriend up there!' "  You both laugh, and he continues, "And I'll dance in the aisles and make a fool of myself.  And I'll do the same after while you take your bows, and it'll be a way to tell you from afar that you nailed it."

        "Slight problem: I don't think it's possible for you, Thomas William Hiddleston, to dance like a fool."

        Too bad it didn't happen.  And you even checked, slightly curious if he would actually go through with it.  But there was no sign, no aisle dancing, no laughter from the ridiculousness.

        Part of you even wondered if he made it.  He was away filming yet another movie.  Besides, that morning, you had received a call from him saying that his flight had been delayed.

        "Darling, I'm so so sorry that this is happening.  But I'll do whatever I can to make sure I'm there, I' promise."

        He typically would respond as soon as he landed.  But there was no call, no voicemail, no email, no text.  Absolutely nothing.

        You were worried.  You didn't even bother to check his flight number because he might have caught a different flight, that being him "doing whatever [he] can."  You checked to see if there were any plane crashes from the airport he was at, but everything was clear.  It still wasn't like him to not respond.

        Unless he was still on the flight, in which case you might as well not bother to wait for him any longer.

        With a sigh, you turn off the lights to your mirror, you now, a half hour later, dressed normally and ready to go home.  You grab your bag, a giant panda bear and a welcoming basket, the latter two being gifts that the cast had given you to welcome you to the play.  As you exit, a crowd of people, the cast, swarm you.

        "You were so good!"

        "Job well done!"

        "We can't wait until tomorrow!"

        The chorus of congratulations continue for another ten minutes, every single person, cast, crew, and pit orchesta, giving their remarks.  After the last person leaves, you give out a sigh.  Each person was leaving in a cluster, in a clump of either other actors or friends and family.  And there you were, a lead, left alone, no one to claim you.

        You feel a tap on your shoulder.  Hopeful, you turn around, but you're disappointed.  It was your director, a look on concern all over his face.

        "You okay?"  You nod, lying away.  "You left something on stage."

        "Okay, thank you."  Taking your stuff with you, you walk back onto the stage.  Everything was still lit from when the audience left.  Only this time, all the seats were empty.  There was no one clapping, no one whistling, no one crying, no one hooping and hollering.

        But there was one person, standing right in the center in the orchestra seats.  And with him was a bouquet, eleven red roses accounted for, and a box of fudge.  With a smile, you hop down, and he walks into the aisle.  You meet him halfway, putting everything you were carrying at your feet and standing on your tiptoes to hug him around his neck.  His arms wrap around your waist.

        "You were marvelous, darling," Tom whispers in your ear.  "Simply marvelous."  He breaks the hug and hands you your gifts.  "Although, admittedly, I am jealous that I couldn't do this for almost three hours."

        "Do what?"  You get your answer when his lips meet yours, his hand snaking behind your neck to hold you closer to him. You both smile into it, he continuing to kiss you anyway.  Your interrupted by the director, who clears his throat.

        "We have to close up!" he yells from the stage.  You turn around and give him a thumbs up before turning back to Tom, who breaks out into a Fred Astaire dance.   You laugh.

        "You still look too good."  With a chuckle, he picks up your basket and stuffed panda with his right hand, and, with his left, takes your hand so you both can walk out the theater together.