short stories (Tom Hiddleston fanfics)

everybody drops

SONG: If the World Was Ending — JP Saxe

Celeste was alone in her apartment, sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes and the dim glow of the streetlights filtering through the blinds. She hugged her knees to her chest, her head buried against them, trying to muffle the quiet sobs that had been creeping up on her all night. She'd been holding it together for so long, trying to pretend she was fine. But now, in the quiet loneliness, the weight of it all was crashing down around her, relentless and heavy.

She didn't know why she reached for her phone. Maybe it was habit, maybe it was desperation, or maybe it was the small, secret part of her that still clung to him. Without thinking, she scrolled through her contacts until she found his name: Tom. Her thumb hovered over it for a second, her heart pounding as if she were standing on the edge of something she knew she shouldn't want.

But then she pressed it, sending a simple text: Hey, I know it's late, but... could you come over?

She didn't expect an answer right away. She knew he'd probably moved on by now, probably didn't even think about her anymore, and she half-expected him to ignore it or have her number blocked. But her phone buzzed a minute later: Be there in ten.

Her heart thudded, a mix of nerves and relief flooding through her as she waited, too many emotions tangling inside her to make sense of any of them. She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, trying to quiet the ache, but it only seemed to grow stronger. She didn't know why she needed him tonight, only that she did.

The knock came softly, almost hesitant, and she pushed herself up, wiping at her cheeks, forcing herself to take a deep breath before she opened the door.

Tom stood there, his hands in his pockets, his face shadowed in the dim hallway light. He looked at her with an expression that was both familiar and distant, a quiet warmth mixed with something unreadable. He didn't say anything; he just stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him.

For a moment, they just looked at each other, the silence stretching between them, thick with unspoken things. She felt a wave of emotion rise in her chest, and before she could stop herself, she reached for him, desperate for something solid, something real.

Tom didn't hesitate. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close, his touch gentle but steady. She sank into him, her face pressed against his chest, breathing in the scent of him that she'd missed so much, the faint warmth of familiarity that she hadn't realized she'd been aching for. His hand ran up and down her back, soothing, grounding, as if he knew exactly what she needed without her having to say a word.

She tried to speak, to explain, but the words caught in her throat, tangled up with the weight of everything she'd been carrying alone. So instead, she let herself melt into him, letting the tears flow freely, feeling them soak into his shirt. She was embarrassed, ashamed of how broken she felt, but he held her tighter, his presence like a quiet reassurance that she didn't have to pretend.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "I didn't know who else to call."

"Don't apologize," he murmured, his voice a soft rumble against her ear. "You don't ever have to apologize to me."

His words sent a fresh wave of warmth through her, and she tightened her grip on him, clutching his shirt like he was the only thing keeping her grounded. He hadn't changed. He was still the person who understood her better than anyone else, the person who knew how to be there when she felt like she was falling apart.

"I just... I don't know what's wrong with me," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I thought it was okay. I thought I could do this."

Tom pulled back just enough to look at her, his hands resting on her shoulders, his gaze steady, unwavering. "There's nothing wrong with you, Celeste. You're human. You're allowed to feel."

She met his gaze, her eyes searching his face, finding the quiet strength there that she'd always relied on. "I hate that I called you," she admitted, a faint, sad smile tugging at her lips. "But I'm so glad you came."

He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch gentle, his eyes soft. "You know I'll always come. Doesn't matter how late, or how far apart we are. If you need me, I'm here."

The words hung between them, a quiet promise that she knew he meant, even if they didn't have the right words for what they still felt for each other. There was a sadness in his eyes, a quiet recognition that things between them had changed, that they were on opposite sides of something they couldn't quite bridge. But tonight, none of that mattered. Tonight, he was here, holding her, keeping her steady, and it was enough.

She leaned back into him, letting herself sink into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his arms, the quiet strength of his presence. They stayed like that, wrapped in each other's arms, as the minutes slipped by, as the weight of her worries began to ease, replaced by the quiet comfort of knowing he was there.

When she finally pulled back, she felt a little lighter, a little less fragile. She looked up at him, a small, grateful smile tugging at her lips. "Thank you, Tom. Really. I don't know what I'd do without you."

He gave her a soft, sad smile, one that hinted at things unsaid, things he wanted to say but couldn't. "Anytime, darling. Anytime..."

And in that moment, she knew that whatever happened, whatever roads they took from here, he would always be there when she needed him. Their connection was something she couldn't define, something that went beyond words. She knew that in the morning, they would part ways again, go back to their separate lives. But tonight, she had him, and that was enough.