Because You're Mine (A Tom Hiddleston Fanfic) #Wattys2016 #pfcc2k16

Epilogue.

"Everything alright in there?" His voice carries through the half open door of our bedroom as his head appears behind it, "Do you need help with... What the hell!?"

I'm sitting on the floor, half naked and twisted in a really weird position.

When I lift up my gaze, I meet a very concerned pair of blue eyes, and Tom is rushing to where I am. I let out a sigh of annoyance while he twist his arms around mine, gently pulling me up.

"God! This is impossible" I say in defeat.

"What happened?" he asks whit a shaky voice once he makes sure that I am safely back on my feet, "Did you fall? Are you okay?" His hands are all awkwardly groping me, checking up on my physical health.

"I will be, if I ever get to do my nails properly" I whine, throwing the small bottle of red polish to the bed, and removing his hands from my bare skin, "I feel so fucking useless"

"Are you insane? You were lying on the floor because you were trying to paint your nails? You scared me to dead, Clem"

He leads me to the edge of our bed, carefully helping me to take a seat on it. I just let him do it, instead of fighting him because I kind of feel a bit guilty for giving him such a shakeup. Especially, on a day like today.

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to scare you, I just... I want to paint my nails, Tom!" I whimper, way too capriciously for such a trivial thing, and I lean backwards to recover the tiny bottle. He looks at me with an arched brow and all of his dismay vanishes from his eyes when a bright, rollicking smile grows on his lips, "Don't mock me! I know it sounds stupid and girly, but..."

"I'm not! I get it" he simply states, extending his open hand between us and showing me his palm.

I frown at him, not knowing what is it that he wants, but with a quick jerk of his head, he points at the thing in my hand. And I give it to him.

"What are you doing?" I say in a cockle when he kneels before me, running his hand down my left calf, until he reaches my ankle and pulls my foot closer to his face.

"I do get it, love" he answers while opening the nail polish bottle, "Just because you can't see your own feet, doesn't mean you should neglect them"

I want to rip my leg out of his reach and deny the fact that I'm not able to see my own feet, but honestly, who would I be kidding?

The truth is that I haven't seen them in at least two months, now. And the only evidence I have of their existence is that they hurt like a motherfucker every single minute of every single day.

I nod, agreeing with him, and I let him do whatever mess he's about to do down there.

"Done!" He squeals with a joyful voice filled with pride, ten minutes later, "I think I should just quit acting and do this for a living, I am pretty good!"

I want to take a good look at his work, but I know that there is no point in trying, so I decide to take his word up on this one.

I make an attempt to stand up from the bed, and I slowly manage to do it on my own, but the sole thought of trying to fit into the dress that's hanging from the back of the door makes me release a grunt of exhaustion.

Because that is the only thing I have been feeling lately. And stomach burn.

Lately, I have been learning, in the most painful and uncomforyable way, to appreciate two of the things I spent my whole life taking for granted.

Right now, I want to be able to lie down in bed longer than fifteen minutes before I start to breathe like a rhino, regardless of the position I'd be in. I long to be able to eat something without feeling like my insides could burst into a spontaneous combustion at any second. I wish to have sex with my boyfriend without thinking that I look like a fucking asteroid trying to crush a helpless man.