Thomas Brodie-Sangster Imagines

Practice?

Y/N POV

"I almost though you had the chops to be a Runner...Until you face planted," Thomas had been rehearsing all morning, meaning you had been woken up at five to the sound of him shouting out commands and random lines, none of them adding up. You loved him, you really did, but it was getting annoying.

You shuffled out of bed and into the bathroom to see him staring in the mirror, hair unruly and eyes tired as he continued to repeat the line, hands running through his hair nervously, you walked voter to him and wrapped your arms around his hips, burying your face between his shoulder blades. "I love you, Thomas, I really do, but you need to stop and go back to bed, okay?"

He stopped, turning to face you and take your chin in his hand. "Am I being a pest?" He asked, eyebrows pulled up.

"Honestly, yes," you admitted.

"Alright," he laughed, kissing you softly before heading back into the bed room. "I'll go back to bed, but only if you stay with me until I have to leave."

You agreed and crawled into bed, burrowing into his side. Eventually, he fell asleep and you leaned up on your elbow to watch him, tracking the softened lines on his face. You were just drifting off when you heard him mumble another line, a smile spreading in your face.