I don't like it when you aren't there to hold.

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He palms the box from his pocket again, fingertips edging the corners of the box before he forces himself to put it down on the table top. "Stop that, Tommy, or you'll wear the velvet off."

Scolding oneself, not the best path towards surefooted-ness. He needs to be on his game tonight. He plans on asking her to marry him... if he can just get the words right.

What words? What words?

She's a force of nature. She always keeps him on his toes – and that's saying something. He craves her presence... It's gotten to the point where he doesn't sleep well when she's away.

"I don't like it when you aren't there to hold," he mutters, trying the words on for size.

"What's that?"

Her voice floats to him from another room. He freezes for a moment, pulling what he knows to be the 'Thomas caught red-handed' face. He's in motion before she appears in the hallway, pocketing the little box before she can spy it. "Nothing, babe."

"I thought I heard you talking to someone...."

"No. Erm, running something over." He waves his hand gently through the air to aid his assertions.

She's used to this, him trying to memorize lengths of prose.... Usually while in motion, though. She fixes him with a skeptical stare that makes him fidget in his seat. "Mmhmm. Right."

Oh how he loves the way she quirks her left eyebrow when she's calling his bluff. What he wouldn't give to spend the rest of his days by her side. Hence the ring, Hiddleston, and the intention of asking. He'll figure out the wording. He always does. 

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