Thomas Brodie Sangster Imagines

Thomas// Flower Thief

Got this idea from @awful-aus on Tumblr!!

Word Count: 1200

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Every Friday for months and months, I would climb my fence, crossing the yard of the house behind mine, picking a flower from the strip of dirt along the side of it, and walk to the little cemetery down the way. I didn't have anything against the people living in that house. None of the other houses planted such beautiful flowers- or any at all. I just didn't leave the house often enough to buy flowers on a weekly basis, but I thought I needed to have something with me every time I would visit my mother's grave, so I resorted to plucking a single flower from the dirt at the house and continuing to stroll along.

I always crossed my fingers that whoever lived in the house never found out, never saw me taking their flowers, never got angry at me for stealing them. I didn't know the people, and I'd never asked about taking their flowers.

A few times, I happened to walk by at the time the blonde-headed boy who lived there was sitting at the front window, or reading a book on the back porch. At those times, I would offer an awkward wave and move along as quickly as possible. When he was sitting in the front window, I'd make an attempt to hid the flower behind the leg opposite him and shuffle away from his sight.

As the weeks went by, I noticed the number of flowers beside the house, instead of depleting, grew greatly. Almost weekly, new flowers were being planted. Where there was once a lightly decorated flower bed, there was now an abundance of the fragrant plants.

Today, a day that was seemingly normal to everyone else in the world, my feet landed up the soft grass on the other side of my fence, the weight on my shoulders significantly heavier than usual. Today was the third anniversary of the death of my mother.

As per usual, I walked to the side of the house, plucking a dainty tulip from the dirt, tucking it under my jacket and continuing along the grass toward the sidewalk.

As I rounded the edge of the house, I found the boy sitting on his doorstep, intently reading his book. In all of my encounters with him, not once had he done this, especially not on a cold December day like today.

His eyes lifted from his book and, after noticing me, he closed the book, and stood up. Unsure, of what he was doing, I quickened my pace. The tension in my stomach lessened as he turned and opened his front door, but it only lasted a moment as he set his book on nearby table, grabbed a jacket, and walked back out, closing the door behind him.

I continued to walk at a steady but quick pace away from his house, still wary of what he might do. I heard footsteps come up behind me and slowed at my side as the boy slowed at my side from a jog.

Catching me off-guard, I stopped immediately, leaving him to continue for a few steps without me before he turned to face me.

"Come on, love. Don't stop on my account," he spoke. "I just want to see if this boy you've been taking my flowers for is worth flower theft or not." The corners of his lips turned upward in a playful grin.

I resumed walking and he kept the pace at my side, a slight bounce in his step as he moved alongside me.

"Sorry," I muttered as we continued walking. "About your flowers."

"It's alright, I've just gotta see if this boy is worth my beautiful flowers and such an enchanting girl as you." he replied cheerfully.

I would have blushed if it hadn't been for the sinking feeling in my stomach. I just didn't have the heart to tell him they weren't for a boy or a lover, but for the grave of my dead mother. I couldn't decide which wold be worse: telling him now and asking him to let me go on alone, or waiting until we made it to the cemetery for him to realize what was going on.

We walked along in silence as I juggled the dilemma in my head.

"My name's Thomas," he stated plainly. I didn't answer, just continued staring at the concrete as we walked. "Oh, come on, if you're gonna take my flowers, you should at least tell me your name."

"(Y/N)," I answered quietly.

We slipped back into silence, and before I knew it we had come to the dirt path that led up the hill to the small cemetery. For the second time today, I stopped and Thomas walked a few steps before noticing my absence and turning back to me.

I began walking up the path and he followed close behind. I didn't stop until I reached the headstone bearing my mothers name. As he walked up behind me, I noticed the bounce in his step had disappeared, a solemn look on his face.

We just stood for a while, not saying a word.

"3 years?" he breathed, breaking the silence as he read the date engraved in the stone.

"3 years." I replied.

He paused for a moment. "Who was she?"

"My mom." I felt the tears burning my eyes as I fought them back, determined not to cry in front of this complete stranger.

"I'm so sorry."

I just nodded in silence as a tear slid down my cheek, unsure of how to answer.

I knelt down and place the flower on the grass just in front of the headstone. As I stood, more tears rolled down my cheeks and Thomas placed a hand gently on my shoulder. I finally broke, the tears covering my cheeks, and I sniffled as a few sobs escaped my mouth.

He pulled me into a tight hug and I cried into his shoulder. I was mostly alone at my house, receiving the occasional visit from my father, or brother, or one of my friends. I never revealed to them how torn up I was inside, still mourning over my mothers death three years later. Through the pain, it felt nice to finally tell someone, even if it wasn't with words.

Eventually, my sobs softened and Thomas and I walked began the walk back, his hand occasionally reaching up to rub my back in reassurance as he walked me home.

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The next week, I climbed over the fence as usual, once again crossing the yard of soft, green grass. I hadn't seen Thomas since our visit to the cemetery last week, but as I passed the familiar patch of dirt next to his house, I decided against taking a flower from it. I stared at the ground as I walked to the sidewalk. When I glanced up, I noticed Thomas jogging to meet me at the sidewalk ahead.

In his hand, he held two roses. As I approached him, he smiled gently, offering one of them to me. I took it with a small smile of my own, and we began the same trip we had taken just a week ago.