Before The After (Tom Hiddleston Fan-Fic)

Chapter 47

Kate's Perspective

"You wanna talk about it maybe?" He sits fully erect in a ridiculously sizable, but truly empty bed. The room's a perk no doubt, and intentional set up on the top floor of the best hotel in the city by his new clients in Tokyo. We'd just finished discussing—actually, it was more like laughing at—the mini aquarium that made up one wall of the suite. A floor -to-ceiling tank that seemed to only house iridescent jellyfish. Vincent said the glowing would make it hard to sleep.

"I want to," I sigh, my eyes finally dry even though I was holding a crumpled, snot-soaked tissue in my hand in anticipation. "I just don't think I know how to do that. With anyone."

Six in the evening in London means it's decently late at night for Vincent. But even at two AM, after he just got in from celebrating his latest video game acquisition, I knew he'd call me anyway. He always does.

"I was downing sake while you were with your ex-fiancé," Vince's rueful chuckle is dark with irony that's not lost on him. "I wouldn't if I'd known, of course, but I feel the need to apologize all the same."

I laughed. "Because you decided to call me even though you're drunk?"

"Because I got drunk at all, Kate," Vincent drags a hand down his flushed face, stopping to lazily scratch at the stubble developing on his face. "Probably not the best... call, you know, considering. It's not very supportive of me, is it?"

I really don't mean to bristle, but the words make the hair on the back of my neck rise almost involuntarily. "Considering what? And I don't know what you mean about being unsupportive. You've done nothing but support me, babe."

But that statement doesn't sit very well with him either, and Vincent wiggles around, blinking a few times before he gives me an odd smile. "Not sure it's wise to talk about it just yet, especially like this. You're going to be upset, and I won't be there to—"

"I'm already upset," I remind him with a quirked brow before I understand the apprehensive look he's giving me. "Ah. You mean with you. Right."

But Vince is silent on the end, and, for a second, I think that FaceTime has frozen. Wouldn't be the first time technology has failed us during this particular call, and I almost tell him to hang up and call me again. Then I notice the quiet movement in the rise and fall of his shoulders. He starts chewing at his lip. Nervous; he knows he's a man without a filter when he's drunk, and whatever's on his mind must be a fucking doozy. He looks a little green around the gills at the thought of word-vomiting all over me right now.

So instead of provoking him—like I might've done with Tom—I respect his wish to remain quiet.

"We can talk when we get back. How's that?" I offer this with a softer, less hostile tone than before and Vincent's shoulders relax a fraction. "Yeah? Does that work?"

He chuckles. "Yeah, that's fine. I'd prefer it if we were both in the same time zone."

I sit up from where I've been laying on my back, staring at the small laptop screen. "For the record, I've seen men do worse things when they were intoxicated, and I know I, myself, have had a similarly... destructive history when it comes to alcohol, as well. So this is mild, okay? By all accounts."

To prove my point, I reach for my glass of vodka on the nightstand, raising my it to my boyfriend before tipping the cool rim to my lips and downing the contents. Vincent grimaces quietly, but only watches me. He's rarely an enabler of my drinking habit, but we both know I'll be harder to save when he's nearly half a world away.

"So, did you get what you wanted, at least?" Vincent inquires, and I absently wonder how he got to be so admirably smooth at changing the subject. I also wonder—not-so-absently—if I'm the only one he has to dodge land mines with.

I shiver, the questions in my mind making me pull the blanket from the edge of the bed onto my shoulders despite the liquor warming my belly. "I did. He didn't want much, actually. Just a few paintings I'd made."

Vincent's smile is gentle when he asks, "Ones you made for him? Or just ones you made?

"Does it matter?" I return, my eyes on the emptied glass in my hand.

"Probably not."

I don't get to see the disappointment on his face. I'm too much of a coward for that. Don't get to see the way his eyes water around the edges, either, the way he forces a smile to his face for me.

Doesn't matter, though. I can hear it all in his voice, clear as crystal.

-

"We're going out!"

"Not me," I reply in monotone around a mouthful. "It'll be a party of one for me tonight, thanks."

After my rollercoaster ride of a conversation with my current boyfriend, I decided it would be best to eat away the fairly violent feelings and thoughts I was having about my ex-boyfriend. And I'd been decently successful thus far. I'd just ordered half the menu of a Chinese joint down the street and with in the middle of making my way through a box filled to the brim with lo mein when Ben sauntered over.

I lean to the side a bit, trying to see the Netflix show he was now deliberately standing in front of. "Um, so if you couldn't tell, I'm sort of watching something. And you're, uh, sort of blocking the TV."

"I said, we're going out." He enunciates his words this time. "This is the first night in weeks that hasn't been hellishly freezing, and you're coming with me to enjoy it."

But I'm a little too busy with first season of The OA at the moment to be bothered by Ben's honestly sweet proposition. "You're the best, Ben, but I actually planned for—"

It happens a lot quicker than anticipated, but the Firestick remote is snatched from the depths of my blanket and the show paused within seconds. I blink, a little stunned by the sudden shift, and Ben carefully rearranges the boxes of food on the couch before he sits down beside me. It's then that I turn to look at him and notice he's shaven and fully dressed.

I sniff causally in his general direction. "Hmm. You smell like... cologne. Like, really nice cologne."

He tries to fight off a smile, but loses spectacularly. "Also had a wash. Amazing what a little soap and water can do." He winks at me tellingly and I scoff, throwing a noodle at him.

"Oh, fuck you!" We both laugh as he pulls the noodle from his cheek to pop it into his mouth. I know I'm drunk when I spend a little to much energy on how his tongue flicks out to catch the bit of remaining grease on his lips.

Jesus Christ. It's been a minute since I've gotten any action, and with Vincent out of pocket and my ex-fiancé a little too close for comfort, I'm in need of a distraction. And self-control, apparently.

"There's a place in Soho I've been dying to try ever since I got back and it's a little too risqué for Soph, sadly," Benedict dishes quietly, and I think might be imagining the mischief in his eyes. "Plus, you've been in those pajamas for nearly a week."

"Four days, and that's nowhere near a week!" I start to throw another noodle at him and he catches my wrist in his fist, stopping me. My breath catches when he tightens his grip for a moment, his brilliant eyes snaking down to my lips for a half second.

"Careful, Kate," he whispers, his eyes finding mine again. I swallow. He's definitely not just talking about the noddles.

Upon my release, I quickly push myself off of the couch, dizzy with the effort and Ben's tasty-smelling cologne. He looks a little startled by my hurried movement but smirks all the same.

"I'll be ready in thirty." I say before I all but run up the stairs to my room.

-

Depression sucks. But I'm back, y'all. Off to start the next chapter!