Thomas Brodie-Sangster Imagines

Drunk

Drunk.

You sat there staring at your digital clock, waiting for it to turn midnight. Thomas never stayed out this late. He went out tonight to have a couple of drinks for his mates birthday but he was never this late, he was always home by 10 so he wasn't that hungover in the morning, and if he wasn't home by ten then he'd be home by eleven, without fail. You had started to become slightly worried, actually 'slightly' was an understatement, you were very worried. You try to create some theories on why he was late, just to calm your nerves: Maybe he met a girl and went back to hers - which was highly unlike Tom. Or maybe he was staying at his mates and you forgot. You honestly couldn't remember.

You and Thomas had been friends for ages, ever since primary school you two were joined at the hip and now, whilst both of you had jobs and had finished university, you shared a flat together. There was only one bedroom but it didn't matter; there were separate beds for each of you to sleep in.

You grab your phone as the clock turns 12am. You dial Thomas' number and wait for him to pick up,

"Hiyya Y/N!" He's drunk, you can tell straight away from the way he says hello,

"Thomas where are you?"

"Outside!" He giggles and you roll your eyes, you hear the faint knocking on your front door and you end the call. Unlocking the door, you find Thomas on the floor - staring up at you.

"C'mon Tom. Indoors." You try to grab his arm but he jumps up and runs into the flat, leaps over the sofa and crash lands into the arm chair. You stifle a laugh: he's so damn stupid when he's drunk.

'Tom, how could you get so drunk?" You say, smirking at the cute face he's pulling,

"I'm not drunk." His words fumble together a little and you laugh,

"Oh really? How come?" You raise an eyebrow at him and he smirks,

"Because I'm-" he throws up his arms for dramatic effect, "Thomas Sangster!"

"Course you are buddy." After that you decide to make him some coffee because he really needs to sober up. You know what Thomas is like, he starts off by being all happy and energetic but after an hour or so he becomes really tired and sad and moans about stupid things like "Why are two grapes never the same size?" Or "Why is a butterfly called a butterfly? They're not made out of butter!" And that's usually when drunk Thomas turns from funny to annoying.

As you force the steaming mug of strong coffee into his hand you notice that he's staring at you weirdly, looking at you up and down as if he's just seen you for the first time, "You're really pretty." He blurts out and your eyes grow wide. Thomas had been your best friend forever and now he was telling you that you were pretty? He never said things like that. He's drunk, you remind yourself and shake it off - trying to forget he said it. "Y/N I love you." He stares at you seriously and you freeze in your place.

"Well I am your best friend." You turn around to hide the blush on your cheeks and look out of the window, instead of looking at Thomas. "No. I really love you." He says and you close your eyes.

You take a deep breath in and exhale loudly. "Tom..." You turn around to say something then stop yourself when you notice he's asleep, "...you doofus." You smile at yourself and sit on the sofa, staring at him. He never loves girls, not like that. It takes a lot for Thomas to even fancy a girl, so why would he say that he loved you? He's drunk, idiot! Your inner voice practically screams at you and you flinch a little. Of course he's drunk, he didn't mean it. Right?

Pulling a blanket over the sleeping Thomas, who is nearly drooling on the armchair, you kiss him lightly on the forehead, as you always did when he was ill, or upset or drunk. Words formed on the tip of your tongue and they forced their way out of your mouth: "I love you too, Tom." You whisper and instantly frown at the thought. Love!?