it echoes through

four; perfidy

The next morning you woke up in a sweaty haze. It took you too long to fall asleep–a new bed never was your friend–and the only way you managed to drift off was with Tom's hands wrapped firmly around your torso, pressing you to his bare chest. It was how you always slept, but you haven't changed the settings on the room's heating system, and Tom was always warm to the touch, causing you to wake up covered in a thin layer of sweat.

Not the best morning.

You shuffled away from his grip, earning you a loud protesting groan from the sleeping boy, and jumped into the shower. The water was warm and refreshing, and the soap provided in the hotel room smelled like cherries. You forced yourself to relax, to forget about what happened yesterday and what Clarissa told you, and as you pulled on your outfit for the day and dried your hair, you decided you needed a distraction.

Slowly, as to not wake Tom, you went through your suitcase in search of one of the three books you remembered to throw into the case as you all rushed to start your journey towards Liverpool. You weren't quite sure which books you picked up, and as you moved around your collection of underwear and tank tops, you found them. Three books, three beautiful distractions, and you let out a sigh of relief.

"Baby, you okay?" You heard a mumble from behind you, and as you turned around you saw Tom aiming around the bed to find you–eyes still closed, denying the sad truth of finally waking up.

"Yeah, I'm here," you let him know, causing a smile small to grace his face as he fell back onto his pillow.

"I thought you left," he grumbled as he sighed.

"Where would I go?" You chuckled, placing the books back onto your clothes as you made your way towards him.

"I dunno," he slowly opened his eyes, squinted slightly before his face relaxed into a smile, "I just missed holding you."

"You held me all night," you rolled your eyes at him, earning you a bigger smile, still plastered with sleep.

"Never enough," he said, voice more serious–slightly more sober than his previous mumbles.

The tension in your shoulders you didn't notice before was gone, the doubt Clarissa planted in your gut was gone, any thoughts that didn't evaporate with the hot water from the shower were gone. You leaned forward, closer to him, and brushed your lips against his.

"I love you," you reminded him, or maybe yourself. Tom smiled at you, wrapped his hand around your body again and said it back. With such intention–you couldn't dream to doubt it again.

Before you could get used to his hand over your stomach, a knock behind the door caused you both to jump up, followed by a shared and rather confused look between the two of you when the voice behind the door announced, "room service!"

"Did you order something?" Tom questioned, not knowing how long you've been awake for. You shook your head before making your way towards the door, Tom so far as reached for his gun, placed safely on the nightstand, an arm's length away like it always was.

"Good morning!" The man said as you cracked the door open, a white cart ready by his feet. "Here's your order," he began, pushing past you and cheerfully walking towards the small table placed by the window. He didn't ask or say anything, just laid the whole contents of the cart onto your table–including a small vase with white roses.

"I'm sorry, sir," you began, painfully aware of Tom hiding his gun behind his back, fully prepared to aim it at the poor man, "we didn't order anything."

"Oh, of course," he apologised, "this is from room 1006," he then reached behind his pocket, and a tension tingled in your body as you felt the gun tighter in your hand, "I was told to read this out for you."