Today is the day you’ve been waiting for all your life.
Well, not exactly. It’s the day before. The day before you get to join the crowds that mass to the red carpet of the next Marvel release in hopes to catch a glimpse of the actors you love. For you, it’s Tom Hiddleston.
Stopping for a moment in your scrolling of tumblr, you allow yourself to picture the moment he when comes into view and you finally get an autograph, maybe a picture if you’re very, very lucky. The screaming fans, the mass of colours and confusion, and him.
With a sigh, the realistic side of your brain (you try to keep it locked away but sometimes it gets out) jerks you out of your reverie and you return to staring at cat gifs and reading brilliant theories extrapolated from three seconds of footage and one line of dialogue.
An hour later, in a sunny, tea-induced laziness, you drag yourself from the coffee shop booth in which you had set up residence and decide to drag yourself back to your hotel room and unpack the three days worth of clothes you had shoved into a suitcase for your long weekend in the city. You pack up your laptop and drain the last liquid from your cup before sauntering out onto the sidewalk.
Your eyes, used to the dim light of indoors and your laptop, take a moment to adjust. Squinting and blinking, you stumble for a moment and nearly fall into the road. As it is you look up to see a car coming right at you. The driver has a look of pure terror on his face. The horn blare resonates through your skull but you can’t move.
Two strong arms wrap around your waist and pull you back onto the sidewalk, where you and your unknown rescuer get buffeted harshly by the air rushing by the passing car. You gasp a thanks, leaning over slightly to compensate for the wave of nausea sweeping through your body. The man rests a reassuring hand on your back.
“Are you alright?” he asks, concern obvious in his voice. Your brain kicks into overdrive. That voice-you know it. From hours and hours of interviews you’ve watched, rewatched, and fangirled over.
“I-I think so.” You gasp, looking up into the worried face of Tom Hiddleston.
“Are you sure?” he asks. “You’ve had quite a shock.”
Inside you’re not sure you are alright. You want to throw up and burst into tears. Unable to differentiate between the shock of the near-death experience and the shock of meeting Tom, you nod shakily.
He stares at you for a moment and you gulp nervously. Sure you look like a complete wreck, and you tug at your clothes.
“Come now. I don’t think anyone could just walk away from something like that. Let me buy you lunch. I want to make sure you are ok before I leave you alone in the city.” He says, gathering your backpack and sweater you had dropped on the sidewalk and offering you his arm like a real gentleman.
“Oh no,” you protest, voice weak. “I owe you my life, I couldn’t-”
He smiles at you, a dazzling, eye-crinkling smile. “I won’t take no for an answer.”
Heart beating like dubstep, you slip your hand around his arm and you two set off down the street.
“I know a great place,” he says as you walk. “Right on the water. Absolutely beautiful. They make a fantastic grilled salmon.”
All you can do is smile and try not to cry. A few people who pass you on the street do a double take, and a few stop to stare. You giggle slightly and relax. Tom leads the conversation into easy channels. He asks about your studies and is extremely pleased when he finds out you’re there to see his movie.
You reach the restaurant, and Tom insists on ordering you a sample plate of their best dishes. You both linger over the meal, watching the sun set on the water, chatting about your favorite movies, music and food, quoting Shakespeare and laughing. His red-gold hair waves over his forehead and glows slightly in the flaring light. Sometimes you look up to see his green eyes, fanfiction green, fixed on you. Then you both blush slightly and look away. Eventually he finishes his drink and stands slowly.
“I’m afraid I will have to cut this lovely evening short,” he says reluctantly, pulling on his well-fitted navy jacket. He really did look loath to leave.
“However, I have had a wonderful dinner.” He begins to leave but thinks better of it. “Tell me,” he turns around. “How would you like front row seats to the premiere tomorrow?”
He brushes away your protests with a few words and a stunning smile, and before you can formulate a response he is gone with your phone number scribbled on a napkin and folded carefully inside his jacket pocket, leaving you with a promise to have his secretary call you with the details the next day.
You return to the hotel, ecstatic, and can barely sleep. You didn’t have a signature or a photo, but you had the memory of a sun-kissed evening spent with a wonderful gentleman. So when you pick up your phone in reply to an unknown number the day of the premiere, you are surprised to hear Tom’s voice once again. You exchanged pleasantries, and you thank him profusely for saving your life, buying you dinner, and the exceptional tickets to the premiere. He takes your gushing gratefully, and moves the conversation--rather abruptly--to another topic.
“I was wondering if you could join me for lunch at my hotel today. I mean, if it’s not too much to ask. I had such a nice time yesterday, and I think a little intelligent conversation would be a pleasant break from the interviews I’ve been doing all morning.”
“Of course!” you agree, smiling. You picture him sitting on the edge of his bed, as he chats with you, tired from all the questions he’s been asked a hundred times before, jacket flung over a chair and bowtie hanging around his neck as he runs a hand through his hair.
“Thank you, bless you. Half past noon? I’m at in the large hotel on the square.”
You finish the arrangements and squeal as soon as you get off the phone. Knowing you’ll need something nice for the premiere that evening, you slip on a sundress and browse the local boutiques, eventually selecting a deep green gown and a delicate golden necklace. The ensemble reminds you of Loki, your favorite part Tom plays.
At promptly half past noon you step out of the taxi, still burdened with your shopping bags. The porter sweeps open the glass doors and you enter the lobby. Its soaring ceiling supports massive crystal chandeliers which reflect every ray of light onto the golden and white marble walls. Rich red velvet carpet cushions your every step as you make your way to the restaurant. It’s quiet, with a cellist playing somewhere in the background. The restaurant has one long window going down one wall that looks out onto the bustling street.
You hesitate at the entrance to the classy room, but a tall figure hurries towards you. Greeting you with a gracious smile, Tom leads you to the corner table by the window he had reserved for you, and pulls out your seat to help you in.
“I must apologize again for the short notice,” he says, leaning in slightly across the table.
You assure him it was no problem at all; you had just been out shopping for the showing that night. You shortly describe your purchases, not wanting to bore him, and thank him yet again for the tickets.
“I must admit,” he says, glancing down at the table, “that I did not tell you on the phone the whole reason I wanted you to come to lunch.”
Curious, you inquire what the whole reason might be.
He takes a deep breath. “I was wondering if you’d like to walk the red carpet with me tonight. You see, I haven’t gone with anyone in a while and it would be good fun.”
You break into a wide, blushing grin, but before you can respond with a resounding ‘yes please!’ he begins talking again.
“I do want you to know, though, what you might be getting yourself in for before you say yes. I’m sure you are aware of my massive fan base, bless them all. They may or may not take kindly to you. Regardless if there is really anything to the fact I’ve asked you to attend the premiere with me, there will be rampant speculation all over the internet and tabloids.”
You blush a deeper red and stare at your hands twisting in the napkin, knowing you have been one of those rampant speculators.
“Please don’t feel inclined to say yes.” He ends, looking at you with the pitiful face often dubbed ‘the mournful puppy.’
You nod, a smile spreading across your face. As it does, he smiles too, until you are grinning at each other and staring at the tablecloth only to glance up and see the other’s eyes on you. A movement in the corner of your eye catches your attention, and you see a cluster of teens around the window, snapping photos on their phones and staring.
“It has begun!” Tom comments lightheartedly before turning and waving with a smile. You take the moment to calm your heart, which has been beating out of time more often than not in the last twenty four hours.
After the light lunch, which passed in a daze of happy conversation, you head back to your room. The premiere is hours away, so you log on to tumblr expecting the worst. However, due to your firm ‘no selfies’ rule, no one knows it was you who Tom Hiddleston seems rather taken with.
You are surprised to see photos from the previous evening as well, and smile as you read the comments of those trying to figure out who the girl is. After leaving a few cryptic, misleading ones of your own, you shut your laptop and pull out the days purchases, stomach already full of butterflies.
You get a text from Tom, letting you know a limousine will pick you up from your hotel at seven. A limousine! You are practically shaking from all excitement as you style your hair.
At promptly seven o’clock the long, black limo pulls up and sits at the curb, engine purring. A suited man with black sunglasses opens the door for you and you slide onto the plush leather seats. Tom isn’t there yet, but you text back and forth a while before the car stops and he joins you in the back seat. On the way to the premiere you discuss the movie you’re going to see, and Tom keeps his lips sealed on the subject. However, he is quite impressed with your knowledge of the Marvel universe in general, and you are able to share with him a few facts he didn’t know.
As the limo pulls up to the premiere and you see the screaming crowds through the window, your stomach does an unpleasant backflip. With a reassuring smile, Tom steps out of the limo and the cheers intensify. The crowd looks with interest as Tom turns back around and offers you his hand.
You step onto the red carpet. Bright lights shine on you from every direction. The noise, the sheer noise, is completely overwhelming, but you keep a smile on your face as you and Tom walk down together, stopping every few steps for him to sign something or take a photo with a fan. Sometimes you stand by with a slight smile as he shares a few words with a fan or gives someone a hug.
Once a few yards onto the carpet the interview requests start. Tom, with you on his arm, stops and chats a little with each one. When asked about you--which is basically every interview--he says you are a good friend and says nothing else on the subject. You have to admit to yourself that you are wondering a similar question to everyone else. What do you mean to him? You only met yesterday. Shaking the speculative thoughts, you immerse yourself in the once of a lifetime experience. Every once in a while you spot an actor you recognize, not in the least the main cast of the Avengers in its entirety. Tom greets each warmly, and after they return the pleasantries their eyes invariably move to you with one question in their lips, “who is your lovely companion?” Tom smiles mysteriously and gives them the same answer he gave all the interviews.
“She’s a good friend.”
An hour and a half later you enter the theatre. Tom escorts you to you seat and begs leave to go chat with a few old friends. You need a few moments to pull yourself together anyway, so you nod and watch as he weaves gracefully through the crowd. You settle into the red velvet seat to watch the A-listers all around you. Chris Hemsworth sees you sitting alone and comes over for a moment. Before being called away, he tells you how glad he is you’re here and that Tom is walking the red carpet with a companion again. You nod your thanks as he leaves, and pull out your phone. As you had suspected, pictures from the red carpet were already flooding tumblr, along with the question all the Hiddlestoners were asking.
“Who is she?”
Smiling, you tweet a few comments as if you are in the crowd outside, and even join in the general frenzy over Tom’s unknown companion. But within a few minutes he is back, and the lights dim. Red comic book pages flash across the screen and your breath catches slightly. Without looking at you, Tom takes your hand, and the movie begins.