High Hopes

"...And cut! Print and check the gate, please! That's a wrap for today, folks," My director dismissed us for the day, and I bumbled back to my dressing room. I had nothing on my plate for the rest of the day. Though I knew there were things that I could do, there was still an empty feeling, like none of it really mattered to me. I hated this particular feeling. It would come and go, but when it was here it left me absolutely devastated. How could I be so unexcited for life? And then I would remember how - how I hurt the one girl I had really loved. The one girl who loved me back in a way I could handle, yet still was my best friend. How could I have been so stupid?

My phone brought me out of my zombie-like trance, and into a conversation with Luke. "I do hope you're free tonight, Tom."

"I think it depends. I may need a night to myself with my old friend Shakespeare."

Luke groaned. "I'm glad I found you this then. Grace is having a party tonight. I have the details; you're going."

My heart jumped. "That's...perfect. She won't be expecting it, but it's not to say it couldn't happen by chance."

"Right then. I hope it goes well, mate. You both owe it to yourselves to resolve at least something."

Suddenly my nerves were shot. I had had all this time to think of what I'd say to Grace if I ever got the opportunity. I had a speech once - but I'd forgotten it when it became clear that she wouldn't speak to me. I wanted tonight to go well so badly that my mind was drawing a complete blank.

"I'm going to need a drink," I mumbled.

---

"What is this?" I mumbled to myself, picking up a plastic cup perched on random hallway counter space in the Renner household. Jeremy had let me borrow his house to throw my party, and I felt that I owed him the respect of cleaning up as much as I could.

Despite my better judgment, I smelled the cup briefly before downing whatever was in it. I didn't have much to lose and if it was drugged, maybe I'd start having a better time. Pitching the cup in the kitchen trash, I ran a hand through my impossibly long and straight hair. My hand got stuck midway through my hair and I cursed while I untangled as best I could. The joys of thick hair.

"Everything okay? You sound quite perturbed by your own hair." That voice. I knew that voice. That voice was not invited to my party.

My eyes shot up to the bright blue orbs belonging to Tom Hiddleston. I quickly ran mine up and down him to make sure it was real. Indeed, he was standing there in front of me. He seemed to dress nice normally, but every time he was around me it was like he forgot to wear clothes. The jeans, thin white cotton shirt, and black leather jacket seemed to be a favorite ensemble of his.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I asked, finding my words faster than my thoughts. I'd have apologized for the obscenity to anybody else, but he didn't make me feel very contrite.

"I just wanted to talk, if that's possible," He explained, using his puppy dog eyes.

"I can't talk now, it's kind of a bad time. You shouldn't be here and you know it," I barked. He paled, and I remembered that this is the first time we've talked since we broke up on that fateful day.

"Would you like me to leave?" He asked. His question and his eyes were both genuine. It made me miss his personality - how real his feelings were.

"You can stay," I sighed. "But you may not talk to me. I don't wanna see you again tonight, okay? Do you understand me?"

Rejection spread throughout his face. It was a look I'd never seen on him. I could feel him chipping away at me, and my own emotions, but I held my composure.

"I understand. I'll just be over in that corner, pretending to be invisible," He smiled at me, and I know he wanted to get a smile. But I didn't have anything to give him. Only the wish that he'd never shown up here.

---

"Grace!" Jenny yelled for me from the kitchen. The party had calmed down quite a bit, and only a few close friends remained. The group had settled into the living room with a movie on, drinking the last of the opened alcohol we couldn't save and eating the rest of the food. I was still going throughout the house trying to clean it all up.

"Yes?" I asked, pausing to throw my hair into a ponytail. The release of having it out of my face felt so good.

"Tom's still here," She said softly. She looked at me as if the phrase would cause me to explode. Was I really that sensitive about him? Maybe I wasn't quite as over him as I thought.

"I didn't see him out there," I said calmly, referencing the group in the living room.

"Yeah, he's in the basement. Could you be a doll and tell him he should leave?" Jenny asked, grabbing some alcohol and heading to join the group.

"Well is he by himself? Why do I have to do this?" I called after her, but she ignored me and was soon gone.

I sighed, heading for the basement. I padded my way down the carpeted stairs and admired the set-up. Jeremy had a gorgeous house. The basement was a cozy creme color, with plush carpeting, white string lights in the shape of lanterns adorning the wall, a wet bar made of black marble, a plasma screen TV, and plenty of couches and blankets.

Tom was curled up in the couch with blankets and a bottle of scotch in his hand. My heart sank. He looked so distraught. He was clearly drunk, so I decided I'd at least be gentle with him.

"Tom? The party's over." I carefully sat on the couch near him.

"Clearly, the party is still going down here." He mumbled. He shifted his gaze to me and offered me the bottle.

"I think you're drunk enough for the two of us."

He chuckled, bringing the bottle up to his lips but deciding to talk instead. "I think you're right," He echoed through the glass before taking another swig.

I shook my head. "They say I self-medicate."

"If you know, why do you do it?" He looked at me again, intent on finding the answer.

"Maybe because I like to forget about shitty things that have happened. Like everybody else, god damn it," I seethed.

"You hurt like I hurt," He said matter-of-factly.

"No Tom, you hurt yourself and me. I didn't hurt anyone."

"Yes, you did! You hurt both of us too!" He paused to get his thoughts together while I could feel my anger building up inside me. "You broke up with me because you were scared. We were in love, for fuck's sake. Pulling out of a relationship because you're too scared is a pretty good way to hurt the person who's in love with you." He rambled, but I heard him.

I hurt him.

"Give me that bottle," I muttered. He handed it over, and we shared a look.

Once I had taken a few shots of the whiskey and began to feel more talkative towards him, we talked more like two friends than two ex's.

"Why did you come up to me and talk about my hair, you dingus? 'I'm sorry' wasn't the first thing you wanted to say?" I giggled as we took turns drinking. When he wasn't looking, I'd sneak longer sips than he'd took. He was drunker than I was, anyway. Even though I'm a lightweight and he's a British-Scot.

"Maybe if you weren't so scary, I'd feel more at ease talking to you."

"I'm scary?" I asked incredulously.

"Yes! You're absolutely terrifying. We never even got to have simple fights with each other, so I had no idea what you'd be like if you were upset with me. You think if we ever fought about something more simple, I'd get a chance to apologize?" He laughed.

"Yeah," I sighed. "I think the fact that you're still trying says a lot about how you feel."

He blew air out through his mouth. "I feel like all the love in my life left. I still have familial love, obviously. But it's nothing like..." He paused. He wasn't sure what he wanted to say. He didn't finish.

I looked at the time, and realized that I was supposed to have gotten him out of here already.

"How are you getting home, babe?" I asked. My eyes widened when I realized what had slipped. He perked his head up, staring at me with a smile on his face.

"It's been so long since I've heard that." He giggled a little to himself, before nestling into the couch. "I could just go to sleep right now..."

"Tom, no," I stood up, feeling only slightly wobbly. "How did you get here?"

"I drove," He mumbled into the blanket. I pulled on his arm, but his giant body was too much to even try to move.

"Alright, bud, then you're staying here tonight. Come on, there's a guest bedroom upstairs. Come on, Tom!" I called to him as if he was a puppy.

He groaned, rolling out of bed while clutching onto my hand. Having him stand over me again reminded me what it was like when he was always around. I realized that I'd missed him. I led him up the stairs and found Jeremy.

"He's too drunk to drive but his car is here," I explained. "Should I get him a cab?"

"No need, he can stay here," He laughed, and I was confused until I realized that Tom was playing with my ponytail. I rolled my eyes at the drunken idiot, steering him in the direction of the bedroom. He flopped onto the bed immediately.

I sighed, taking off his shoes for him. I pulled the sheets out from under him and he rolled over to face me while I tucked him in. I could feel him watching me, but I couldn't bring myself to look at him. Too many confusing feelings.

He grabbed onto my arm as I was about to walk away. "Goodnight kiss?"

He had a smug smile on his face as he waited. "No, Tom."

He pulled again. "On the cheek?"

"No." Pull.

"On the forehead? Please?"

I tried to walk away. Pull.

I stared at him, fire flowing through my veins. His big blue eyes almost felt like they were calming the anger, when I gave in and looked at him. I sighed, leaning down and softly pressing my lips on his forehead. That was safe, right?

Right?