His English Heart- A Tom Hiddleston Fanfiction

Insecurities

"April," she says, "I want to get married in April."

She wants to get married in April.

"This April?..." I ask, setting my newspaper down on the countertop, hoping my eyes aren't going wide, "Or next April?"

She stares at me for a second, processing my question, "This April."

Oh. This April.

"... of this year?"

A smile lights her face, "Yes, Tom. This year. This April."

"April sounds nice," I reply, grinning, and fold my newspaper up, "I'll be back in a minute, love."

-------------------------------------------

April. She wants to get married in April.

Four months. Four. Months.

How are humans supposed to breathe again?

It's like a reflex right? Your diaphragm expands and contracts and air is pulled into your lungs? I..... I don't know how to accomplish this task.

Because she wants to get married in April.

April. Just four small, miniscule, microscopic months away. A little more or less than one-hundred and twenty days.

Am I capable of even getting married??

The countertop of the bathroom supports my weight as I glance at myself in the mirror for half a second. Breathing in deeply, I hold the breath for four counts, stare at my bare feet and basketball shorts, the hem of my grey t-shirt, and blow out the air in one loud gust.

Looking into the mirror again, I see the fear in my own eyes and wonder why it's come to visit me. I was the one who asked her if she wanted to get married. I shouldn't be worried about this.

I wanted this.

I don't want the anxiety from this.

I take in the rest of my appearance: slightly tanned skin, stubble along my jaw and above my upper lip, hair styled in its normal fashion.

"Why..." I groan, putting my face in my hands, "does she think I'm attractive?"

Rubbing my hands over my face, wiping at my eyes, I drop my hands to spy a pink face returning my stare in the mirror. Frowning in its direction, my eyes lower to the plane of my t-shirt.

Have I gained weight?

I turn to the side and flatten my t-shirt across my abdomen.

Yep. No more sweets. It's all of those chocolate chip cookies Jo keeps baking and bringing over.

A knock on the door interrupts the perusal of my insecurities.

"Tom?" Comes her voice through the door, leading my hand to the doorknob, "I heard you talking- did you need something?"

Swiftly unlocking the knob and turning it in one motion, I let the door fly open to see her standing there.

Jeans. Sweatshirt. Socks. Gorgeous.

"I'm ugly," I say simply, leaning in the doorframe. The light from the bathroom is illuminating her soft features from her spot in the dark hall.

She laughs, but when I make no move to join with her she stops.

"You're kidding me, right?" She asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Not at all," I reply, blinking down at her.