Chapter 8- Simply Beautiful

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Something disturbs me from my slumber.

The curtains are wide open but the sun is only just beginning to rise.

I made sure everything was locked before Pratt deposited me on Chris's bed last night.

Nobody should be in here, apart from... Chris.

My eyes shoot open the intruder jumps backwards, squealing like a piglet. He recovers quickly, however, and his lapse of hilarious fear is replaced by a frightening mask of anger.

"Your face," he near-growls, closing in on me again. I cower away but he catches my sore chin in his palm. "I'm gone for two days and you've already been busted up? Who the fuck did this?"

"Krueger," I chuckle nervously, earning an impatient grunt from the brute on my bed.

"This is no time for jokes, Tommy,"

"Well, the intense black eye and gross face peelings are from when Robert-,"

"Robert? Robert fucking Downey? I'll kill him! I swear to fucking God, I'll kill him!"

I blush at the intense concern and his beautiful accent.

"Whilst I appreciate your worry, Chris, I'm perfectly fine. He saved my life,"

Chris whips around to face me and his eyes are blood shot and watering.

Okay... what the fuck is wrong is him? Why on earth does he give so much of a 'damn' about me?

"What do you mean he saved you, Tom?"

"He pushed me away from the train-,"

"A FUCKING TRAIN!?"

I scramble off the bed and attempt to flee the room but I stand no chance, really. Chris side tackles me onto the fluffy carpet and wraps his huge arms around my waist. We stay there for a while, Chris breathing heavily into my hip and me? Well, to say I am shell shocked would be a HUGE understatement. I am shaken with shock. Where the fuck did this come from?

Eventually, he rolls away from me and we both stare at the ceiling fan. His arm is trapped underneath my body but neither of us makes an effort to move. The pain in my ankle suddenly makes its presence known and I growl under my breath.

"Did I hurt you?" Chris asks softly, not looking at me. It's the most vulnerable I've ever heard him.

"No," I answer truthfully. I don't feel awkward anymore. Chris will do that to you; eliminate your tension and heartache with just a breath. "But it's the second time in," I glance at my watch. "-nine hours I've been tackled to the ground,"

He chuckles and finally looks at me. Those eyes... Those eyes I've begun to associate with Mediterranean ocean and calibrated comfort stare deep into my soul and I freeze. The contact doesn't break until the lunch bell sounds and we both uneasily get to our feet.

"Look at you," Chris grumbles when I lean on him for support. "I don't like seeing you like this,"

"Why not?" I gasp as my ankle bends painfully, "Everybody else seems to,"

"Because you're a good person, Tommy. And I'm your director. You don't seem to see it, but you're so gifted: Incredibly intelligent, humorous, humble, and beautiful-,"

Whoa, wait! Back up...BEAUTIFUL!

My heart pounds and Chris can feel it, judging by the cocky smile that graces his handsome features.

He hooks one meaty arm around my shoulders and the other behind my legs, and then proceeds to gather me in his arms like a pile of wilted flowers.

"You know, I'm getting really tired of people doing this," I grouse, unable to quell the happy smile and blush rapidly taking over my face. "What is it with you guys and the whole 'bridal style' thing?"

"Oh, it's not a thing," Chris shrugs as we stumble out of our room. I clutch his shirt and duck my face under his arms in embarrassment as people chuckle around us. "People just can't seem to help themselves around you,"

My heart stops.

At this point, I'm convinced I'm just a walking corpse.

Part of my brain tells me that he's just messing around with me, that he's helping me in the most dramatic way because he's an actor and I'm injured. But another part of my brain screams KISS HIM, YOU FOOL!

What? Don't look at me like that, we all want to.

Of course, I don't get the chance to attack his face with my lips. We're already in the lunch hall and Scarlett and Pratt are waving us over.

"Until we meet again, my prince," Chris booms, lowering me onto a stool with care. Pratt splutters and slaps my shoulder. "Take care of yourself," he breaks character and kisses my forehead. "And get some ice on that ankle,"

And then he is gone, leaving me a puddle of mush on the floor and Scarlett and Pratt looking hilariously dumbstruck.

"Oh my," I whisper and lower my head to the table. Through my arms, I see Scarlett's shock slowly morph into crazy, predatory excitement.

I won't lie, that look of hers scares the shit out of me.

"Oh, Hiddles," she smirks and my soul flakes in embarrassment.

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