Hello Again (a Tom Hiddleston fanfic)

December 2010: Young Love & Slutty Christmas

On the regular, Santos and I often get drunk on cheap red wine and then pass out, waking up the next morning feeling like we are rotting from the inside out. It's just sort of what you do when you're in college, and you feel sort of listless, and directionless. I'd like to say that in the months since graduation, we'd moved past that point, but last night has proved otherwise.

My head is pounding. The lure of staying in bed until the end of time is tempting, but I am so thirsty I feel like it's possible I truly may die of dehydration. I get a little dramatic when I'm hungover. The morning light is weak and gray, and a quick glimpse at the clock tells me it's barely past seven. If I'm lucky, I can slip downstairs, get some water, and make it back to my room without running into anyone. Emily told me that Christmas celebrations usually don't start until noon, so I have a bit more time to recuperate before I have to pull myself together and act like a functioning adult.

I steady myself on the edge of the bed for a moment, before hobbling around my room, looking for my short little robe I've brought with me. I have no idea where it's gone. House elves, possibly. My little boxer shorts and an oversized tshirt with the neckline stretched out to four or five time the normal size don't seem totally appropriate, but there's not much I can do at this point. If I don't get water soon, I may just keel over and die.

The house is quiet, as it was last night. I make my way down the hall and the stairs, and through the main room. Someone must have cleaned up a bit, as there aren't any traces of our drinking from the night before. Despite all the windows, the light in the house is dim and bluish gray. The sky outside is overcast, and slate colored. It reminds me of the skies back in New York before a big snow storm, though I know it's a little too warm for that here.

"Morning." Emily's voice startles me as I round the corner into the kitchen. She's standing hunched over the sink, in tiny booty shorts and a huge sweatshirt.

"Morning. I feel like death." I shuffle into the room and plop down on one of the barstools across from her. She grabs a glass from the cabinet for me, fills it with water and slides it across the counter.

"I do too. I've been dry heaving all morning." She pulls her dirty blond hair back, and leans a hip against the counter. She doesn't really look much like Tom. They have the same light coloring, but she's rather petite where he is long and lean.

"Merry Christmas." I guzzle down the water, feeling the pounding in my head intensify and then subside ever so slightly. I hand Emily the glass, and she refills it for me. She has her own glass, which sits half empty next to her.

"Happy Christmas. Welcome. This is how most Christmas morning are spent in the Hiddleston household. Hungover, dry heaving into the kitchen sink, and then having a lie in until my mother makes us get up and look presentable for Christmas dinner." Emily says with a smile. I laugh, putting my chin in my hand, shaking my head.

"I like it. Though I feel terrible."

"How late were you guys up last night?" Emily asks, stifling a yawn.

"Not long after you went up. Tom made me some crazy drink, and then I went to bed." I say, trying not to think of what almost happened in between all of that. I'd somehow almost forgotten. I can't say it was a complete surprise. We were both a little drunk. Okay, we were both really drunk. And there's history there. But...

"So, Grace...tell me...I've been trying to figure it out since you got here." Emily shifts and raises an eyebrow. "Exactly when did you and my brother sleep together?"

I choke on the water in my mouth, and instantly begin coughing. Emily's eyes get huge, but she just smiles and waits for me. I shake my head, covering my mouth and trying not to die. How did she know? Santos? Tom?!