Crumbs (a Tom Hiddleston fanfic)

Free Cookies & Fancy Flats

There's not much I can say about Tom's apartment.  He goes into tour guide mode as soon as we pull up in front of the house.  It's dark out, but I can make out a brick building with white trim, and a tree in the small front yard.  On the drive from the airport, we passed by gorgeous old homes and buildings.  His house is more modest looking, but still lovely. He tells me it's an old coach house that's been converted and updated into 2 large apartments.  He has the middle and top floors, and another tenant has the smaller flat on the first floor. 

            Once inside, I wonder why he would ever want to leave the place. I've been to his apartment in Los Angeles countless times, and it seems like a shack compared to this.  I could see holing myself up inside on a rainy London day, with a book and a warm drink and Tom. Lots and lots of Tom.

 It's beautiful, and warm and 100% him.  The floor plan is open but narrow due to the old building, with skylights and a mezzanine level that overlooks the first floor.  The floors are warm, amber wood and most of the walls are white, though it is not boring or void of personality.  There's hints of Tom everywhere.  Floor to ceiling bookcases, full to the brim with books, comfy couches and overstuffed chairs in the living area, art on the walls.  It smells like him too.  I breathe deep, as I wander around the first floor, running my hands over the nubby little throw blanket on the back of the sofa and the rows and rows of books.

Tom's bustling around, buzzing around me like a bee.  I'm a little speechless at first.  It's a truly magnificent place.

"What do you want to see first? The garden? Perhaps we should save that for the day time.  Come into the kitchen, I'll show you that half of the flat first, and then I'll show you upstairs." He takes my hand, pulling me from the wide open living area.  We walk by an open wooden staircase, boxed in by a clear glass wall.  It is a strange mix of modern and classic, not unlike Tom.  There's a small display case at the bottom the stairs, and I see some of the awards Tom has received.  His Olivier, some MTV awards, a few others I don't immediately recognize.

"This is so beautiful, TW.  I can't believe you didn't tell me you owned an apartment this...gorgeous." I whirl around, walking backward as I look up toward the mezzanine.  He chuckles and tugs me along.  We take two steps down into his kitchen, which is small but still light and airy.  He grabs the kettle and puts water on for tea.

"I'm glad you like it." He watches me as I walk around the space, touching the smooth, cool granite counters.  I see mail on the counter, and he's got photos and other papers hanging on his refrigerator.  His apartment in LA isn't like this.  His apartment in LA feels much more...impermanent.  This is Tom's true home.

I walk over to the fridge, leaning down to look at the photos.

"Did your niece do this?" I point to a child's drawing of what looks to be some sort of animal.  He grins proudly, and leans back against the counter.

"I'm pretty sure she'll be better than van Gogh." He shrugs.  I smile and keep looking.  There's a few movie and theater tickets, and some photos with friends.  I recognize a few people as actors and I skim over a picture of him and Keegan.  I try not to let it sort of punch me in the gut, but oh...oh yes, there it is.  That terrible, ugly, asshole green monster.  I skip past the photo of him smiling, with his arm around her slim shoulders.  They look like they are on a beach somewhere, and it is at least a few years old.  My eyes keep moving and I notice he has a photo of us as well.  A series of photos from a photo booth in Santa Monica. I can't help but smile.  I haven't seen these silly photos since we'd taken them over a year ago.

"Aw, look at us." I pull the strip off the fridge, and Tom pushes off the counter, moving toward me.  He chuckles softly and looks over my shoulder.