You are a hardworking young actor that catches a big break, resulting in you attending your first big awards show. Among the famous faces you see that night: Tom Hiddleston. You only ever intended to admire him from afar, but he has different plans...
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The longer the scene runs the later your day will be. Too late, and you won't have any time to try to squeeze in a nap at the hotel before your flight. You'll be left careening from set, only pausing to snag your bags before venturing on to the airport to catch your late-night flight. It's not only you, missing your mark, but it's predominantly you. Is this an act of self-sabotage? A way to say 'whoops, sorry. Going to have to cancel my appearance at the awards after all'? You're already missing all the pre-show parties. There will be other events, other chances to wear the dress. But Tom. What about seeing Tom? You've convinced yourself this is your final opportunity to see him and tell him, face to face, all those things needing to be said so that closure can be found.
I'm so very sorry for all the conflict. For all the pain I've caused. I love you. And wish you well.
Granted everything that needs to be said could, and to a degree have, been said over the phone. But you owe him more than that. You owe yourself more, too. So – damnit – you're going to get through this day and get on that plane and return to L.A.
See Tom again.
If you can just focus. Stay in the moment and in the scene.
But you can't.
At least right now you're just running lines between takes.
"They say absence makes the heart grow fonder."
Two replies fight to leave your lips: there's the one you should be trying to voice – your line, and then there's the thing that wins out, spoken with a bit too much force. "I fucking hate that saying."
Andrew hardly falters despite your outburst, the momentum the three of you had been building lost in the blink of an eye. He motions between you, Matt, and himself with the page he's folded into a makeshift weapon. "Well that's not the line. But please, tell us how you really feel."
You feel – you feel worn through. Much like you've been punched in the gut and are desperate to suck in oxygen. That's how you feel. It's this damn scene that your little trio have been repeating, over, and over, and over again, for most of the damn day.
The changes are the root of the trouble. Right. The changes. Not the fact that your flight back to the States is looming, as is the event that will bring you into the same space Tom occupies for the first time since The Split. Never mind the nagging distance that now exists between you and one of the members of this very troupe. You refuse to cast another quick glance in Matt's direction. Every time you do you manage to catch the tail end of a wounded expression. Or, at least, that's what your brain keeps tricking you into thinking.
Visions of your father making faces at you come to mind, stern faces he made at a younger you when he wanted to silently warn you – Focus young lady, focus!! – not that it ever did him a bit of good. You twist your mouth into a sarcastic grin, doing your best to ignore the crankiness that shoved your previous words from your lips. "I would, but we just don't have the time."
