You've Only Just Arrived (a Tom Hiddleston fan fiction)

Part One

You've only just arrived on the scene. You made it through the gauntlet of flashing lights and shouts of reporters without tripping over your own feet.

You definitely count that as an accomplishment.

You slow your pace as you come to the edge of the grand hall, stopping just on the outskirts of the crowd. You are amazed that you are now considered part of the crowd that mingles before you. It seems just yesterday you were still back home, content to performing on the small stage.

Being 'discovered' and subsequently cast in what turned out to be an extremely well received film still sends your mind reeling. As you look around at the sea of people you internally begin to make a list of all the famous faces that you have been in awe of all your life.

This is one of those moments that feels so surreal to you.

You fidget with the slender bracelet upon your wrist that your mother gave you for luck, fingering the pendant that has slipped to sit near the clasp. You can't feel the script upon the charm but you mentally recite the etched words that you know by heart: To thine own self be true...

You take an unsteady breath and glance nervously down at the gown that you splurged on, worrying now about your decision to wear it. Does the fabric cling a little too much to your gentle curves? Did all the camera flashes make the color look unflattering? It stole your heart from the moment you put it on but now...

You shake yourself out of your doubts and look up again at the crowd to spot Tom Hiddleston's profile, causing your breath to catch. You spend longer than probably socially acceptable watching him interact with - you can't see who it is because of the position of the surrounding crowd, but they're making him laugh so it doesn't matter.

Even through the din of so many conversations Tom's laugh reaches your ears. You let your eyes drop to admire his well tailored suit, and let's be honest, the body within, and smile to yourself. This moment alone makes the whole night and all the hard work leading up to it completely worthwhile.

Bless whomever had a hand in deciding how to dress Tom tonight.

Was Tom clean shaven? You hadn't gotten a good look before. You let your eyes wander back up to his face, only to find that he has turned his head, and his eyes are now locked with yours.

His smirk says it all... He's caught you red handed.

You feel yourself begin to turn crimson, the flush extending with each additional second. What a picture you must be now. Can you duck back out the entrance without too much trouble?

Tom hasn't broken eye contact and you are unable to do anything but remember how to breathe. Tom reaches to his side to excuse himself from his previous conversation and then starts to weave his way towards you. You see Benedict Cumberbatch step forward to briefly visually follow the progress of his friend and, to your judgment, begin to follow before he is paused by being greeted by someone else.

Tom seems to be able to part the crowd with ease, already covering half the distance between the two of you. How many times have you daydreamed about this happening? Your heart is pounding as he closes the gap. Even in your heels you feel tiny standing before him.

With an ever so slight bow he reaches out and takes your hand, drawing it to his lips before giving it a chaste kiss and saying: "Well. Hello, darling."

You still feel your cheeks burning but you at least recover yourself enough to respond. "Mr. Hiddleston."

"Tom. Please." He amends.

"I was just ah - admiring your suit?" It comes out as a question and you feel your flush regaining its strength. You fan your face with your hand to try to combat the result of your embarrassment and mutter to yourself, "Dear Lord help me, this...." You clear your throat and smile up at him, "I am such a fan of yours. I'll just ah - let you get back to your conversation?" There was that dratted upturn to the sentence again.