Main Characters in the Story:

*Kim So Hyun as "Athena" Myung-hee Park

*Tom Hiddleston as Himself

*Jake T. Austin as Michael De Soto

Chapter XX: I Love Your Apartment.

~o~

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~o~

"Yeah, no. I don't think so. Kenneth Branagh is, by far, the Iago in Othello." I stare out at the road flying past us. "Don't try to convince me otherwise."

"I don't know." Tom argues. "I still think Ewan McGregor might be a better Iago by just a bit."

I roll my eyes. "You are just saying that because you're, like, one of his best friends. Calm down, alright? Branagh is the best. End of the discussion."

"Is that so?" I can hear his wide smile in his voice. "Well, we'll just have to settle that when you get here."

"Yes. I am going to walk away from that discussion with you confessing that Kenneth's awesome. Watch." I grin even though he can't see it. I just wish he could, because that would mean he was here with me. "So how is the shooting going? Does Loki get enough screen time?"

"More than his fair share. Filming's just fine. Actually, I've heard that we're almost finished. Just a few more scenes, and I'll probably get a chance at a full night's sleep."

"That's good. Does that mean you'll be free when I get there? Or no?" I chew my bottom lip nervously. Please say yes. Please say yes. Please say yes.

He gives me a quiet disappointed sigh, and I already know what he is going to say. "I'm not sure, actually. As soon as I'm done here, I'll probably be starting up on Crimson Peak. Mia talked me into doing it, and I got one of the main roles.

"Another movie?" I say clearly upset. "Don't you get to have a break between movies or something?"

"Unfortunately, I have bills to pay, love. Acting is all I've got right now that keeps me warm and in the house. I can't just risk that and stop for a little while."

"Come on, Tom. I am sure you have more than enough money to spare. Taking off, like a month will not have a big effect on your wallet, or your account, or whatever you keep that safe."

"I'm fine with it. It keeps me on my feet. That's what I like about it."

"If you want somebody to keep you on your feet, then give me a call. I will send you on a country-wide scavenger hunt or some kind. I got you, Tom."

He chuckles on his end of the call. "I appreciate that, but that will just use up my money even more."

"Not if you walk."

"Why are so worried, all of a sudden? I'm fine. Can't you just take that as my answer?"

"Not really. I just… I don't want you to over-work yourself. Alright? There you go."

"No. That's not it. You're worried I won't be able to spend time with you when you come to stay with me this summer."

"Ani-yo! {No!} … No…" I lied, trying to offend by the idea. It is true, every bit of it. But I didn't think he would be catching on that quickly. Well… now that I think about it, that's kind of a stupid assumption. He knows me better than anyone else. And his dead silence is enough to tell me he doesn't believe me one bit. "Maybe…" I mumbled. "Is that worse?"

"A little bit."

My cheeks burn with embarrassment. That has to be one of the idiotic things I have said to him. "I am so sorry, Tom. I'm—I-I didn't mean-"

"I was kidding." Another sweet smile makes his voice lighten up and sound kinder than before. "Don't take that seriously. I really was kidding. It wasn't that worse. I hate it, too."

"Then why do you do it? Isn't it stressful?"

"Yeah, it's stressful. But everything's stressful. I just love doing it despite the stress. I like constantly having the opportunity to find out just what it is I can do."

I decided to stop arguing with him. I clearly can't persuade him to take a break, so I might as well support him on this. "As long as you come out okay from all this filming, it's fine. Knock yourself out."

"Thank you. Alright. I've got to go. I'll talk to you later."

"Okay." I drop my stare to my lap. I don't want him to go yet.

"I love you."

I glance at Michael, who is concentrating fully on the road. I hope to God he didn't hear that. "I am with Michael." I reply. It's kind of like a code for each other. We are finally trying to stay faithful to the whole "Keep it a secret" thing, so we just say. "I'm with *place name here*. I guess it is our version of "I love you" when we are unable to say it out loud.

"Right." Tom didn't sound too thrilled to hear me say that. It is the weirdest thing because Michael gets the same way when I mentioned Tom. It is a short moment of dead silence before he speaks again. "Bye, love."

"Bye."

He doesn't even bother to linger for a second like the usual. He just hangs up right away, and my phone beeps in my ear.

Geuui ban-eung-eun ... segyeeseo geuge mwoya? Geuneun jeon-e geuleohge haengdong hanjeog-i eobs-eo. {His reaction… what in the world was that? He's never acted like that before.} Geulsse, ne, geuneun jigeum ilju-il jeongdo dong-an geuleon sig-eulo haengdonghaessseubnida. Geuleona jeoneun jeongmallo geugeos-eul eodji moshabnida. {Well, yes, he is been acting like that for about a week now, but I really don't get it why though.}

Naega mwol hangeoji? Naneun geuege bulkwaegam-euljuneun mal-eul haessseubnikka? Naneun geuga jeongmallo joh-ahaji anhneun geos-eul haessneunga? {What did I do? Did I say something offensive to him? Did I do something he didn't really like?}

Naneun jinan jue musihan jeonhwa ttaemun-i anigileul balabnida. Naui eommaneun naleul wihae nal-eul bonaego sip-eossda (geuleonde, naui insaeng-ui byeolnan nal). geuligo naneun eotteon uimundo jegihago sipji anh-assda. {I hope it wasn't because of those calls I ignored last week. My eomma wanted to spend the day for me (weirdest day of my life, by the way), and I did not want to raise any questions.}

Unless… {Anhneun han...}

Suddenly, the answer hits me like a slap in the face, leaving a bewildered expression plain on my face. I look at Michael, piecing the last few details together, then stare straight ahead again. Eom-ma-ya. Naneun neomu eoli seogda! Naneun geugeos-eul mid-eul su eobsda, naneun geugeos-eul simgaghage mid-eul su eobsda. Tom eun jiltusim-i manhda. {Oh my God. I am so stupid! I can't believe it, I can't seriously believe it. Tom is jealous.} Geulaeseo geuneun hangsang geuleon solileulhaessseubnida. Michael ileum-eul deudneun geos-eun geuleul jiltuhage mandeubnida. {That's why he always sounded like that. Hearing Michael's name makes him jealous.}

This thought brings a small, amused smile to my face. With a hint of disbelief, of course. Oh. My. God. He is jealous. Mr. Hiddleston is experiencing jealousy. Why for, I don't know. Michael will never be a competitor because Tom always wins… let me list them: money, looks, fame, brains, kindness, politeness, good manners, devotion, and talent, definitely sarcastic. Yep. Tom wins. But he does not see that. He's freaking jealous- oh. Oh this is too adorable. This is really something. I hope he knows how I feel about that now. Yes, that's right, honey. Feel the jealousy.

"Did you use all your energy talking whoever that was?" Michael jokes.

I shake my head no, but I then realize that is kind of a silly move. He is looking at the road; he can't see me. "Y-Yeah. I mean, no. I just caught up in thought. That's all."

"'Bout what?"

I smile. It just makes me want to laugh so hard. "Nothing. Nothing important, anyway."

"Don't want to talk about it?"

I shake my head no. "Not really. Sorry."

"Why not?"

"Because I just don't. What's with all the questions, Michael?" I hate the question after question after question. I have always hated that. I feel like I am being interrogated.

"Sorry." He shoots me a surprised glance. I have never snapped at him like that while being serious about it. "I was just curious."

"I know. It's- I am so sorry. Just when I say I don't want to talk about something, accept that as I don't want to talk about." I can feel myself getting angry. For some reason, getting annoyed always triggers my anger. If I say no, it doesn't mean keep trying. Seriously.

"Alright. Got it." he stares back out at the road, and the awkward silence envelops us both. He even starts to show the awkwardness physically; squirming in his seat, impatient sighs. I really had an effect on him with that reaction. He makes me feel kind of bad about it. "I'm sorry." He apologizes, not looking at me for a second. "I hope it didn't sound like I was snooping or anything. I'm naturally nosy."

"It's all good. Just forget about it." I slide the lock across the phone screen and start looking through my games. I need something to distract me. I find my favorite one, Piano Tiles, all the way at the end. I tap on it, turn the volume all the way down, and start playing.

Suddenly, one of my favorite songs comes on over the speakers. I look at the radio, totally caught off-guard. "Life Could Be A Dream…" I look at Michael, confused. "The Coasters?"

"Yeah. You know it?" He smiles widely.

"I love this song." I take a few seconds to listen to the song, and it makes me smile. I used to listen and dance around to this with Tom.

"Tom, come dance with me." I call from the living room. I place my iPhone on the iHome dock. I scroll through my playlist, looking for a good song to dance to.

"And what song did you have in mind, exactly?" He comes up behind me and places his hands on my hips, resting his chin on my shoulder.

Just as he said that, I had already clicked the perfect song. Life Could Be A Dream by The Coasters. "How about this one?"

"It's a good song, but I don't know how to dance to it."

"Well, you don't have to come up with a perfectly-coordinated dance routine." I turn to face him and take both his hands in mine. I lead him to the center of the living room, keeping an eye out for the coffee table. Just before it hits the back of my leg, I push it towards the couch and out of the way. I turn back to him, my ponytail whipping around to the back of my head. I give him a teeth-flashing smile. "Just move around." I start swaying my hips side to side and waving my hands like a jolly person.

"Seriously? That's not dancing! That's just moving." He smiles widely, amused by my-so called 'dancing'.

"Of course it is. If you are moving with a rhythm, and there's music blasting, it's dancing. Just do it. Come on." I continue to sway my hips, keeping in sync with the song's beat.

He's hesitant, but I get him to start moving with me enough. Soon, we are moving back and forth, side to side, across the living room floor in sways, twists and turns. We are so sure about what we're doing that it could be accepted as dancing by anyone who's watching. But it really isn't. At least, I don't think it is. It's just us being silly with lazy movements. It's just fun to move around with him. We even continue to dance even after the song is over, our dances changing quickly between love songs, rock songs, jazz songs and even kpop songs. This is now our playlist. I don't care if I am the one that created it. I am labeling it our playlist, 톰 명희ヽ(*≧ω≦)ﾉ *재생 목록* {Tom Myung-hee'sヽ(*≧ω≦)ﾉ*playlist*}.

I find myself staring blankly at the dashboard. That was one of my perfect moments with Tom. The playlist is still called Tom Myung-hee's playlist. It will never change it for anything or anyone.

"Life could be a dream! Sh-boom, if I can take you up to paradise up above! Sh-boom, and tell me, darling. I'm the only one that you love!" Michael sings his heart out to the song, even if it is a tad bit off-key. But he is having so much fun with it, I don't think he really cares if he's singing it right or not.

I jump in and join him in singing the end of the song cheerfully. "Life could be a drema! Sweetheart, hello. Hello again! Sh-boom, and hoping we'll meet again!"

~o~

"I love your apartment." I tell Michael as he locks the door behind us. "Not too small, not too big. It's comfy."

"Yeah, I like it too." He throws his keys on a little tray next to the door. "But I'm hoping to get my own place soon. I've been saving money for a nice apartment right down the street."

"Yeah, that's something about Stamford. Even though the apartments cost an arm and a leg, you will never run out of options." I look at the picture on the wall. It's Michael and a woman I'm assuming to be his mother since she looks a lot like him. "It is kind of sad, really."

"Why?" The way he said that one word makes me sound like I'm weird… which I am.

"Because… I remember this city when it wasn't trying to be like New York. There were more trees, more little stories, and more convenience stores, less shopping centers. It was actually pretty nice to live here. But then they started building condominiums and office buildings. "It's really too much business, and it kind of sucks now." I slowly make my way with the flat screen TV on it. There are framed photographs on each side. Michael and his mother… and two other guys; one is an adult and the other is a child. I picked up the picture of Michael and the two guys. "Who are they?" I ask him curiously, studying the man in the picture. Michael has his eyes, lips and hair.

"That's my dad." Michael replies, appearing next to me. I didn't hear him take a step. "And the little one's my brother. He's five years old now."

"Aw. What is your little brother's name?"

"Jake."

"I would love to meet him. He is so adorable."

Michael is silent, staring at the picture with sad eyes. "He would've been great to meet. He really was a special one."

I look at him, instantly realizing what he was talking about. I place the picture back where it was on the mantle and turn to him, not looking him in the face. "I am so sorry. I did not know… I wouldn't have said…"

"Don't worry about it." Michael takes a deep breath, filling his lungs to their limit. "It wasn't your fault."

I look up at him. I am glad I did not offend him or anything. I really hadn't taken that into an account when I should have. "M-May I ask what happened?"

He stares at the picture for a few more seconds, then turns away from it. He walks off into the kitchen, bumping his fist purposely against the frame of the doorway. "You want anything to drink?" he calls out.

"Water, please." I keep looking at the other pictures. Everything on the mantle includes either his dad, his brother or both.

As I am studying a picture of them with a bunch of different-colored bunnies (a couple of them were purple and green, not sure why), he comes back into the living room with a bottle of water for me and a bottle of Heineken for himself. I wonder if I could try one, but I decided to leave that question for another day. "My brother had gotten a glass in his foot. A huge shard about half the size of my hand."

I wince at the short description. I can practically feel the pain in my foot. My reflexes tell me to ask if Jake was okay, but my common sense reminds me to stay silent for a while.

"It was terrible. He was crying so loud, and we couldn't get it out. My mom was at work, so my dad was with us. He told me to stay here while he took Jake to the emergency room. He said he didn't want me to hear my brother like that. So he left. Everything after this that I'm telling you is what my dad had told me."

I nod my head understandingly, encouraging him to go on.

He lifts the bottle to his lips and takes a huge drink of the beer. He gulps it down and continues the story. "They were halfway to the hospital. My dad was focusing on my screaming brother so much that he didn't notice the line of cars stopped directly in front of him. He panicked, and instead of hitting the brake, he swerved off the road right into a tree, hitting the side of the car where my brother was sitting. Jake got the full blow. When the ambulance got to them…" he takes a pause to drink more. I don't think he's over this. It must not have happened that long ago. He clears his throat. "When the ambulance got to them. Jake had died in my dad's arms. He licks his lips, then takes another swig.

"I am so sorry that happened to him. He seemed like a precious little boy."

"He was. He really was. I still have every LEGO figure he would build for me. He was pretty good for a four year old."

"Did he like construction or something?"

"So much. I'd find him looking through my textbook for woodworking class. He'd be flipping through just to see the pictures since he couldn't read the small print. The last one he built me was supposed to be a car. He saw it on TV and just started putting pieces together… well." He chuckles. "He got the wheels in the right place. Everything else was just sort of stuck on top of them. I'll show you them later if you want."

"That sounds good." I am not hesitant with my questions, but I really want to know more. "And um… what about your dad?"

"My father. hm. No one ask about him. Then again, no one really likes him." He chuckles. "My father felt so guilty after the accident. He was convinced that it was his fault Jake died. Last time I saw him was in his room…" he stares up at the ceiling fan. It is turning ever so slowly, bit it is making the room moderately cool. "… hanging from the ceiling fan." He takes the longest few gulps of beer after he says that. Hell, I would too if I wanted to drink the mental scar away.

"I can see… you have had something of a sad life." I fidgeted between my fingers while looking down at them. I leaned against the back cushions of the couch and closing knees together. It's really all I can think of doing such an awkward situation.

He shrugs carelessly. "Yes and no. Yes, I lost two of the most people in my life, but I've got my mom. I've got air in my lungs, I've got you as the first best friend I made here in Stamford. And I'm glad my brother gets to stay a child forever. I don't think I'd ever want him to learn the truth about reality, about growing up."

"Why is that? I mean… I am sure he would want to learn what it is like to have a girlfriend, or being in middle school is like."

"And let him understand? I don't think so. He was too sweet to know what a heartbreak is. And middle school is the most confusing part of life in education. Worst of all, you've got assholes around you that help in making it harder to understand who the hell you are."

Concern lowers my eyebrows. I have never heard so much hate come from someone (other than myself). "Did that happen to you in middle school? I mean… were you bullied or something?"

"Hell yeah. I love reading, especially Shakespeare. I always had one of Shakespeare's plays somewhere at the bottom of my bag. And every time I went to the school library to get another one, a bunch of kids would make fun of me. My own classmates. In sixth grade, they actually convinced me that I might have been gay." He chuckles at that as if it is the most ridiculous thing in the world. "They would tell me how Shakespeare's are for girls, and they'd asked me if I like reading stuff to my boyfriend."

"Jerkass douche-bags." I mutter under my breath. "I mean, seriously. How in God's name does that make you gay? You like reading Shakespeare… and? That makes you gay? Now that I think about it, I think anything people do that isn't normal girl thing or guy thing to do, or if it isn't something mainstream, you are automatically homosexual-" I cut myself off in a flash. My jaw snaps shut, and I looked away from him. "I am so sorry. I'm off on a rant. This is about you."

"No, no." he changes his position, turning in his spot to face me. He rests an elbow on one of the bigger pillows. "I think I'd wanna hear your opinion. Go ahead."

I lick my lip, nervousness leaving them dry and with a weird feeling. They know I have been put on the spot, so I guess they completely forgot to move. "Um…" I clear my throat, and I proceed. "I, um… I just think it's stupid. That's all. And what the hell does reading have to do with being gay? You are just human that likes to read. Shakespeare clearly likes to read, and he was straight. Unless Anne was a dude. A bunch of people like to read in this world, and half of them are straight as a pin. And what if you were gay? Not that I am saying you are though. Unless you are. Actually, I don't know you that well, so… are you?"

He rolls his eyes at my questions. "I can assure you that I'm not gay. My ex-girlfriends would definitely disagree on that." He smirks.

"Right. Just making sure. I wasn't questioning you or anything. We just haven't known each other for that long."

After that, it is just dead silence. That, I have to admit, was my fault. I let my mouth run without monitoring what words come out of it. As a result, we are left in a thick, awkward atmosphere. I play with my fingers nervously, pretty embarrassed that I just asked that flat out. I chew on the inside of my cheek. Dodaeche eotteohge geu munjeleul haegyeol hana? {How the hell does one fix that?}

"I could prove it to you, you know?"

I look at him. I don't know what stupid part of my brain thought he could, like to ask an ex-girlfriend or something. But, before I could ask it's too late.

Michael presses his lips to mind more quickly than I can follow.

I stare at him wide-eyed, frozen in place. My heart is pounding so hard, I can't hear a single thought in my head. I can't find the common sense to pull away and slap the sense out of him because, well… because I think I kind of… liked it. And, being the babo {idiot} I am, my eyelids flutter and close.

I slowly kiss him back.

But it's not even half a minute before my common sense has finally returned. I pull back, his lips lingering before disconnecting completely. He gazes into my eyes, pupils dilated. He definitely enjoyed that more than I did. I stare back at him, but in astonishment rather than ecstasy. My heart drops to my stomach in the blink of an eye. I blink back the tears that tease the rims of my eyes. I look away quickly, averting my stare to the floor. "I… I think you should take me home now." I say softly.

The entire ride home, I cried silently in the passenger's seat against the car door.

Naega museun jis-eul han? {What have I done?}