Home | Losille (losille2000) | (27/?) - 96.5k | Ongoing - Feb 2018
Tom returns home grouchy and exhausted from a cramped flight after four months away for work. Unfortunately, there’s already someone sleeping in his bed.
[Note: Losille began contributing her talents to the TH fandom in 2013 with “Picking Up The Pieces” and has since delivered excellent stories in both short and long form, as befits an author with her impressive education. in 2015 she rewrote and self-published the excellent 2014 work “Masquerade” to Amazon/Kindle. In recent years she’s been only slightly less active online as her real life teaching career has understandably taken precedence. She’s expressed that she is eager to return to writing, and I hold onto hope she’ll update “Home” before her Cavill or Evans works.]
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Tom unfolded himself from the black chauffeured car and lifted his hands over his head in a stretch that tugged the hem of his shirt away from his jeans. The stiff muscles in his shoulders and lower back groaned the further he moved, joints popping to illustrate his advancing age and how airplane seats weren’t getting any more comfortable, even in first class—especially after spending the better portion of a day travelling in one. However, he figured, the sore body was more than worth it so long as he was home for the foreseeable future.
Blowing a stream of hot air into the chilly spring night, he peered up at the two-story building to reacquaint himself with his surroundings. He’d been away for so long he barely recognized the slightly peeling exterior paint or the off-color shutters he never bothered to have repainted. What was the use in changing their hideous shit-brown hue, anyway, when he was hardly around long enough to enjoy them? The thought that he might actually have time to do something about them this time around made him sigh.
“Your bags, sir,” said a voice, demanding but professional, at his elbow.
Tom blinked hard at the little man who had interrupted his contemplation. The driver had met him at Heathrow with an iPad and his surname scrawled on the screen. Well, his decoy surname—the name he used when he didn’t want people to know where he was going to be. The name Luke made him use after that time at the airport where a crowd had gathered around and followed him to the car. Even though the only reason he needed a driver in the first place was due to the two girls before that who stalked him home on the Tube. Life seemed so convoluted these days, considering the process he had to endure just to secure his sodding bags at the luggage reclaim, only to go home to a place he barely recognized in the pale moonlight.
Tom bit his lip and balled his fists, trimmed nails biting into his palm. “Oh, yes, I’ll just take them up.”
“You’re certain, sir?”
Tom nodded and dug into his jeans pocket for the fiver he’d stuffed there earlier. After exchanging the banknote for his luggage and guitar, he waited for the man to return to his vehicle and drive away before climbing the front steps. He produced his key ring from the messenger bag on his shoulder and let himself inside the foyer to dark, comforting silence. His silence.
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