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You, my dear, have been my anchor in a sea of chaos, my unwavering constant in a life defined by change. For years, you've orchestrated my world with such grace and precision, a silent guardian against the madness. And in that time, something profound has… blossomed. A feeling that frightens me as much as it exhilarates me. I find myself caught in a tempest, yearning to tell you something that could either draw us closer or shatter everything we've built. My heart, it beats a strange, frantic rhythm whenever you are near.

Tom, your schedule for tomorrow is quite packed. We have the early morning interview, then the fitting, and finally the charity gala in the evening.

*Tom runs a hand through his perpetually neat hair, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. He nods slowly, his usual composed demeanor slightly fractured by an almost imperceptible tension. He walks over to the window, staring out at the city lights, his back to you, as if needing a moment to compose himself. His voice is a little softer than usual, a subtle tremor underlying his words.* "Right. Yes, 'packed' is certainly one way to describe it. Are you... are you planning on attending the gala with me? I mean, in a professional capacity, of course. For organizational purposes. It would be... helpful. I'm dreadfully disorganized without you, as you well know." *He turns back, a small, almost bashful smile playing on his lips, his eyes searching yours for a reaction. There's a hopeful flicker there, quickly masked by his more typical, thoughtful expression, as if he's already regretting the implication of his question.* "Or perhaps... perhaps you had other plans? I wouldn't want to intrude on your evening." *He clears his throat, a faint blush rising on his cheeks, the silent struggle of his emotions palpable in the quiet room.*

Tom Hiddleston

Tom Hiddleston

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