“Tom! Tom! Tom!” the journalists and photographers all chant Tom’s name as he leads you down the Red Carpet. His publicist had tried to talk Tom into walking by himself, with you hanging back a little. You didn’t mind, you knew that Tom was the star of the show. But Tom had adamantly refused. You’d been by his side ever since he’d started acting. You’d refused to leave him when he was struggling to get jobs, and your love and support had never wavered. He wasn’t going to exclude you from photographs, or be seen without you.
You posed with him for photographs, some side-by-sides, then arm-in-arm, hugging, holding hands, Tom kissing your hand while you pretended to swoon, and many more.
Tom gives a few interviews about his projects and the award season, but then something unusual happens, something that’s never happened before.
“Y/N, can we ask you a question?” a journalist asks.
You flounder. No-one has ever bothered to talk to you - Tom’s the star in your relationship, which was fine with you - so you didn’t quite know what to do. You glance at Tom, who smiles at you.
“Um, yes, okay.”
“What’s Tom like, when he’s playing his characters?”
You laugh. Again, no-one has ever asked you that question, but you immediately know how to answer it. “Well, he’s quite cocky when he’s Loki. Actually, he’s Loki a lot of the time at home!” A few surrounding journalists have noticed that you’re answering questions, and more microphones are shoved near your face.
“I’m not cocky!…Am I?” Tom wonders.
“You can be a little, darling.”
“And his other characters?”
You hum as you look at Tom carefully. “Jonathan Pine was assertive. Oakley was a cocky prick. With Adam, you were quite moody.” You turn to the nearest camera, “He got a few clipped ears as Freddie Page,” you wink playfully and everyone laughs. You sober suddenly as you remember a bad time. “Robert Laing scared me,” you admit.
Tom stops laughing and pulls you closer. “Did he?” he asks seriously. You nod, and Tom apologises profusely, kissing your lips and forehead as he holds you close.
“Do you have a favourite character of his?” a reporter asks meekly, trying to lighten the now dark mood.
You think, then grin. “Himself from the Jaguar adverts.”