Work Text:
“I can help!”
“It’s not that I think that’s a terrible idea, Tommy, it’s just… y’know, that it’s a terrible idea.”
“How? Why?”
Newt sighed deeply, and Thomas just stared at him with raised brows. He tapped his pen against the desk and Thomas thought he looked almost nervous. But it was a great idea, and Newt was just being nervous. Thomas was great with this kind of stuff, and he’d promised Newt he was going to be a better friend after he ditched him at the movies a few weeks before to hang out with a girl.
This was being a good friend. He knew Newt was being stubborn, but he was positive it was a good plan.
“Okay, but Newt…” He said, when Newt didn’t answer, “Think about it. If I can get you two together, we can go on double dates. I’d never be able to ditch you at the movies again?”
Newt levelled a dangerous glare in his direction that had Thomas recoiling a little, “If you ditch me at the movies again, you’ll have to find a new work friend because you won’t be seeing me anymore.”
Thomas raised his hands in surrender, “Okay, sorry!” A beat passed, “But for the record, I’d still see you, because you only work about two feet from me and--” Another glare. “Noted, noted.”
“Why are you so desperate to hook me up with someone anyway?” Newt sighed, turning to look at Thomas. Thomas tried really hard not to shrink away from the frankly blazing gaze. “You’ve barely known her five minutes. We don’t need to do literally everything together. You can just have a solo relationship.”
Maybe, he guessed, but wouldn’t it be ten times more fun if they could go out together? If they could go out together, then Thomas could hang out with Newt and whichever girl he was seeing at the time. It seemed ideal. He never really enjoyed his time with anyone else even half as much as he did with Newt. It seemed obvious. Ideal. Easy.
“What about Teresa?” Thomas offered brightly. He’d suggested this a thousand times before.
Newt glanced up at him once more, sighing deeply. “Tommy, I don’t know how much clearer I can make this to you. Your sister is great. She is. But men.”
Right. Right! He did know this. Newt didn’t actually like girls. But Teresa seemed so obvious. Her and Newt already got along so well. Plus, he knew Teresa wouldn’t get all threatened by his relationship with Newt, and that was almost always a problem eventually. People didn’t really get them.
In fairness, it was a pretty particular friendship.
They’d been friends when they were little kids. Best friends. But then Thomas had gotten really into track and Newt had gotten really into art and they’d sort of grown apart. Almost all through high school, they didn’t speak. Maybe they’d nod at each other in the hallways or say hi in some classes. But they were resolutely different.
Newt liked to say it was because Thomas got popular, but it really wasn’t. Thomas had adored Newt. It was just that… well, maybe it was that. But he felt nothing but shame thinking of that.
Then Newt had had his ‘accident’, and Thomas’ views had changed entirely. He’d gone to visit Newt every day that he was in hospital and… pretty much ever since then, they’d been best friends.
Of course, by then, they were college students. And then, eventually, colleagues. They didn’t do the same job, but they did work together. Newt as an editor for their publishing company and Thomas as a technical writer. Which was a nice way of calling him a fact checker. And now… Thomas didn’t want to lose Newt again. When he first heard what happened, he really thought Newt was a goner. He really thought that was it. He had decided there and then that it wouldn’t ever happen again.
And now, he was trying to date around, but if he was honest…
“Okay…” He looked around the office. “What about Alby? I mean, he’s super smart and good looking and—”
“Absolutely not, Thomas.”
“Don’t call me Thomas. It’s petty.” He said stubbornly, knowing Newt only ever resorted to the full name when he was pissed and wanted Thomas to know it. “Why? You could do a lot worse than Alby! He’s—”
“Keep your bloody voice down, would you? Someone’s gonna hear you!” Newt leaned forward, and for a split second, Thomas was nearly certain he was going to actually tackle Thomas out of his seat. Maybe it was time to wheel his chair awkwardly back over to his own desk.
It was clunky and awkward wheeling a desk chair across a carpeted floor, but hey, he’d committed to it now, and he refused to go back on that. Besides, he did it like twenty times a day. All his colleagues were used to it. Newt included.
“What about… Oh! What about my friend Minho? You know the one from—”
“Yes, I know your friend Minho. Jesus Christ, Thomas, I need to pay my fuckin’ rent, mate. I can’t get sacked.” He sighed, “If I say yes to setting me up, will you go away?” Before Thomas could speak, he started talking again. “Nobody we work with or that I already know!”
Thomas perked up instantly. “Um, duh, yeah! If you say yes, I’ll go back to my desk and do my job and browse my contact list for eligible…” Newt was glaring, and Thomas cut himself off, raising his hands in surrender and wheeling his chair away.
One day it would inevitably get caught on the uneven, old carpet and Thomas would go flying. But then, Thomas was already that guy in his office. He was the guy who talked too much. The one who cracked jokes in inappropriate circumstances. The one who coughed during meetings. He was already the over-chatty, over-excitable ADHD guy. Frankly, falling out of a chair wouldn’t even be the most embarrassing thing he’d done that week.
He’d just steered into it. He knew who he was.
Actually, Thomas spent almost the entire rest of the day trying to find a good guy for his best friend. And, sure, it was a little rough when there was obviously no guy who deserved him, but he figured there were some good interim options.
Like Gally. Gally had been in Thomas’ group in high school. He and Newt hadn’t seen each other properly in several years, but Gally was a nice guy. He was funny and engaging and super loyal. Newt was out of his league but… well, that was okay. Newt was also a nice guy. He’d appreciate what Gally had to offer.
And when he suggested it to Gally, Gally was… more into the idea than Thomas was expecting, honestly.
Though the taller man had never shown any interest in Newt in high school, he had apparently always noticed him. Thomas wanted to be surprised, but really, Newt thought of himself way more negatively than he needed to. Of course other people had noticed him.
Just because he wasn’t strictly popular didn’t mean people didn’t notice or like him. He was a tall, British guy with fluffy blond hair and glasses. He’d had rom-com leading man written all over him since forever, and his genuine best friendship with his twin sister didn’t hurt that image at all.
And so Thomas had done his reasonable best friend duty. He’d signed Newt up for that Friday night.
And though Newt hadn’t entirely been excited about it, he’d agreed.
*
“You look great, Newt. Really.”
“Tom, if you had to say ‘really’ at the end like that, it’s probably because it isn’t true.”
“I take your point,” Thomas argued, “But it’s true. The blue really suits you.” In fact, it did. Newt looked genuinely good in the teal jumper and dark jeans. He looked… well, like he should be in Notting Hill or something. He wasn’t sure anyone would be able to look at Newt without being enamoured with him.
“I should’ve worn contacts,” He lamented quietly, fiddling with his glasses as they slid lower onto the bridge of his nose.
Thomas shook his head, “Hell no. Do you not realise how endearing this soft, artsy boy vibe is? The glasses are great on you, you shouldn’t hide them.”
“Why Gally?” Newt asked, suddenly pacing back and forth. “Like, he was a popular guy. And I know it was like a billion years ago, and we’ve all changed just a wee bit, but… I dunno, I can’t help but feel like I’m about to get egged or somethin’.”
Thomas flashed him a small, affectionate smile. “Stop that. You’re a catch. You always were a catch. This unpopular vs popular narrative you’ve got going on was always in your head. In fact, Gally told me he had a crush on you back in high school. So! You know! It’s not a bad teen movie! No ones waiting to take your glasses off and make you suddenly pretty, you’re good as you are!”
Newt looked flustered and shy, and Thomas was filled with a rush of affection for him. If Gally was any less than a perfect gentleman to him, Thomas was going to have to go to war. Decade of friendship be damned.
The knock on the door almost took him by surprise. It was a little too early for Gally.
When he pulled the door open and saw Minho, his face broke into a wide grin. “Hey, dude!” He greeted, throwing his arms around him in a hug.
When Minho walked in, he instinctively looked to Newt. They’d met. Like, a million times. But they’d never really formed a close friendship outside of Thomas, and since Minho and Thomas partied together and Newt rarely partied, they didn’t see that much of each other on the regular.
“Oh, hey, man.” He beamed. “Long time no see.” Newt and Minho embraced awkwardly, and Newt didn’t look any less awkward and flustered.
Maybe he really did like Minho. Huh.
“Why are you so dressed up? Are you two going out?” Minho asked, though his nose wrinkled when he caught sight of Thomas’ crumpled appearance. Evidently, he decided they couldn’t be. Not when Newt looked like a male model and he looked like a couch hopper.
“No, Newt is. He’s going on a date with Gally.”
Minho’s brows shot up, eyes flicking to Newt. “Oh!” Minho knew Gally well. Gally, unlike Newt, did go partying with him and Minho. They knew each other in different ways, but were friends by then regardless. “You and Gally, huh?” He asked Newt, flashing a smile. “He’s a lovely guy, I’m sure you’ll have a fun time.”
Newt bounced on his toes awkwardly, messing up his hair once more. Thomas sighed, muttering about how he’d only just fixed it up, but Newt didn’t seem to care. And, annoyingly, it sort of looked better now. He looked even more sweet like this.
“Yeah, Tommy insisted on setting us up.” Newt grumbled. “Somethin’ about double dating. Never mind that I never said I wanted a boyfriend.”
Thomas waved him off. He’d be grateful once they were all in love and hanging out in a little group of four.
When Gally arrived, Thomas was… impressed. Or something. Gally had combed his hair nicely, wore a nice button down shirt, and seemed genuinely sort of… sheepish. Maybe he really had carried some little torch for Newt. Thomas had never known him to be so… forthright with this level of effort. He tended to be more the type to pretend he cared less than he did. Apparently he cared. A lot, if Thomas had to guess. He wanted this date to go well.
Newt was no less awkward and sheepish, and when the two hugged in greeting, Thomas glanced away, feeling weirdly like he was intruding on a moment. But then they were gone and he flopped onto his giant grey sofa, putting his feet up and grinning with pride.
“This is awesome.” He told Minho, who looked less than confident. “They’re totally gonna hit it off and then we’re going to be able to hang out on double dates and stuff like all the time. And like, we can hang out with Gally more too. Ugh, I’m a total genius.”
Minho, once again, seemed less than convinced. “Not to burst your bubble, man, but… do you even have a girlfriend?”
“Not officially, but Lily and I got along super well on that last date so I figure—”
Minho blinked at him. “I thought her name was Daphne.”
“What? No. No, her name was definitely Lily. I remember because it was a flower name.”
Minho eyed him suspiciously. “Tom, Daphne is a flower name.”
Was he stupid? Suddenly he wasn’t entirely sure. He could’ve sworn it was Lily. He’d have to go look for her facebook or something, so he didn’t embarrass himself when he called for a follow-up date.
“I don’t understand how you’re not sure of her name.” Minho said slowly, “You obviously couldn’t have liked her that much if you don’t even remember her name.”
“No, I liked her plenty. I’m just awful with names.” Thomas assured, shaking his head. Why wouldn’t he like Lily? Or Daphne… She was nice and pretty and he got along well with her. He didn’t know why Minho was throwing a spanner into the works. He knew Minho was probably trying to help, but it wasn’t really helping as yet.
“Okay, but… setting Newt up with Gally? Why…? I thought Friday nights were like… your best friend date nights?”
“Yeah, Newt said that too, but… y’know, he and Gally are definitely going to hit it off. Why wouldn’t they? Gally’s super funny and strong and tall.”
Minho eyed him. Thomas felt psychoanalysed and he hated it. “Yeah. He’s taller than you. Bigger arms too.”
Thomas’ smile turned down into a frown. Why was it about him? He was just trying to do something nice for his friend! Newt hadn’t dated anyone since they were twenty, and at twenty-five, he was starting to worry a little. Or maybe he just wanted to be a good friend. Why was Minho acting like it was some big crime for him to set Newt up with someone? Why shouldn’t Newt be happy? Why shouldn’t Thomas set him up?
“Are you jealous or something?” Thomas asked, confused.
“Nope.” Minho popped the word. “Are you?”
Thomas sighed, “It was me who set it up, dumbass.”
*
“I still don’t get it.”
“There’s nothing to get, man, okay? I’ve told you like a billion times. I think he’s a great guy, we’re going to stay in touch and hang out more, but I just couldn’t see it being something romantic. I was perfectly nice about it, but I just… wasn’t feeling it.”
Thomas huffed. Why? Why must Newt ruin his perfectly laid plans? Gally was great! Funny and nice and buff, like Minho had said. Taller than Thomas too.
“Well, luckily for you, I’ve already got your next candidate.”
Newt’s eyes widened, and he finally looked up from the document open on his monitor. “I beg your pardon?”
He sounded so cute when he said things like that. So proper and so funny. Thomas really tried not to grin back. It was no good. Newt pushed his glasses up his nose and shook his head as though Thomas was some incorrigible and annoying presence in the back of his mind. A pebble in his shoe. Thomas beamed regardless. He knew Newt loved him. He wouldn’t let him get away with so much shit otherwise. Still, their supervisor, Ava, had always loved the two of them, so Thomas wasn’t too worried about getting in trouble.
“Trust me, he’s great! Super duper smart and sweet. He’s a physicist and when I showed him a picture of you, I swear he actually started sweating.” When Newt pulled a face, Thomas hurried on. “In a good way! Like, he thought you were super cute.”
Newt sighed. “Thomas, really, you don’t have to set me up with anyone. I don’t need a boyfriend, and it’s starting to feel like you’re just setting me up with any queer boys you know.”
About that…
“You’d be surprised how many queer boys I know.”
“You’re missing the point!”
And so, once again, Newt went on a date with his friend Aris, while Thomas hung out with Minho. He was anxious all evening, jittery waiting to hear from Newt how it went. Maybe they’d really hit it off. Or maybe he’d change his mind about Gally.
But the evening drew on, and Minho eventually headed home, leaving Thomas alone in his apartment. Newt had said he’d stay over after. He almost always did of a Friday night anyway, and Thomas was always happy to have him. Sure, he didn’t have a spare bed, but Newt had stayed everywhere from the bed with him to on the balcony. Although, he was absolutely smashed that night, in fairness.
When it passed midnight and Newt was only just returning home, Thomas’ teeth were a little set on edge. He liked Aris, obviously, that’s why he’d set him up with Newt. But Newt was special. Cool and friendly and outgoing and considerate in a way nobody else Thomas had ever known was. He walked in seeming dishevelled and quiet. He was smiley though, and Thomas’ brows raised.
“Hiya, Newtie…” He offered quietly, wanting to see how Newt would react. How he was feeling. He was a bit… giggly. His hair all messed up.
Did that mean…?
“So you, uh, you obviously really like him…” He attempted, hoping that Newt would give him some information. He wasn’t expecting to be quite as invested as he really was, but he wanted to hear everything. Or… maybe he didn’t. But he needed to know. The suspense was killing him, and he was basically bouncing in his seat.
“I mean, he’s really cool.” Newt said with a slow nod. “And it was a really fun evening.” He looked like he was trying, and failing, not to smile. Thomas’ brows raised, and he wanted to know more. Why was Newt being so… secretive about it? The way he grinned when he said ‘really’ made Thomas think… He frowned a little. On the first date? It wasn’t that Thomas hadn’t done the same on dates before, it was just… Newt wasn’t meant to have some average first date, he was meant to have something proper. Special. Maybe Aris had been the wrong choice.
“So… are you going to go out with him again then?”
“I… don’t know.” Newt admitted with a little shrug. “I mean, it was good. Really.” There was that smile again. Thomas wanted to ask, but the words kept getting caught in his throat. It would be disrespectful of him to ask, right? Newt never asked whether he hooked up with the people he went out with, it would be weird if he asked Newt. “But… I don’t know. I’m not sure I’m really feeling… anything ongoing.”
“Well…” Thomas shrugged, “Maybe that’s for the best.”
Newt’s smile fell, and he was looking at Thomas like he’d smelled something bad. “How so? You set me up with the guy!”
“No, yeah, I know. I know that. I just…” He shrugged, “In hindsight, I think you could do better. You know, now that I… see you with him. Or, not see you with him, but… picture you with him. I mean… Not with him with him, but…” What the fuck was he even talking about anymore? Why was he doing this? Why was Newt just looking at him with that unreadable ass expression? Why was he still rambling? All questions he simply couldn’t answer. “I mean, I don’t want to see you with someone else. I don’t want to see you with anyone. I’m not a pervert. But I do think you could do better. That’s what I’m getting at here. You could do better.” He cleared his throat, finally forcing himself to stop talking.
Newt was still just staring at him, and Thomas was left wondering if he had always been this hard to read or if Thomas was just really tired and having some kind of brain fart. Newt and Thomas had known each other forever, and he’d never consciously tried to read Newt like this before. Why was he suddenly so… attentive? He wasn’t the type that ever got so anxious about anyone’s mood that he tried to psychoanalyse them, but apparently there was a first for everything.
“Okay, well, that was super weird, but rather than talk more about that, we’re just going to move right along.” He half smiled, “Can we be done with this setting me up thing now…? It’s clearly not working and… I don’t know, it’s embarrassing.”
Thomas frowned. His plans had been so well thought out. If him and Newt dated at the same time, nobody got left behind. They could still hang out all the time and talk about everything and be themselves, as they were meant to be. And, one day, they’d sit together on some porch swing playing bingo while their partners hung out.
Perfect.
“Nope. Absolutely not.” Thomas grabbed Newt by the wrist, pulling him down into the seat beside him. “Tomorrow night, we’ll go to a club. I’ll wingman you. It’ll be great.”
“Tommy…”
Thomas gave him his best puppy eyes (they always worked), and Newt looked like he might kill him. Still, he begrudgingly agreed.
“So… you and Aris.” Thomas began again, curious, “You look kinda dishevelled, did the two of you…?”
Newt shoved his shoulder, his cheeks reddening noticeably, “You’re not meant to ask me that, Greene.” He said quickly, shaking his head. “Weird. That is a category we’ve never broached as best friends and we sure as hell aren’t going to start now.”
“But so you did then?” Thomas asked, eyes widening, “Because if you hadn’t, you’d just say no.”
“I’m not doing this with you.”
“What?” Thomas asked, feigning innocence. “I’ve set you up on two dates now and neither have come to anything, surely I’m allowed to know if I have any future at all as a matchmaker.”
Newt glanced at him. “You’re an idiot.” He said quietly, sighing. “Have you gotten the foldout ready?”
Thomas shook his head, “No, no, you can just stay with me. It’s a massive bed and it’s not like I’m scared that I’ll get cooties. Unless you caught cooties from Aris. Did you…?”
If looks could kill, Thomas would be dead and buried in an instant.
“I can still get a rideshare home, Tommy.”
“No, don’t!” Thomas reached for him, grabbing both his hands tightly. They were soft, but cold, and he wondered if he’d held Aris’ hand earlier. Wondered if it would fit right in Newt’s hand. Did his hand fit? Without even really thinking about it, he turned his wrist slightly, sliding his fingers between Newt’s, as though that were a completely casual thing to do. As though they were the sort of best friends that casually held hands in the middle of the night. After Newt had been on a date.
His eyes ran over Newt’s face, like he was looking for some sign he was right and Newt and Aris had hooked up. He found nothing. No telltale bruise on his neck or… well, he supposed lipstick probably wouldn’t be an issue with those two.
He considered for a moment that he was reading too much into Newt’s smiling, but why would he? He wanted Newt to date Aris. That was why he’d set them up. So why did it now seem so… urgent that he knew whether Aris and Newt had… well, really, done anything at all intimate.
“What’s going on right now? Are you sleepwalking?” Newt asked, interrupting his crowded and tangled thoughts.
Newt’s brows were raised and his lips were pursed. Thomas just stared back, momentarily confused. But then he noticed their hands again and chuckled awkwardly, pulling his hand from Newt’s grip.
“Sorry.” Thomas said quickly, awkwardly. “I was… I don’t know. We don’t hold hands enough. Best friends should hold hands. Seems homophobic not to.”
“Homophobic? Of me? To you?”
“I’m not straight!”
“So you say.”
“Don’t start.”
They stared at each other intently for a moment and then both fell into laughter. The same stupid jokey argument they’d been having for years.
The first time Newt had said Thomas was straight (an incorrect assumption), Thomas had just about jumped out of his skin. He’d been so offended. Since then, Thomas had never actually… dated a guy. Granted, he hadn’t seriously dated anyone, things never seemed to last more than a few weeks. Anyway, Newt hadn’t stopped teasing him about being ‘straight’. They both knew Thomas didn’t have to date anyone to validate any queerness, but since Newt knew how much it offended Thomas, it was an easy way to tease him.
“Well, what are you holdin’ my hand for, Tommy? Aren’t you doing all this because of Daphne? Why weren’t you out with her while I was with Aris?”
Daphne. Fuck. It was Daphne. Minho was right. Okay, maybe he was an idiot then.
“Dunno.” Thomas shrugged uselessly. “So you really weren’t into Gally or Aris?”
“Nope.” Newt shrugged, leaning back as though he was sick of the question. In fairness, Thomas had asked it a lot.
“Okay, so what actually is your type then? Because, y’know, by your own admission Gally was a hot, popular guy in high school and he’s super buff now. And Aris is super smart and more the nerdy type. So like… I’m forced to confess I don’t know your type. Help me figure out who to look for?”
Newt sighed. “I don’t know, Thomas.” Thomas pouted at that. “I… am really not sure why I wasn’t into either of them. I mean, they’re both great guys. And I really had fun with both of them, but… I wasn’t feeling anything romantic. So I didn’t bother with it.”
Thomas frowned. The two of them went on chatting and joking until ungodly hours of the morning, until at some point they finally collapsed into bed side by side. It wasn’t unusual, and they were both too tired to have any real conversation once they were there. Besides, it wasn’t unusual for them to collapse side by side in the same bed. They’d done so plenty of times in college too. Granted, they were usually drunk then, but still.
*
Newt was warm in his arms and Thomas couldn’t fight the feeling that he was meant to be there. He’d never woken up with Newt tucked into him like this before, but he wished he had suddenly. It felt like they fit perfectly together, warm, living puzzle pieces.
He tried not to notice the way Newt’s body felt against his. Tried not to notice the way his hips instinctively jutted forward to press closer to Newt. To try to find some kind of friction. He tried not to let his hand wander a little lower, but he failed when he heard a soft noise escape Newt’s lips. His voice had always been hot but this was something else entirely.
Hearing the happy noise from a newly awoken Newt, Thomas let his hand wander to Newt’s hip, pulling him in tighter and attaching his lips to Newt’s neck. He wanted more. He desperately wanted more. Until now, he hadn’t even considered what it might be like to touch Newt. To press up against him. To hear him moan…
Why had they put music on? It didn’t exactly fit the mood.
He sucked on Newt’s neck harder when the blonde boy groaned louder.
The music felt like it was getting louder. It was wrong for this moment.
“Tommy…” The breathless whisper was like a symphony in his ears. He let his hand roam lower, towards Newt’s waistband.
What the fuck was that music?
Thomas awoke with a start, sitting up in his bed, confused and disoriented. He glanced around for Newt, but the bed was totally empty, as was the room itself. Which was probably for the best, considering the toll that dream had taken on the more reactive parts of his body.
And since when did he dream about Newt in such a compromising position anyway? It was surely because of all this blind dating stuff. Surely because Newt’s love life had been on his mind. And he supposed at least the dream didn’t involve naked Gally or Minho. And what else was there really?
He padded into the living room, catching sight of the note sticky taped to his fridge.
Have to feed Margaret and shower.
Text me plans for later.
Ps. If you want to cancel, please cancel. Please.
Thomas smiled at the letter. The obvious joke of his words. The reference to Margaret, the fat old house cat Newt parented. Sort of. The quiet attempt to escape a setup. Thomas wasn’t going to let it go through, it wasn’t his personality to.
Not only would he absolutely not cancel, he planned to force Minho to come with them too. Maybe even Teresa and Brenda. Or Gally. Or maybe not Gally.
A few messages to a few different group chats later, he’d organised a group willing to come with, Minho included. Of course, Minho called him nearly two minutes later, as was his way. Where most people absolutely loathed speaking on the phone, Thomas himself included, Minho almost always wanted to talk properly. Which was fine by him now that he was used to it, but he had absolutely hated it once upon a time.
“Oi, stupid, why are you so absolutely determined to get Newt laid?”
“Ew.” His eyes widened, and he shook his head, despite knowing that Minho wouldn’t be able to see it through the phone. “Ew, no. No. No, no. I don’t— ew. No. Ew.”
Minho’s cackle was impossible to ignore. He felt like it was taunting him, though he couldn’t place why.
“You know, I could set him up with you.” Thomas insisted, pushing past the laughter that felt oddly mocking. “Wouldn’t that be perfect? Then the three of us could hang out all the time with whoever I date and—”
“You…” Minho trailed off, momentarily surprisingly serious. Thomas felt sort of smug about stopping that laugh. “You want me to go out with Newt? Me? To go out with Newt? Your Newt?”
“He’s not…” His Newt. Why had that made him smile? There was no his Newt. If he liked Newt, he wouldn’t be trying to set Newt up with other people. Newt was gorgeous, obviously. And smart, and super talented. But he wasn’t Thomas’. They were best friends. Just best friends. “Yep. You've always gotten along well. And I’d feel confident you were both with someone who’d treat you right. It’s perfect.”
Minho laughed again, this time though, it sounded less… jovial and more… it sounded like he was laughing more out of surprise. Or disbelief. Or something.
“Thomas…” Minho sighed out the word, “That’s… you’re so smart, but you’re so fucking stupid, man.”
“Why is that stupid?” Thomas shot back, genuinely wondering what he was missing. Neither was straight, they’d always gotten along, they were both objectively physically flawless human beings. Why not them? And then Thomas knew for sure that whoever dated Newt wouldn’t take him away. That was a perfectly normal thing to think, right?
Another deep sigh. Thomas hated feeling stupid, but his friends sure had a knack for making him feel that way. Like he was missing something super obvious.
“Tom, you’re not serious.” A beat passed. “Oh… Oh my god, you’re serious. Tom… I can’t believe I have to be the one to break this to you. But you are very, very gay for Newt.”
A moment passed in silence. Then another.
“Please don’t tell me you really didn’t know.”
“I… that’s not true.” Thomas said quickly, because of course it wasn’t true. He wasn’t that fucking dense, he’d know if he was in love with someone. And he wasn’t. He was free as a bird, not in love with anybody. It was pure bad timing that he’d had a sex dream about Newt the night before Minho said it and nothing more. “I’m not into Newt. Would I be trying so hard to set him up with someone else if I was in love with him?”
“Yes.” Minho answered simply. “Yes, I think you would. I think you’ve been in love with him, like, forever. I think you’re terrified that you’re going to lose him and so you think if you set him up with someone you already know and trust, you think it won’t be like really losing him. I think you’re absolutely terrified because it’s getting harder and harder not to confront it.”
Well. What the actual fuck was he supposed to do with that? Of course he wasn’t in love with Newt! He’d know if he was in love with Newt. It wasn’t like he sat around pining for his best friend, he was out on dates all the time. And he’d had plenty of opportunities to make a move on Newt if he’d wanted to. Even the previous evening, it had been just the two of them in the dead of night. He could’ve so quickly and easily shifted closer in the bed. He could’ve wrapped his arms around Newt’s middle, pulled him in closer. Could’ve tucked his chin in against Newt’s neck, felt his cheek against Newt’s skin…
But he hadn’t. So.
“You’re wrong.” He laughed, awkwardly. Maybe he felt like panicking. And if he felt like panicking, that wasn’t anybody’s business except his, in Thomas’ eyes. “I’m not into Newt. I’ve known him since we were kids, I’ve had a million opportunities to try for something else and I never have because— because I’m not into him! I’m not into him! I’m not! I mean… I’m not.”
“Say it one more time and I might believe you.” Minho quipped, amusement in his voice.
“I’m not into him.”
“You’re a liar.” Minho laughed, “And I’m not going to cut your grass. Even if you haven’t accepted it yet, you want to be with him.”
Absolutely ridiculous. Thomas didn’t want to be with Newt. If he did, he could’ve tried already, at the least. But he hadn’t. He intentionally hadn’t. He’d never even considered it. Or… not consciously at least. He’d nearly lost Newt once already, he wasn’t trying to risk it another time. Changing their relationship or putting pressure on it felt like a quick way to ruin things. He wasn’t ready for that at all. He wasn’t sure he ever would be.
Not that it mattered, because he wasn’t into Newt.
“I don’t. In fact, I’m currently trying to set you up with him.” Thomas argued stubbornly.
“And what happens if I fall in love with him?” Minho asked, and Thomas was sure he could hear the smirk and derision in his voice.
Thomas shrugged, “Mission accomplished.”
“So you’d be totally fine seeing me make out with Newt?” Minho asked. Thomas was positive he was restraining laughter.
“I mean… I don’t really wanna watch my friends make out, no. But not because I’m in love with him, I don’t want to watch you making out with anyone.” He argued with a scoff.
Minho was being stupid. If Thomas wanted to go out with Newt, he’d at the very least know about it.
“Challenge accepted.” Minho told him, and the phone line went dead.
What the fuck did that mean?
*
Newtie baby: what’s the plan??? if u want me to do this, i at least need some warning of what
Tommy dearest: minho, gally, brenda, teresa, harriet and sonya are comin with us. do you need me to come dress you?
Newtie baby: excuse you.
Newtie baby: my style is fine thank u very much
Tommy dearest: no no i know your style is good! it’s just that your style is very… soft boi, cute librarian, and we’re going more for like… hot stuff yknow
Newtie baby: i can’t decide whether i’m offended or not
Newtie baby: hot stuff isn’t in my repertoire
Tommy dearest: sure it is. you just need to harness it.
Tommy dearest: i’ll be there in half an hour. i’m gonna do ur hair too
Newtie baby: okay now i’m offended
*
“Knock knock.” Thomas called as he unlocked the front door of Newt’s apartment, a smile pulling at his lips. Okay, so he was excited to see his best friend. That was totally normal and natural, and did not in any way prove that Minho was right about this.
If Minho was right, Thomas wouldn’t be so excited to set Newt up with someone else. He wouldn’t be seriously contemplating actually trying to hook Newt up with someone. And no, he told himself, it wasn’t just to make a point, he was doing this because Newt deserved to be happy and because he was never confident enough to put himself out there. Ever since they were young, Newt had been so confident about some things and so unconfident about others.
He presented so confidently that it could be hard to tell the difference at times. But that was all part of Newt’s charm. He was confident in his drawing, confident with the way he spoke, confident in friendships and in competitions. He wasn’t confident in love or in his appearance or in his intellect. He’d avoid telling you about those things, because it was a vulnerability to be unconfident, but he couldn’t pretend to be confident either. And so Thomas had gone years not realising just how unconfident Newt was.
Until it’d come to the time when they’d gone to the same college. They’d had separate roommates and all, but they’d still hung out all the time and Newt had still been totally unwilling to accept that people might actually like him. The one guy he did date in college, he was absolutely head over heels for, but the guy turned out to be a douche. Thomas himself predicted it a mile away, but hey, Thomas wasn’t about to try to shit on Newt’s happiness, so he’d let it happen and tried not to get too… annoyed by the guy’s general presence.
And since then, Newt hadn’t really dated at all. He wasn’t a partier, not really the type to spend heaps of time with Thomas and Minho at a club. They knew each other enough, but Thomas didn’t think they’d ever spent too much time together. Unless, of course, they were hanging out without Thomas knowing.
The thought made him a little uncomfortable, but he told himself it was because they were his two best friends and not because of what Minho had said. He wasn’t going to let Minho get into his head about all of that. Newt was his best friend. Newt had been his best friend for a long time, and it was natural for Thomas to care about someone who’d been so important to him for so long. It would be weirder if wasn’t concerned about the way Newt thought about himself.
“In here.” Newt called, apparently neither surprised nor concerned about Thomas letting himself in without knocking. In fairness to Newt, Thomas had had the key for going on two years. In opposition to Newt though, Thomas had cut it without Newt knowing initially. Newt had just sort of made his peace with Thomas’ overstepping, which worked well for him, particularly when he was forcing Newt to go out with his friends in search of someone who would treat Newt the way that he deserved to be treated.
When Thomas caught sight of Newt, he smiled. The boy wore chinos and a t-shirt, his hair still wet, hanging a little longer on his forehead. Thomas had always liked it a little longer, it only seemed to fluff up more. He’d been telling Newt that for years, but it had taken a long time before Newt was willing to hear him out on it. Thomas had a way of wearing people down though, Newt particularly. He was pretty aware that his puppy eyes usually worked on the blonde, and truly, he was alright with that.
“Do we really have to do this? I mean, wasn’t the whole idea to double date? Is Daphne even coming tonight?”
Huh. Maybe he should text her.
“That’s how it started,” Thomas agreed with a nod, “It started with double dating, but now I just want to see you find someone and be happy.” Newt was looking at him again with those inscrutable eyes, like he was analysing something serious. Thomas had no idea what he could see, because he wasn’t sure anything he was doing now was any deeper than the absolute surface level point he operated at whenever he wasn’t consciously stopping to think deeply.
So, okay, thinking about feelings wasn’t his strong suit. Maths, he was good with. Or science, or puzzles, or film or… really anything except feelings. He was smart, but he was stupid. This was a well documented fact amongst his friends and he knew it.
There was a sigh and then, after a moment, “Hello?”
Thomas blinked, glanced back over his shoulder. “Is that?”
“Thomas!”
“Minho…?”
Was this what Minho meant when he said ‘challenge accepted’? That he was going to turn up to Newt’s house while Thomas was there and make things weird? He wasn’t going to tell Newt about his theory, was he? Surely even Minho had enough tact not to put them both on the spot like that. It would be a quick way to wreck their friendship, that was for sure. Neither of them were emotionally mature enough to maintain a relationship with that much awkwardness. Or maybe Newt was, but Thomas sure wasn’t, and he’d definitely ruin it for the both of them if it came to it. It was just in his nature. And who was he to fight nature?
“Ah, my two boys.” Minho grinned, pushing past Thomas in the doorway to walk inside and lean against the sink beside Newt. “Alright, I approve of the pants, but it was a wise choice to leave me to pick the shirt.” He said with a bright nod, as if they’d had a discussion about this already. Had they had a discussion about this already? When? How? Did they even have each others’ numbers? What the hell?
“I laid out a few options on my bed.” Newt told Minho calmly, looking a little less weirded out by it than Thomas would be expecting. Did they know each other better than Thomas realised? And if so, what the hell? Why hadn’t anyone told him? Was he being cut out? By his two best friends? Minho had only just confirmed that he wasn’t going to go after Newt on account of his supposed love for the Brit, but now he was… what? Showing up early to dress Newt? Since when?
“Oh, perfect!” Minho said, turning and stalking off down the hall like he knew exactly where he was going. How did he know where Newt’s bedroom was?
Thomas just stood there, gawking like he’d just seen an alien. He sort of felt like he had too. “Um… is anyone going to fill me in on what’s going on here?”
“Oh, Min thought it would be good for him to come help me figure out something to wear. In fairness, he actually called me before you did.” He said with a shrug, turning back to the mirror and staring at himself skeptically for a moment, as though he deeply disapproved of what he saw.
Thomas went on staring. Why had Minho told him no if he actually did like Newt? Was he really trying so hard to be a good friend that he liked him and wouldn’t have said anything because he believed that Thomas liked him? If so, that was really sweet. But also really troubling because… Well, okay, he’d admit it, he was a little bit uncomfortable with the whole thing. He was a little bit uncomfortable with how casually Minho had known where to find Newt’s bedroom. He was a little uncomfortable with the way Minho had let himself in and--
“Wait. How’d Minho get in? I locked the door.” Thomas asked, brows furrowed.
It was Minho who replied, pushing past Thomas once more to offer Newt a dark shirt and a pair of dark jeans. “He told me where he keeps the spare. Duh.”
“You have a spare?” Thomas asked, feeling a bit overwhelmed suddenly. “Since when?” And why did Minho know that but he didn’t. He supposed he didn’t need to know. He had keys to both Minho’s and Newt’s apartments attached to his keychain.
The image of him walking innocently into one of their places and finding the two of them together, making out or worse, gave him pause. He didn’t care. That was what he had been promising himself. What he had been reciting. He was not going to be that person who got all weird and possessive because their friends found happiness. If Minho and Newt liked each other, then that was wonderful. That was what he had wanted. He wasn’t going to get all weird about it now.
Newt shrugged, “Well, y’know, I kinda have to have one for when I have people around.”
When he has people around. Like Minho. Maybe like Aris too. Newt had been super smiley and excitable after he’d gotten home that night.
Thomas was so zoned out, so caught in his own thoughts that he barely noticed when Newt pulled his shirt up fluidly over his head and dropped it onto the floor of the bathroom. Minho and Newt were talking too, but Thomas’ brain had turned into a dial-up internet screen with a bad connection, and he turned around. As though he hadn’t seen Newt shirtless a thousand times before. As though they hadn’t slept in the same bed the previous night.
It was just Minho, he told himself. Minho had made it weird by telling Thomas he loved Newt and now his brain was going into overdrive trying to prove it was untrue. So much so that he didn’t want to see him shirtless. Even though some weird little part of his brain was twitching at him to turn back. What was he doing? This was more embarrassing than if he’d actually started drooling. At least then, he could justify it. His best friend was simply objectively hot. No one could fault him for that.
Not that he would drool if he looked.
Not that he was looking at all.
“No, no.” He could hear Minho saying. He heard the sound of a slap, skin on skin, and his brows furrowed. “Stop that.” He heard Newt grumbling and another slapping sound. He couldn’t take the curiosity, so he turned, finding Newt and Minho locked in a battle that, if he had to guess, was over how many buttons Newt should have done up. Evidently, Minho thought far fewer than Newt did.
Huh.
“I don’t have the chest for this.” Newt was grumbling, though it sounded sort of like a plea.
“You absolutely do, don’t be such a baby.”
“You can pull off this kind of thing, I look like a translucent, Victorian child.” He whined, shaking his head. “I’m not wearing the necklace either. I’ll look like a fuckin’ pirate or something. If I’m lucky. Or I’ll look like Eminem’s worse younger brother, Skittles.”
Minho snickered, but ultimately didn’t let up. After a brief and admittedly entertaining squabble, Minho had won, and Newt stood wearing a shirt buttoned barely to his sternum with a silver necklace showing. He seemed genuinely upset by it, but wasn’t fighting anymore. It truly was a battle of wills, and honestly, Thomas wasn’t surprised Minho had won. He wasn’t sure there was anyone on the planet who could win against Minho when he set his mind to something. It was just who he was. The man was competition personified. Basically a Greek god, in mind and body. Bastard.
“Now we leave the boy to change his jeans.” Minho told Thomas, quickly ushering him out of the bathroom door and closing it behind himself. Thomas hadn’t spoken for the better part of ten minutes, and if Minho noticed, he wasn’t commenting, instead walking off down the hallway, comfortable as ever, and plopping himself down on Newt’s couch. Thomas had spent a lot of his life on that couch, it was the same one Newt had had in his dorm at College. Minho looked sort of out of place on it, he decided. It was nice, the three of them hanging out. Except that… well, he sort of felt like the third wheel. That part of it, he wasn’t so sure he liked. But he stood by what he’d said, Minho would be good for Newt. If he wanted to be.
“He looks good, huh?” Minho asked casually when Thomas joined him on the couch, still quieter than Thomas really usually ever was.
He nodded awkwardly, confused about what was happening here. “When did you and Newt become such good friends?”
Minho shrugged, “We’ve actually texted for a while, we just didn’t get around to hanging out before now. But y’know, since you were setting up a group hangout, I thought I’d come help him get ready. He’s told me before that he doesn’t think he can pull off the like, ‘sexy’ look, so I thought I’d come help out, y’know?” Minho flashed a grin, and Thomas wondered if he was trying to annoy him? Although, why should it? Minho was trying to get into his head, trying to make him jealous, but Thomas couldn’t be jealous if he didn’t have feelings for Newt, right? That wasn’t how that worked. So he was fine. Logic dictated that he must be fine with it.
“Oh, cool.” Thomas nodded, going for nonchalant. “I’ve always said you guys should hang out more. But uh, yeah, he looks good.”
So they were friends friends then. Close enough that Newt had told Minho he wasn’t confident to try to dress… He cut himself off before even thinking the word. It felt so awkward. He felt like he was being pushed into some weird place he didn’t know how to inhabit. So he would simply not think about it.
“Yeah, well,” Minho nodded, “You were right. Guy’s great.”
Thomas just blinked at him. Was he really trying to make Thomas jealous? Or had he simply decided that he actually did like Newt? He wasn’t sure which one made him more uncomfortable. It was just because it was new, he reminded himself. It wasn’t because of Newt. It definitely wasn’t because he was in love with Newt. He wasn’t in love with Newt. Absolutely not.
A minute passed in uncharacteristic silence before Newt appeared, arms stretched at his side, glancing down at himself and then back up. “I look like a fuckin’ proper wanker.” He told them.
Thomas couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips.
He opened his mouth to speak, but Minho beat him to it. “You look fucking hot, is what you look.”
He did, actually. The dark jeans made his legs look long and sort of graceful. The unbuttoned shirt was put together and a little bit… well, if he didn’t know Newt better, he’d think he looked a little cocky. Self assured. It suited him. Everything from the dark boots on his feet to the necklace hanging at his clavicle looked… considered. Good. Effortlessly cool. Newt always had been, but he hadn’t always seen himself that way.
Newt swallowed in response to Minho’s compliment, then looked at Thomas.
“Tommy…?” He asked, and it took Thomas a moment to realise what Newt was asking him.
“You look great.” He said quickly, offering a little, admittedly probably a little awkward smile. “Honestly. Like, really, really good. Anybody would be stupid not to wanna buy you a drink tonight.”
“Speaking of,” Minho cut in, “First one’s on me.”
*
So, in hindsight, it was a little weird. Thomas wasn’t sure he liked it. He was glad Newt evidently felt more confident. Glad he seemed to be having one. Glad he had attention and validation being thrown at him. He was genuinely, really glad. Except… he kind of wasn’t.
The club that they went to had always been fairly seedy, known for people picking up others over dirty cocktails and loud music. Hell, Thomas had actually had his first hookup with a guy because of this place. And since their friend group was fruitier than a Brazilian dancer’s headpiece in an I Love Lucy skit, the place suited them all fine.
Sonya and Harriet danced like nobody else in the world existed. Adorable and frustrating. Everything was so easy for them, they’d been sickeningly in love since high school. He remembered how they’d met. He remembered because he’d introduced them. Because Harriet was one of his friends from the popular crowd, quote unquote. But he’d known Sonya since they were kids.
Teresa and Brenda had been sat at a booth for nearing two hours, talking into each others’ ears above the noise of the loud music.
Gally had disappeared into the crowd far too long before and Thomas had been left at the bar, awkwardly watching Newt dance with some guy Thomas didn’t recognise.
That was the whole point, wasn’t it? To get Newt out of his comfort zone? To let him meet some guys who might spark something in him that Gally and Aris hadn’t. It had been a genuine enough notion, but maybe he felt a little creepy and a little uncomfortable about witnessing it. He hadn’t actually had to do much wingmanning, since Newt hadn’t really had any time alone since he’d gotten there. Minho had dressed him well, evidently, and there was no shortage of people taking notice.
Honestly, Thomas understood. If he didn’t know Newt, he would’ve probably bought the guy a drink too. Especially if he heard that accent.
He reminded himself that he did know Newt, and that Minho’s stupid words were just getting stuck in his head, that none of this even actually meant anything. Because noticing that someone was attractive really wasn’t the same as wanting to be with them, or being in love with them. Jesus, Thomas wasn’t sure he’d ever even been in love with anyone, let alone Newt. Sure, he’d dated people. Even for longish periods before. But ultimately, it’d never worked out. They’d been wrong for him in some way or another, and Thomas wasn’t particularly one to settle, even in the best of circumstances. He’d always been a pusher. Maybe that was why he was pushing Newt so hard now. He really did just want his friend to be happy.
Although… if he was honest, he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the way the guy in front of him was pressing up against Newt. It seemed inappropriate for a dancefloor, and Newt had never been one for casual affection with strangers. Besides… what was the plan, to fuck in a bathroom? Disgusting. Absolutely not. Not his best friend.
“Just do it.” Minho told him, and he startled. He hadn’t even realised Minho was near him. Where had he gotten to?
“Do what?” Thomas asked, his voice basically a shout over the music. He didn’t remember the last time he hadn’t danced at one of these things. Hell, he’d been offered once or twice, but he wasn’t really in the mood. And besides, he was here to wingman, not abandon Newt and find his own person.
“Go interrupt. Make an excuse. Pull Newt away from that grubby dude.” Thomas glanced away from Minho back to the blonde boy and the guy dancing up on him. He was sort of gross, he supposed. Except that, really, he wasn’t. He was a taller, muscular guy with dark hair and dimples Thomas could basically make out from across the dancefloor. Why shouldn’t Newt dance with the guy? He was good looking. Thomas would’ve danced with him on any other day.
“Why would I do that?” Thomas called back over the music, leaning closer to Minho to be heard. “He seems happy.”
Minho shrugged again, leaning in closer as well, his own voice basically a shout into Thomas’ ear. “Does he? Huh. He looks kinda uncomfortable to me.”
Thomas glanced back again, and tried to really focus on Newt’s face. On his movements. He didn’t seem uncomfortable to Thomas. He seemed… fairly into it, actually. Fairly lost in the music.
While he watched the guy he danced with slid a hand down his chest, beneath his shirt. Thomas’ mouth turned down into a frown. Ew. On the dancefloor? In public? Nope. Newt was above that. He was too good for that shit. Sure, Thomas had done it, but Newt was better than Thomas. And anyway, Thomas had never really been into his flings. Sometimes he thought a part of him just kept hoping that if he tried hard enough, he’d suddenly become the kind of man he thought he was supposed to be. That he’d suddenly be super into one of the guys or girls and he’d have that movie feeling. The fireworks in the stomach, tingles up the spine desire. The ‘start taking off your clothes in the hallway because you’re too passionate to wait to the bedroom’ kind of desire. But he hadn’t had that yet, and who was he to say? Maybe Newt was having that.
Still… When Thomas clocked the guy trying to undo another of Newt’s buttons, he got to his feet. Possessed by some force he wasn’t familiar with, he basically marched over, grabbing Newt by the hands and spinning him away from the guy. The guy, while annoyed at first, sort of gave up a few moments later, looking around for another target to dance with.
Newt was left hand in hand with him, looking confused and maybe a little annoyed. Not furious though, so Thomas could work with that.
Newt leaned in closer, abandoning Thomas’ hands and resting his own on Thomas’ shoulders instead, leaning into his ear. “What the fuck, Tommy? Thought you wanted me to meet someone.” Or at least, that was what Thomas thought he had said.
Thomas leaned in back, speaking quickly. “That guy was gross. Who tries to undress someone on a dancefloor? You deserve better.”
Newt looked irritated then, but didn’t say anymore. He turned and walked back to where Minho sat at the bar, taking the vacant seat Thomas had left.
He barely moved from that seat the rest of the evening, him and meaning getting gradually closer and closer together as the evening wore on.
Come to think of it, he’d never seen Minho sit still all night and not dance either. Or leave one of these places without at least dancing with a few strangers.
*
“So?” Minho asked slowly.
Thomas just stared at him, completely confused. “So?” He asked, not really understanding the question.
“So… surely you understand what I was saying now.”
“About what?” Thomas asked, then it clicked. “Oh! Newt. No, I think you’re full of shit. I’m not in love with him.”
Minho eyed him, frowning, “But you stopped him hooking up with that guy, he was clearly going to.”
“You egged me on!” Thomas argued, “And anyway, Newt’s a classy guy, he shouldn’t be hooking up with some random on a dancefloor.”
“It was your idea to take him there!” Minho argued back and Thomas shrugged.
“Changed my mind.”
Minho stared him down with a sigh. “You’re serious? You really don’t like Newt?”
Thomas widened his eyes, as if to make his point once more. “I really don’t like Newt.”
A beat passed. Then another. They were locked in some weird stare-off that Thomas simply wasn’t ready for. Since when did they do this?
“Okay. Well, in that case, I’ve changed my mind. I want to go out with Newt.”
Heat burned in Thomas’ chest. He’d wanted this. He’d be damned if he’d tell Minho it bothered him, even if it wasn’t for romantic reasons. It seemed obvious now, he was jealous because he didn’t want to be replaced by his friends. That was perfectly normal and understandable. But Minho would read into it, so Thomas wouldn’t let on.
He put on his most convincingly excited smile. “Great, I’ll set it up.”
“Actually,” Minho flashed a grin that seemed far more sincere than Thomas’ felt. “No need. I’ve already asked him out. Last night. We even ride shared home. I just wanted to double check with you before making any concrete plans. But now that I know you’re really, genuinely okay with it, I think I will go out with him. Promise not to undress him on a dancefloor though, I know how that upsets your sensibilities.”
It did. Thomas scrunched his nose.
So Minho already asked Newt out. Newt already said yes. They’d gone home together. Or shared a car home. Did that mean…? Had they…? It seemed pathetic to ask whether they’d kissed. Embarrassing and childish to want to know so badly. Plus, he’d only just promised Minho it didn’t bother him, and if he asked so soon whether the two had been together properly the night before, he would only prove himself wrong. Even if it wasn’t romantic, Minho would surely take it that way.
He put on a smile that felt like poison in his mouth and nodded. “Good idea.”
Minho already had his phone out and was dialling before Thomas finished speaking. Dialling. Did he… remember Newt’s number? Who remembered peoples’ number? It wasn’t nineteen-ninety-three anymore…
“Hey.” Minho grinned, looking right past Thomas. Thomas could almost hear the buzz of Newt’s voice in the phone. Almost. “Yeah. No, I’m with him now, we got coffee together this morning after the run. I know, right? I’m impressed with me too, no hangover or anything.” He laughed brightly, and Thomas wasn’t sure what to think of how… happy he seemed. “So, uh, I spoke to Thomas about… y’know. What we discussed. He’s cool with it.” A pause, a bubble of laughter. “No, seriously. So… tonight?” He snorted into the phone, laughed again. “Not at all, I like the way you normally dress. Promise.” Another pause. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll pick you up at 7.” And then he hung up.
Thomas stood completely still, like if he moved, something might crash around him. Was he meant to have just witnessed that? Also, tonight? As in, they were all together the night before and they were going to spend the following evening together? Thomas wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Newt had turned around and instantly said no to Gally and Aris after those dates. But he’d spent a lot of time ostensibly alone with Minho the previous evening, and in a club too, one of his least favourite places in the world, and yet he still wanted to go out with him.
“Okay…” Minho bounced to his feet, all excited. “Want to come shopping with me? I need to look nice tonight. I’m going to take him to a proper restaurant. You know, something nice. Fancy.”
Minho. One of his best friends in the world. Minho, who had once argued heatedly that he didn’t believe in shirts with sleeves, was going to take Newt to a nice restaurant? And wanted to buy new clothes for it?
It was lovely. Adorable. Wonderful. Everything he’d wanted for his best friends. So then why did he feel so… off-base? Queasy? He felt like the world had been tipped ever so slightly off its axis. Not enough to tip him all the way over, but enough that he knew something was wrong. Enough that he could feel it beneath his skin, like an itch he didn’t know how to scratch. Like an ache in the very depth of his thoughts.
Minho wasn’t right. Minho couldn’t be right.
Why then, when Minho left him that evening to go get Newt, was Thomas left feeling so… sad? And excluded? And damnit, jealous. He could keep telling himself it was because he was scared of losing his best friend, and maybe that was mostly true, but there was more. He’d hated the sight of that guy all over Newt, touching him that way. And that was just some stranger. But the thought of Minho and Newt together, for the second night in a row… he wasn’t any less uncomfortable with that. The thought of the two of them holding hands. Smiling at each other all flirty and nervous. The thought of Minho leaning across the table and pressing his lips against Newt’s.
For one terrible second, Thomas let himself imagine something else. Newt’s soft hands entwined with his. That flirtatious, nervous smile he sometimes did directed right at him. Newt’s eyes fluttering closed as Thomas leaned closer… His stomach swooped at the simple thought of kissing Newt. Soft and gentle, maybe. At first, at least. The thought of eventually deepening the kiss. The thought of Newt’s lips parting, of Thomas pulling closer to him, kissing him more deeply, more wantonly.
He forced himself to stop thinking. He was being stupid. He was being petty. He’d never been interested in Newt before, and now that Minho was, he suddenly was?
Only, that wasn’t actually entirely true.
He had been having semi-regular dreams about Newt since he was fifteen. Of course, the dreams weren’t usually as… horny as they had been the other night, after his date with Aris. No, normally it was little things. He would dream about laying in Newt’s arms while Newt read quietly to himself. Or about the two of them holding hands. They weren’t exactly platonic, but they weren’t as explicitly romantic as the dream the other night had been. And anyway, Thomas had always insisted to himself that it was because he spent so much time with Newt. They spent every day together at work, after all.
Thomas went about that evening with far too many thoughts he didn’t want to deal with. As the night drew on and he didn’t hear from either Minho or Newt, the thought occurred to him that they might’ve gone back to one of their places. At that point, he’d stared at his keys for nearly twenty minutes, lost in some stupid cycle in his mind about Newt and Minho and the fact that they were very probably still together even after it passed midnight.
Nothing. No call, no text. Newt had come to his house after both of his last dates, but when Thomas fell asleep, he’d still heard nothing. When he woke up, he heard nothing.
Only on the following Wednesday at work did he get up the courage to ask in any more explicit detail than hearing Newt say it was good with a telltale giggle.
“So… neither you or Minho has told me anything. What’s up with that? Did it not go very well?” He hated that he sounded kind of… hopeful. He had no right to be hopeful.
“No.” Newt answered immediately, “No, it was good. Really good. We’ve been out every night since.”
Oh.
“I’m not used to the two of you being so… evasive about what was going in your lives.”
Newt eyed him for a moment, “Did you… want details about what’s going on between us?”
The way he said it shot thoughts into Thomas’ mind that Thomas didn’t want. That Thomas had never wanted. Without warning or consent, an image of the two of them popped into his mind. The two of them curled up in Minho’s bed, Newt asleep with his head on Minho’s chest as Minho ran fingers through Newt’s hair. He felt sick. He hated this.
He had absolutely no right to hate this.
“No, you’re right.” He half smiled, “I’m just glad you two are happy.”
He next asked on Thursday night. He asked Newt if he wanted to go to the cinema for the best friend date they did every Friday night. Well, aside from the previous two, where he’d gone out with Gally and Aris instead. Thomas found that he missed him. A lot.
When Newt told him he already had plans with Minho, Thomas tried not to be upset. He’d set the precedent after all. Newt had tried to argue in favour of keeping their Friday nights, but Thomas had insisted he go out with Gally and Aris. How could he argue now? He wasn’t sure how convincing he was when he told Newt he just wanted him to be happy. He did, of course. He just wanted him to be happy… without Minho.
If he was honest, and he hated being honest when it meant Minho was right… he wanted Newt to be happy with him.
If he was honest, maybe he always had. Maybe he’d been in denial so long it had become an Olympic sport. Maybe he’d spent so long ignoring the thoughts of how badly he wanted to be around Newt.
Because now that he knew, he could un-know. He couldn’t un-know when he suddenly realised that when he pictured his wedding, he never pictured another person… the only people he could ever envision were himself and Newt. He couldn’t un-know when he realised that the only person he’d ever had those stomach swoops about was Newt. He couldn’t un-know when he realised that he’d been obsessed with Newt in high school, even when he and Newt hadn’t been speaking. He couldn’t un-know the realisation that he wanted Newt to date someone else because he wanted to control it. Because the thought of Newt being with someone else was so terrifying that all Thomas could do to combat it was to… force it. To master it. To be the one to make it happen.
Only, now that it had happened, he absolutely fucking hated.
He called Daphne on Friday morning, asking if she would hang out with him. He couldn’t be entirely surprised when she laughed and told him calling a girl after a few weeks was simply an insult. She was right. He had been on a first date with her and then become so obsessed with the Newt stuff he had simply never contacted her again.
That, and her name was still in his phone as Lily. He owed the girl an apology, really.
He knew he bad with feelings. But he really didn’t realise how deeply terrible he was with feelings until the third Friday of Newt and Minho hanging out all the time.
The two of them invited Thomas over for a movie night. They insisted that it wouldn’t be weird. Insisted that they wanted Thomas there. Insisted that they had to have a night together, that it was only fair.
Thomas went mostly to prove a point, though what the point was was becoming increasingly unclear.
Which was how he came to be sitting on Newt’s comfortable couch, with Minho between him and Newt, his arm draped around Newt’s shoulder and onto Newt’s chest, where Newt lazily held his hand.
They looked comfortable and content. The movie they watched was a romance. If Thomas was honest, he had no idea what, since he’d barely taken his eyes off the two of them since he’d gotten there. Barely taken his eyes off the way Minho would whisper in Newt’s ear every so often, or the way Newt would smile so sweetly every time. Nobody had any hickeys or anything, thank whichever deity.
But still… they were so… together that it hurt. Literally, physically hurt. Thomas had never felt so… on edge.
When, halfway through the evening, pizza arrived, Thomas was quick to jump up and get it, quick to run into the kitchen for plates and cups. Any excuse to tear his eyes away from the little show he was watching ever-so-masochistically.
So, sue him, he was a fucking idiot. In his defence (or maybe not defence, really), he truly hadn’t known. Truly hadn’t realised that he’d wanted Newt so badly. It had always been a secret, even from himself. The ever-present terror of losing Newt.
He remembered it so clearly now. The hospital bed. How small and sad Newt had looked. How deeply hollow he had seemed that day. How Thomas had ridden his bike there every damn day. How they’d played thumb wars and eye spy and any other stupid name they could think of. How he had quietly promised himself every day for weeks that he would never, ever, be stupid enough to risk losing Newt again.
That terror had crept into his heart. The terror that if he told Newt he had feelings for him, was in love with him even, that he might alienate him. That he might ruin the balance they had. That something might go wrong and he really would lose Newt forever. He couldn’t take that. He just couldn’t handle the thought of him being simply… gone.
He’d told himself that a Newt happy with someone else was tolerable. That it was better than a Newt that he lost entirely. That if it was someone he already knew and loved, Newt wouldn’t really be gone. That he’d still be Thomas’ really.
But that wasn’t really it at all. Newt wasn’t Thomas’. He never had been.
It was that Thomas was Newt’s. It was that Thomas was Newt’s and he’d never stopped being Newt’s and as hard as he’d tried to feel anything at all about anyone else, it had always felt phoned in and fake and unexciting. Because it wasn’t Newt. Because it was never Newt.
It was in that moment of realisation, of deep frustration and revelation, that he happened to turn back and see what happened. Their lips pressed together, surprisingly gentle. Minho’s arm around Newt’s waist, pulling him in tight. Newt’s hand on the side of Minho’s neck.
Everything erupted out of Thomas like a volcano. He didn’t mean to. He really didn’t. But he was a collapsing star, trying so desperately to hold everything in place, to stop Newt’s atmosphere from absorbing him whole, and he had failed. If he was a moth, Newt was the light up ahead, the promise of warmth and food and what he needed. If he was spark, Newt was an entire forest fire. If he was one tiny planet, a dwarf star, floating around unnoticed and unimportant, then Newt was the sun, casting light on everything, providing life and growth and warmth and love.
“Alright, alright, I can’t do this!” He burst out, like a balloon that had been popped, “I thought I could, but I can’t, because I’m weak and I’m stupid and Minho was right! You were right, okay, you goddamn asshole, because I can’t handle it. I love him, alright? I love him! I love you, Newt, and this is the worst timing in the world and I am the most selfish, awful person for waiting until you got together with Minho to say something but I didn’t know and now I can’t un-know and I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, because I want you to be happy, but I don’t think I can be here to see it, I really don’t! I love you both and I’ll still be your friend, but-- but maybe I can’t be around you as a couple, not yet at least, not after I just realised becaused fuck, I had no idea! I had no idea, but now it’s like, it’s like someone punched me in the gut because… because how could I be so fucking stupid? I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, but I love him. I love him and I know you’re together now and that’s-- that’s totally fine, but I can’t… I can’t.”
His chest heaved and his stomach ached and his eyes were glassier than he wanted to acknowledge and for a moment or two, no one moved. Everyone sat completely still, and both of them stared at Thomas while he looked uselessly between them, guilt building up in his stomach like Atlas carrying the weight of the entire world. How could he be so selfish? He hadn’t meant to say any of that. He hadn’t had a right to say any of that.
But then, out of nowhere, Minho stood. “Right! Well, on that note, Newt, you owe me fifteen bucks. Thomas, I’m never letting you live this down. Have a good night, don’t disturb your neighbours.”
“Wha--” Thomas began, but Minho was already gone. Out the door in a flash, not giving either of them any time at all to acknowledge anything.
Thomas’ dark eyes found Newt’s face instead. He was flushed and seemed frozen. His eyes were wide and full of… life would be so much easier for Thomas if he could read Newt? The boy was like a maze he could never find his way out of. Though, if he was honest, he didn’t want to get out. He wanted to stay wrapped up in Newt. He wanted to try.
“Shh.” Newt said as he rose from the couch, taking the plates out of Thomas’ hand and putting them down on the table.
“I don’t understand.”
“Shh, Tommy.” Newt repeated, fisting both hands into the the chest of Thomas’ t-shirt and yanking him in closer. Thomas barely had time to notice anything at all, because the moment Newt’s lips touched his, everything else went dim. All he could feel was the swooping, warm, neediness he imagined people in movies felt. All he could feel was the burning desire to get closer, to kiss harder, to do more. He knew that a first kiss in a movie was meant to be chaste and sweet and romantic, but Thomas just wanted more. More of Newt. Like the taste he’d been given wasn’t enough.
He was maybe too enthusiastic, hands coming to rest on Newt’s hips and yank him in closer, licking along Newt’s lower lip in a silent question. Newt’s lips parted with a sigh that Thomas could feel in his bones and he was positive that whatever he’d ever had with anyone else, any guy, any girl, any person at all, it was nothing compared to this. If he stopped breathing right then and there, he’d suffocate happily in Newt’s arms.
When Newt pulled back, Thomas instinctively tried to chase him, but Newt pulled back again. Put a little space between them.
When the brain fog cleared, even minutely, Thomas realised he had a whole bunch of questions. His brain had temporarily been incapacitated by hormones, but he did remember.
“Minho said to tell you, in his words, uh, ‘challenge completed’.”
Thomas’ jaw dropped. Minho was competitive, but was he seriously that competitive? Competitive enough that he’d pretended to date Newt for weeks to make a point? To make Thomas jealous? To make him face the feelings Minho had obviously been more conscious of than Thomas himself had. He had been right, but still. At what cost?
“But, wait… did you…?”
“Um, yeah.” Newt chuckled awkwardly, grabbing Thomas’ hand and pulling him down to the couch. Thomas followed, putty in Newt’s hand. “About that. That night at the club, when Minho and I were talking… He said some pretty interesting stuff. He said how he, uh, could tell I was in love with you. Which, quick sidenote, I am. Very much so. Very in love.” He paused to grin, and Thomas wanted to kiss him again, but he also wanted to hear the end of the story, and he was pretty sure if he kissed Newt again now, he wouldn’t ever stop kissing him. “He said that he knew you were being an inconsiderate dickhead by constantly trying to set me up with people while I was clearly in love with you. He said that you didn’t mean anything by it, that you were just really bad with your emotions and… he said he had a plan. At first I said no, but then he called me again the next day, y’know, in front of you, you heard that end of the call at least. And, y’know, we hung out that night, planned or whatever… He said he was positive that you’d break.”
Thomas just stared. Were his best friends evil masterminds or was he really just so predictable and weak?
“Anyway, he bet me fifteen quid that you’d confess within the month.”
Thomas wanted to be offended, but he was just so glad they weren’t actually in love or something.
“What did you bet?” Thomas asked, wondering if he was really so predictable.
Newt half smiled, “I bet he was wrong, and that you didn’t have feelings for me. That we’d have to resort to Plan B. Telling you we just broke up because we didn’t like each other that much.”
Thomas felt an ache of sadness. Had Newt really felt this way so long? Had Thomas really been hurting him by setting him up with other people, acting like… acting like he was so replaceable?
He leaned forward again, but this kiss actually was gentler. More loving. He made a point of it.
“I’m sorry, Newtie.” He said softly, bringing a hand up to his cheek. “I mean, I want to be annoyed that you guys played me... But, y’know, Minho did try to tell me. And uh, I’m glad the… the me hurting you because I’m an idiot thing didn’t go on any longer.” He ran his thumb along Newt’s cheekbone. “I love you,” he said again, his voice gentle. It felt like he needed to say it again. Maybe a hundred times. To make the point that it was true. That Minho was right (why was Minho always right?), that Newt was loved. “I love you so much. I was so fucking scared of… of ruining things. Of losing you. Of hurting you. I was just… I was so far in denial I didn’t even realise and…”
“It’s okay,” Newt promised, kissing him a few more times, quick pecks filled with amusement and love. “All’s well that ends well, right?” He offered gently.
“Well… speaking of happy endings… Did I tell you I had a dream about you the other night?”