Chapter Text
to him, he thinks; falling in love wasn’t so much as falling into your own grave.
--
and afraid, he is.
but maybe he’ll fall anyway, to bright amber eyes and candy pink lips, a stranger he meets outside a coffee shop on a chilly winter morning.
[philophobia – the abnormal, persistent and unwarranted fear of falling in love.]
--
“We’ll make it, yeah?” he asks, in the silence of the room.
"Yeah,” a hand cards through his hair. “We will.”
“Promise.”
--
--
He’s late.
Oh, he’s gonna be so, so screwed.
Newt grabs his coat and scarf, awkwardly shrugging them on as he wrestles with his doorknob, panic slowly easing into the still-groggy haze of his mind.
He has fifteen minutes. Fifteen fucking minutes before he’s late to his lecture and all hell will break loose.
(So maybe he’s exaggerating a bit, but not by that much. Not by much at all. His professor is bloody strict.)
He makes sure his bag is securely slung over his shoulder before he elbows his way out of the door, locks it, then bites his lip and prays that he’ll make it to his lecture on time as he hurries down the street towards the nearby coffee shop, where he usually gets his daily fix of caffeine.
He’s practically hooked on coffee by now, and he gets incredibly moody and snappy in the afternoon whenever he skips his morning coffee, for whatever reasons – he was too lazy, he was running too late, he was too distracted by Minho (which had then led to him running like a maniac as he pushed his way past other fellow students into his lecture hall, praying that he wasn’t late). So for the sake of everyone he comes into contact with, he usually chooses to buy coffee in the morning anyway, late or not. And Newt’s basically late to his lectures seventy percent of the time, anyway, so he just gets used to the frenzied rush he wakes up to almost every morning. It’s just that he’s even later today than usual, and honestly – Newt’s freaking out a bit. At least most of the time he makes it to his first lecture of the day just one second before the professor steps into the lecture hall, and he'd only ever received a condescending gaze or two, but he'd seen people arrive late and—nope, no. He didn't want such a fate for himself.
(His professor’s honestly that fucking strict about punctuality – and most other things, too, but that’s not really important right now. Newt feels vaguely worried for his safety.)
He finally arrives in front of the coffee shop, and with a relieved sigh, steps inside. It’s much warmer inside than it was outside, and for that, Newt’s incredibly grateful. He honestly hates the cold sometimes.
He makes his way over to the counter and orders his usual drink before stepping aside for the people behind him. While he waits, he chances a quick glance at his watch – and nearly bolts right from the spot. How the bloody hell—he only had seven minutes left to get all the way to campus?
This was insanity.
Newt really, really hates mornings.
The moment the barista hands him his coffee cup, he bolts for the door, simultaneously digging about in his bag for his beanie. He pulls it on just as he steps out, the cool winter air biting at his cheeks and his nose.
At least his ears are covered. (“You look weird with beanies,” Minho commented as he tugged at the grey beanie rested snugly on Newt’s head. Newt rolled his eyes and swatted at Minho’s hand. “Well,” he counters, “at least I’m not freezing my ears off in the cold – unlike someone. And I’m pretty sure I look bloody great with beanies, Min, so shut ya trap, would ya? Don’t be too jealous.” Newt smirks and laughs when Minho lunges forward and aims for his ticklish spots.) He’s kinda glad he didn’t listen to Minho.
He’s just about to step away from the doorway of the coffee shop when someone comes crashing into him from behind, with no warning whatsoever. He nearly topples over, but is steadied by a warm hand on his arm and he’s surprised when he hears a breathy laugh ring beside his ear. Newt glances down at his coffee and breathes a sigh of relief when he realizes his coffee is relatively unscathed. And then he remembers the blundering idiot that knocked into him, and he’s pretty riled up when he turns around, ready to give the shank a mouthful, when – when he’s suddenly met with wide amber eyes framed with thick lashes, and sugary pink lips curled up into a wide grin.
“Hey,” the guy smiles shyly at him and laughs a tad bit awkwardly, (and shit, Newt’s gaping and this is so bad,) “I’m so sorry, ‘should’ve really watched where I was going, eh? Just wanted to tell you that you um, took the wrong cup, that’s actually mine – here’s yours,” and he holds out the paper coffee cup in his hand and smiles at Newt with that stupid grin and— and why the fuck wasn’t Newt doing anything?
“Unless,” the stupidly attractive guy looks down at the cup in his hand and shrugs, “You wanna keep mine? It’s fine with me, y’know.”
And fuck, fuck, the guy was staring at him and he should really, really get going now—“Hey, um, it’s okay, keep my cup, yeah? I need to rush off for class—” Newt flashes a quick smile (though he’s pretty sure it came out more like a grimace—) before ducking his head and speed-walking away, trying to ignore the cheerful “Sure, bye!” that drifts after him as he squeezes his way into the morning crowd.
And wasn’t Newt so, completely fucked.
--
He ends up two minutes late to his lecture, but fortunately, fortunately – he’s only speared with a single, sharp glare before he’s spared, and Mr. Johns goes back to teaching (albeit with a rather draggy, monotonous tone, but that’s something for Newt to keep to himself, and only himself.).
He falls into his seat at the far corner of the lecture hall, groaning miserably as he rubs at his eyes, feeling the lack of sleep from the previous night weigh down on his eyelids, and he sluggishly pulls out a pen and his notebook, trying to keep his focus on Mr Johns’ lecture, jotting down important notes as he tries to listen.
He really wishes Minho were here to help him stay awake.
(But he’s not, and so Newt gradually drifts off into slumber, all the while bright amber eyes and a happy smile playing on the back of his eyelids – but of course he’d never tell you that, even if you asked.)
--
He wakes up relatively moody, mind still foggy with sleep (and deliciously pink lips that Newt really, really wanted to kiss, and, yeah, he should really stop thinking now,) and notices that everyone’s already starting to leave, the lecture apparently already having ended a few minutes ago – he confirms this with a quick glance to his watch, before he pushes himself up and off his chair, digging out his mobile to call Minho, all the while silently mourning the loss of a full lecture’s notes.
He’s not sure he would’ve paid attention anyway, what with the distraction of amber eyes floating around in his mind, but at least he would’ve tried.
Anyways. He really had to call Minho.
--
Newt waits awkwardly for Minho under an insignificant tree in their university’s huge, sprawling campus, but he’s pretty sure Minho would’ve found him anyway – it was what was considered their tree. (And this whole “their tree” idea was made up by Minho and only Minho, of course. Not that he’d ever take credit for something as childish as this, though—
“I am so not childish!” Minho pouted and narrowed his eyes at Newt, looking rather interestingly like an angry puppy.
“Har har har,” Newt rolled his eyes sarcastically, sticking his tongue out at Minho, which resulted in Minho poking rather vigorously at his arm—“Okay, okay, fine, now get off me, you bloody prick,” Newt laughed and pushed at Minho.
“Shank,” Minho huffed, crossed his arms and stalked off, leaving an amused Newt in his wake.)
Minho still had another lecture after Newt’s latest one, so Newt had to wait for a bit while Minho finished up his lecture, before he could join Newt.
He’s thinking that Minho’ll probably never show up (he’s already gotten a fresh cup of coffee – nope, not thinking about the boy at the coffee shop – during his wait, walked around the campus twice in boredom, and finished an English assignment – seriously, where the fuck is Minho?) when he spots a familiar figure heading in his direction, head ducked as he converses with a slim, dark-haired girl by his side. As they approach, closer to Newt, he’s able to better make out the girl’s features, and vaguely recognizes her as Teresa, a rather sassy girl from his English class. She and Minho would make a pretty good couple, Newt muses absently as he watches the two of them laugh and grin brightly at each other. Too bad Minho didn’t really date. He preferred to stay ‘free and single as a pringle, baby’. Or that was what he’d said, anyway.
Newt shakes his head and glances down at the stack of books in his arms, just to distract himself for a bit as they near him.
“Hey, Newt,” Minho grins broadly at him as he pulls at Newt’s beanie (seriously, what was the guy’s obsession with Newt’s beanies?) and steps aside to allow Teresa to be able to be fully seen by Newt. He smiles lightly and holds out a hand, “Um, hi, Teresa, right? ’M Newt.”
Teresa smirks and winks at him, slipping her hand into his for a firm handshake. “Yep. Been stalking me in class, eh?”
Newt gapes and rolls his eyes, “No, it’s just that you’re rather noticeable – honestly,” he adds when Teresa raises her eyebrows.
“I don’t know whether to take that as an insult or a compliment,” she mutters and sticks her tongue out at him. “But for the sake of my ego, -- compliment it is, then.”
Newt decides in that instant that he rather liked her.
“Oi, guys, stop with the flirting.” Minho tells them, lips curled up in an amused grin, “I want my coffee and you two are in the way of it, so – kindly move aside, Teresa.” He makes his way over to the nearby bench, where Newt had dumped his bag and several of his textbooks, along with the steaming cup of coffee he had bought for Minho, balancing precariously on his stack of books.
“Ahh, bliss,” Minho sighs in appreciation as he downs a sip of his coffee. “You’re a godsend, sometimes, Newt.”
“Yeah, well, thanks,” Newt rolls his eyes and lets the sarcasm drip off his words.
“Anyway, guys,” Teresa shoots a quick look at her mobile phone, eyebrows scrunched up, “I gotta run, but I’ll see you both tomorrow, yeah? I think I’ll bring a friend along tomorrow, yeah, I think you’d like him. We can go out for coffee tomorrow, after class, when I don’t have to go to work – argh, I hate my work hours. Bye then, I guess,” she grimaces and shakes her head, waving a hand in farewell as she turns and walks away.
“So, you know Teresa?” Minho asks him as they watch Teresa’s silhouette disappear into the crowd of university students.
“Um, well, not really, but she’s in my English class, so I recognized her, at least.” Newt shrugs half-heartedly as he slings his bag over his shoulder.
“How’d you meet her?” Newt looks at Minho in curiosity as they start towards the campus exit.
“I, um,” Minho flushes bright red, “I might’ve – kinda – accidentally walked into the wrong bathroom and she was in there, so…” Minho swallows and looks at Newt, grinning a bit. “She got really mad, duh, but I guess she eventually got over it after I explained and basically got on my knees apologizing, so, yeah.”
“You bloody idiot,” Newt laughs and bumps his shoulder against Minho’s.
--
He definitely doesn’t dream about the boy from the coffee shop that night.
--
Newt’s pretty grumpy and his heart is sort of racing, when he wakes up, because, one; he is not a morning person, and two; he does not understand why he can’t forget that boy. It’s bloody ludicrous and ridiculous, that’s what it was. How one encounter with a complete stranger left him so wrecked, he didn’t know, and honestly, he didn’t want to know, either. It was just that the boy was really bloody cute and fine, yeah. Newt’s a little – ahem, infatuated, but that’s okay, he guesses, because what are the chances, statistically speaking, that he’ll see the boy again? Practically zero.
So he takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and tries to erase pink lips and bright eyes from his mind.
(Because he can’t, he can’t handle it.)
--
He’s pretty unsuccessful, especially when he notices just who the fuck Teresa’s friend was.
“Oh my bloody fucking god,” Newt buries his face in his hands and desperately tries not to think about the pair approaching he and Minho.
He can feel Minho’s amused stare trained on the back of his head, but ignores it in hopes that this was simply just a dream, because he really, really, really, couldn’t face that boy again, not with his lilting laugh and warm words, that for some unfathomable, strange, reason, made Newt feel weird inside and he – he doesn’t want that. Doesn’t feel secure giving his trust (and inevitably, his heart) to someone and have that someone possibly break his heart, and throw the pieces back at him because ultimately, that was bound to happen.
Nothing really lasted forever.
And his anxiety only grows with each step they take towards him.
“Please, please, let him be Teresa’s bloody boyfriend or something.” He mutters under his breath, ignoring the faint prickle of pain in his chest as he said so, resolutely looking up.
(Newt was just appreciative of his looks, after all, and maybe just slightly attracted to him, but—that was it. Just plain surface attraction. He didn’t care about the boy himself, and—)
It didn’t matter.
“Hey, Teresa!” Minho yelled, and waved maniacally. Newt forced a smile onto his face as they reached them. He didn’t look at the boy. He kept his eyes trained on Teresa though, and she wore a huge grin as she gestured to the boy beside her – Newt internally grimaced.
“Guys, this is Thomas.” Newt tears his eyes away from Teresa’s face and looks straight at Thomas. Thomas smiles, bright and happy, and Newt feels his heart ache a bit.
“Thomas, these two are Minho and Newt,” Teresa continues, pointing at Minho and Newt respectively, pushing the three of them closer. “Shake hands.”
“Yes, mom,” Minho rolled his eyes before turning to face Thomas, sticking a hand out. “Hiiiii, I’m Minho, your resident prankster.” Thomas takes his hand and says, smooth and with a hint of mischief, “Thomas. Hopefully your next partner-in-crime.” Thomas winks, and Minho laughs loudly, nodding his head in approval.
“I like this one,” he says to Teresa, who rolls her eyes.
Newt takes a deep breath, flashes his best smile and holds out his hand, “’M Newt.”
He tries not to shiver as Thomas takes his hand, eyes warm and smile sweet as he says, “Thomas, but I guess you already knew that.” Newt can hear the laugh in his voice. He cringes, because his heart should not be beating this fast.
“I saw you at the coffee shop yesterday, right? After I crashed into you,” he mumbles. “Uh, sorry about that.” Light pink dusts over his cheeks, and he looks so painfully embarrassed that Newt feels his heart jolt, and heat actually rises to his own cheeks, and he looks down, trying to calm his (stupid,) racing heart.
Thomas releases his hand, and it falls limply back to his side.
He wonders why he feels like he just lost something.
--
Thomas stares at the boy, Newt, and waits for a response. Newt smiles shyly, then, and shakes his head. “Nah, it was alright.” Thomas can’t help but notice the slight quiver in Newt’s voice, though. “My fault. I really should’ve paid more bloody attention, yeah?” Thomas laughs, and feels liquid warmth settle in his chest at Newt’s hesitant, but achingly genuine smile.
As Minho and Teresa start the conversation going again, Thomas studies – as subtly as he possibly can, -- Newt’s features. He feels vaguely stalker-ish, but he honestly can’t help it – the boy was all wide, doe eyes, creamy skin that looked so soft, and ruffled blonde hair splayed over his forehead, and Thomas really wanted to touch, press up against that slim frame and (maybe, quite possibly,) ravish pink lips and pale skin.
And then Thomas catches Newt’s eye, and Thomas tries to hide his blinding grin, but it slips through anyway, and the answering blush he gets makes him think that, yeah, maybe, he might just have a chance.
(He hopes so, anyway. )
--