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Newt is minding his own business in his own room, doing his best to procrastinate on his math homework, when Sonya bursts through his door, slams some sheets of paper onto his desk, and gestures for Newt to lower his headphones.
He brings his headphones down onto his neck because past experience indicates that Sonya will take them off his head for him if he doesn’t comply.
“So. Mum and Da were saying I can’t go out with Harriet because I’m under eighteen,” Sonya says, sounding less aggrieved than Newt would expect. She’s been mooning over Harriet for ages, but the no-dating rule has been around as long as Newt can remember.
“Yeah, that’s always been the rule. For both of us.” Newt looks down at what Sonya has slammed down in front of him. “Why is there a picture of Minho on my desk?”
Sonya snaps her fingers in Newt’s face to draw his attention back to her.
“You’ll find out in a moment. Anyways. Mum and Dad were saying I can’t go out with Harriet, but I managed to negotiate it to something else.” Sonya looks proud of herself, holding a hand to her chest and flipping her hair.
“Good for you?” Newt says after she doesn’t elaborate.
“It will be,” she says, as she looks expectantly at him.
Newt sighs. “What was the catch?”
“I can date,” Sonya pauses for dramatic effect, “if you also date.”
“I beg your pardon?”
She completely steamrolls over his question as she spreads out the pages on Newt’s desk. “I’ve prepared your three best candidates.”
Newt looks down at the pages, printed with Minho, Gally, and Thomas’s faces respectively. He has a bit of an inkling about where this is going and does not like it.
“No.”
“Oh, come on. You haven’t even read these lovingly-crafted profiles I wrote of them!”
Newt quickly skims over what Sonya prepared. They are surprisingly—or maybe not so surprisingly, since his sister has always loved creative writing—good dating profiles, crafted deliberately to highlight how each of the so-called candidates would match well with Newt.
“There’s a problem with these. Your information is out of date and incomplete.”
“What do you mean? I did my best social media stalking of all your friends!”
Newt taps on Gally’s photo. “Gally has been dating Ben for a while now, they’re just private about it. He’s a taken man.” Newt doesn’t know what was more shocking, that Gally and Ben finally got their shit together or that it took so long for them to get together. The two have been inseparable since childhood, even before Newt’s family moved to the States—it was a long time coming.
Sonya frowns and removes Gally’s page from the set. “Okay, well,” she gestures at Minho and Thomas’s pages, “having only two choices should make it even easier.”
“No, because Minho is this close,” Newt pinches his fingers together, “to mustering up the courage to ask Alby out to the Winter Formal.”
Minho has been mooning over Alby all semester, going on about his chiseled jaw and strong American football arms.
“Ugh, fine,” Sonya says as she removes Minho from the set, leaving just Thomas. “Decision made. You’ll date Thomas.”
“I will not date Thomas.”
Thomas was the new boy at school that Newt had hit it off with at the start of the year. He’s quickly become one of Newt’s closest friends and he’s not interested in jeopardizing that friendship, even if Thomas is super cute.
Sonya rolls her eyes. “It doesn’t have to be real. Just real enough that Mum and Dad think it’s real. You don’t have to trick him or anything, he can know it’s all a ploy.”
“I don’t even know he likes boys.”
“Please. Gays come in packs. There’s no way he’s your group’s token straight boy, that role is already taken. Also, it’s not necessary for him to like boys. He just needs to like you enough to do this. Please, please, please?” Sonya hits him with her infamous puppy dog eyes—probably what she used on their parents as well—and Newt can feel himself giving in.
He finds himself saying, “Fine. I’ll ask Thomas. But I make no promises.”
“Yes!” Sonya pumps her fist in the air and then wraps Newt in a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“He hasn’t agreed yet,” Newt says as he hugs her back.
“I have faith in the power of love and friendship.”
The problem with fake dating Thomas is that Newt is actually interested in real dating him. This should be the perfect situation, a sibling win-win. Sonya gets to date Harriet and Newt gets to date Thomas.
However.
Sonya knows Harriet is interested in her. They’ve actually been sneaking around for ages. Her only snag is parental approval.
Newt, as stated before to his sister, doesn’t even know if Thomas is interested in boys, let alone in Newt.
Newt explains the whole situation to Minho as they play Mario Kart at Minho’s house, where Newt’s parents can’t overhear.
Minho laughs at Newt’s double misfortune at having agreed to Sonya’s fake dating plan and the way his character has come in third, losing to both Minho and a stupid Luigi NPC.
“Oh, chin up. I don’t think it’s so bad. This could be the start of a cute rom-com style love story for the two of you. You love those.”
“Seriously?” Newt asks while setting down his controller and munching on some crisps.
“Yeah. Isn’t this like, the plot of 10 Things I Hate About You?”
“No.” Newt gives him a look. Has Minho even watched the movie or is he just working off pop culture osmosis? “They tricked the anti-social older sister into thinking the leather jacket bad boy likes her when he was really being paid to ask her out. The equivalent would be like, Harriet paying Thomas or something.”
Minho shrugs—ugh, he totally hasn’t seen the movie. “Well, there’s no trickery or monetary bribery happening, so you’re already in a better position.”
“Life isn’t a rom-com, Minho.” Newt picks his controller back up and starts to toggle the menus in Mario Kart.
“Life inspires art, yadda yadda,” Minho says while flapping his hand. “But in all seriousness, Thomas is a good guy. I think this would be a unique opportunity for you two to get closer. Find out if he likes guys, go on some fake dates, and see if there’s a spark. If he doesn’t seem like he’s really interested, you don’t have to confess your undying love or anything.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“Hey, I just believe in my buddy. You’re a total catch, Newt.”
Newt doesn’t quite believe in Minho’s effortless declaration, but he does let it buoy his spirits in the hope that this won’t turn into a disaster.
“So, your parents won’t let Sonya date unless you also date someone?” Thomas says, after Newt explains the whole fake dating setup. “And you think I’d be good at fake dating you?”
“Well, Sonya suggested you, Minho, or Gally, and… not that I don’t think you’d be a good guy to fake date.”
Thomas laughs. It’s a nice laugh—a full-sounding, genuine laugh that has Thomas tilting his head back to reveal the long column of this neck, which is also a nice neck. No, Newt will not elaborate. Yes, Newt should stop thinking about it.
“You don’t have to do it. I only promised Sonya I would ask. I mean, I don’t even know if you like guys.”
Thomas shakes his head. “Don’t worry, I’m not offended. And I’m bi. And I think you’d be a good guy to fake date too.” He says that last bit with a smile. It’s a nice smile, that shows off his teeth—mostly straight but with a slightly crooked one that gives the whole smile some character. Yes, Newt has some Serious Pining problems. No, it doesn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon.
Newt nods along before processing what Thomas said. “Wait. Does that mean…”
“I’ll do it. I mean, we already hang out a lot.” Thomas wraps his arm around Newt’s shoulder. “It’s not exactly a hardship to hang out with you more.”
“Oh, cool,” Newt says. “Perfect.”
Newt keeps expecting things to change, but everything feels normal—natural, even—with Thomas.
They go on “dates” that are really just them hanging out or studying together. Newt’s parents insist on an open-door policy and there’s gentle ribbing at the dining table if Thomas stays over for dinner, but for the most part, Newt and Thomas maintain a steady rhythm.
Then, things start to change, on a crisp afternoon in early November as they walk to the bus stop together.
“Hey, I was thinking,” Thomas says.
“Not always the best idea,” Newt says back as he nudges Thomas’s shoulder.
“Excuse you, my ideas are the best. And I was thinking, we should go on like, a proper date, take some photos on social media, really sell the idea that we’re dating.”
Newt posted close-ups of the ticket stubs for their first movie date, but not much else. Thomas isn’t wrong though. Newt may not be on social media often, but there are always lovey-dovey posts of picture-perfect moments between couples and captions with too many emojis. “Were you thinking of anything specific?”
“I was sick with the flu back when you and the other guys went apple-picking, and I’ve never gone before. Albuquerque wasn’t exactly known for pick-your-own-produce farms. I haven’t done a lot of traditional fall activities.”
“Do the farms still have apples to pick?” Newt always went in early October, before the Halloween crowds built up.
“Yeah, I, uh, checked. Maybe it won’t be the best apple offerings ever, but we can still go.”
Thomas already checked. Because he wants to go apple-picking, with Newt specifically. Good thing Newt’s cheeks are already pink from the autumn wind brushing against his delicate complexion that’s usually troublesome but currently hides his blush.
That’s how Newt finds himself with Thomas, trudging under fiery red maples, past rows of orange pumpkins, beyond a yellowed corn maze, and into a marvelously green apple orchard.
Newt’s brought a wicker basket for the two of them to share, which Thomas insists on carrying once they actually begin picking the apples.
“Here,” Newt says as he prays to any god that will hear him for courage and places his hand on top of Thomas’s, “like this. Roll the apple up from the branch and do a little twist. The stem should come off easy for a ripe apple, no need to tug so hard.”
It is a shameless excuse to hold Thomas’s hand for just a moment. Thomas has nice hands, with pretty veins that run across the back. Newt never thought veins could be pretty until he noticed them on Thomas’s hands—and forearms, for that matter.
They take far too many selfies of their faces side-by-side, cheeks smushed together, in front of the green leaves and red apples. Newt will pick the best one later, and caption it succinctly with “🍎❤️”.
After filling up their basket and deciding to check out the petting zoo on the farm, Thomas valiantly saves Newt’s scarf from getting stolen, or eaten, or possibly both, from a goat with a taste for wool.
“Wow, that was one feisty goat,” Thomas says, once they’ve escaped the animal pens. “Oh, hold still for a moment. You have something in your hair.” Thomas is so close that Newt can see the subtle flecks of amber in Thomas’s eyes as he brushes out some pieces of straw in Newt’s hair. “There you go.”
And if Newt can feel Thomas’s fingers brushing through his hair even after they’ve left the farm, split the apples, and gone on their separate ways home? Well, nobody has to know.
A month—of playing footsie even when there’s no one around and lingering touches that slowly drive Newt mad and so much internal screaming—later, Thomas suggests they go on another proper date.
“You should choose this time,” Thomas says.
“I don’t know. I mean. There’s still lots of things you’ve never gotten to do for a proper winter. My choice is for you to pick something new to try out.” Newt really doesn’t give a damn what they do, as long as they’re doing it together.
“Well, I’ve never been ice skating. Not on a proper outdoor rink before. We only had indoor rinks in New Mexico and usually went in the summer to escape the heat. Wait, will skating be okay on your leg?”
Okay, maybe Newt gives a damn about what they do. Ice skating is basically at the top of the list of things Newt doesn’t want to do, right below rollerblading. But if Thomas wants to go ice skating with Newt, then, by all means, they’ll go ice skating together.
“My leg will be fine. Sounds like a date,” Newt says, making sure to sound enthusiastic.
That weekend, they end up going to the annual local outdoor ice rink, which has been suitably decked out for holiday festivities.
Cheerful Christmas music plays just a little too loud from the speakers overhead. Children whizz by at alarming speeds across the ice. Light projections of giant snowflakes shift colors along a rainbow spectrum.
It’s a merry scene and Newt tells himself he’ll have a merry time. He takes shaky steps onto the ice rink, with Thomas right behind him.
They stay close to the railing, lest they fall like awkward newborn fawns.
Newt’s leg will be fine. His nerves, on the other hand, might not be.
He can’t stop the tremor running through both his good leg and his bad leg and a fear icier than what they’re skating on grips him tight whenever he’s more than a foot from the railing or going more than crawl’s pace.
“Are you—” Thomas begins to ask. “Newt, are you okay?” He ushers the both of them to stand at the railing and let other skaters go past them.
“Of course I’m—” The false reassurance dies in Newt’s mouth. Thomas is looking at him with such earnest concern. He doesn’t deserve to be lied to. “No, I. Let’s grab some hot cocoa?”
After acquiring two cups of overpriced hot chocolate with mini marshmallows, Newt picks a spot in the stands for them to sit, away from the speakers currently playing “All I Want For Christmas Is You”. Mariah Carey crooning into his ear is not the right mood for this conversation.
Newt takes a sip of his drink to fortify himself.
“Okay, so. You don’t know how I injured my leg, right?” He pats the one with the limp, that acts up if he’s on it for too long or pushes himself too hard.
“No.” Thomas's eyebrows furrow for a moment before he looks right at Newt with a mixed look of disbelief and shock. “Please tell me it wasn’t ice skating.”
“Well. It wasn’t ice skating.”
“But?”
“It was rollerblading,” Newt admits. “When I was kid, I went too fast down a hill. I ended up flipping this half-wall thing that guarded against falling into the ravine beyond. And, well, I fell down the ravine. Pretty sure Minho still has trauma from finding me with bone jutting out of my leg.”
“Newt. Oh my god. I would have never suggested ice skating if I had known.” Thomas stares at him in horror. “And don’t think I can’t tell you’re deflecting from your own trauma by mentioning Minho.”
“That’s not—” Newt swallows uncomfortably and takes another sip of his hot cocoa to gather his thoughts. He says, deliberate with each word, “It was a long time ago. And. I wanted to face my fear. Create a new, better memory. With you. Besides, there are no ravines here to fall into.”
“You’re really something else. What am I supposed to say to that?” Thomas sighs. “Please, if you want to leave now, just say the word and we’ll be gone. We can watch the newest Netflix Christmas movie at my place.”
Newt considers it. Everything about this setting is different than that of The Incident. It was summer then, sticky and hot, and now it’s early December with the first snow of winter having fallen a few days ago. Then, it had just been him, Minho, and Alby rollerblading down a deserted street. Here, there’s a crowd of all ages, paired with flashing lights and music.
“One lap,” Newt says. “Let’s do at least one more lap.”
They finish their hot chocolates and return to the rink. Thomas insists on holding Newt’s hand—Newt’s not going to turn down an opportunity to hold Thomas’s hand, even when their hands are both gloved.
One lap turns to two laps turn to three. Newt’s shaking and wobbling lessen with each lap.
He feels like he could do anything, follow Thomas anywhere, on ice, on rollerblades, through hell and back, being hand-in-hand with Thomas.
But three laps is enough.
“Newt, be a useful older brother and put those cans of soda into the ice cooler,” Sonya directs him as she continues to set up decorations.
Because he is a magnanimous older brother, Newt follows her instructions.
The Winter Dance, due to some venue scheduling snafu, has been pushed back from the weekend before the semester’s end, to the weekend right after. The same weekend as their flight to England for their annual family trip back.
After a bit of Sonya’s wheedling and pleading, their parents agreed to let them host a small holiday party on the day that would have been the Winter Dance.
Guests start arriving—more guests than what Newt would classify as appropriate for a small party, though not enough for it to turn into those ragers you see in teen TV shows.
It is, for the most part, a normal enough party. Sonya had moved all the living room furniture to set up a dance floor and borrowed a spinning disco light ball from one of her friends—Aris or Beth, maybe. Someone brought a pack of beer but there’s nothing wild happening, like drunken keg stands or heirloom vases being broken or explicit encounters happening in the master bedroom.
Newt isn’t the best dancer—he never learned how—and uses his leg as an excuse to linger in the archway leading to the living room, choosing to watch clothed debauchery happen on the makeshift dance floor instead of participating in it. Thomas is all flailing limbs and haphazardous coordination, but Newt can’t help but think his dance moves are charming regardless.
When he catches Thomas’s eye, Thomas untangles himself from the crowd and makes his way over.
“Hey. I’ve been—”
“Mistletoe!” Sonya’s abrupt voice in their ears cuts off whatever Thomas was about to say as she pops up behind them.
“What?” Newt looks at his sister in confusion, before looking up at where she’s pointing. An innocent-looking sprig of green leaves and red berries with a red ribbon is attached somehow to the top of the archway. The archway that Newt, and now Thomas, are standing under. “When did you put that up there?”
Sonya doesn’t respond with words, choosing instead to give him, then Thomas, pointed looks. A few others who were dancing at the edge of the living room dance floor are giving them looks too. Oh, god.
Newt turns to Thomas, who keeps glancing between Newt and the sprig of mistletoe above them.
“We don’t have to. Sonya’s just playing…” Next says before he’s stopped by Thomas placing a hand on his cheek.
Time seems to stop.
Thomas whispers, “Stop me if you really don’t want to,” as he leans in.
Newt doesn’t stop him.
Newt doesn’t do anything beyond staring wide-eyed as Thomas presses his lips against Newt’s own.
Thomas is kissing me, he thinks, while probably resembling the human version of a deer in headlights. As they part, he thinks, Thomas just kissed me.
A wolf whistle cuts through the static fuzz in Newt’s brain.
“Was that okay?” Thomas asks, still in a whisper.
“Yeah. That was okay.” Newt says with a nod. “I, um, I need to check on the snacks in the oven. I’ll be right back.”
Newt goes into the kitchen and then through the side door to the backyard—he needs air.
He takes in a breath of cold, winter air, and then another. He probably should have put on a coat—snow blankets the ground and a simple jumper isn’t sufficient protection from the chill nipping at his skin. But all of that is immaterial.
What has he just done? What is he doing? Thomas is just being a good friend, and Newt is taking advantage of his friendly nature.
The kiss was more than okay—it was great.
It also highlights how much Newt wants this all to be real in screaming fluorescence.
“Newt?”
Newt turns to where Thomas has followed him outside. “Tommy.” He tries to put on a smile. Tries, but probably doesn’t succeed.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”
“No, it’s fine. The kiss was fine.”
“Excuse me if I don’t believe things are fine when I kiss a guy and he runs out the back door.”
“I—” Newt doesn’t have a good answer.
They stare at each other, as the party goes on inside the house. Strings of fairy lights strung across the patio create a whole different ambiance than the flashing colored lights and pounding bass within the house walls.
A moment, then another, pass in silence.
Just when it seems unbearable, Thomas speaks up. “I would kiss you even without the mistletoe.”
“What?” Newt can’t have heard that correctly.
“Just. If you’re upset at me, I might as well just put it all out there.”
“You would—you want to—kiss me?” Newt is trying his best to process what Thomas is saying.
Thomas slowly approaches, footsteps crunching in the snow. “So maybe you haven’t noticed, but you’re kind of amazing? Thoughtful and kind and brave. I like you. I would kiss you if there’s mistletoe, and I would kiss you even if there wasn’t mistletoe. If that’s what you also want.”
There’s a raw sort of vulnerability written across Thomas’s face as he puts it all out there.
This is real.
And now it’s Newt turn to be vulnerable.
“I—yes. That’s what I also want.”
Thomas reaches out and places his hand on Newt’s cheek, just like he did when they were under the mistletoe. He asks, “Yeah?”
There’s no mistletoe above them now, just fairy lights and soft snowflakes drifting down as it begins to snow. “Yeah,” Newt says. He’s the one who closes the distance between them this time.
Newt didn’t have time to process what kissing Thomas was like the first time. This second kiss is chapped lips, slightly wet, with a hint of cranberry punch.
It’s a kiss that tastes like Christmas come early.
A few months ago:
Thomas has just found the book he needs for his history assignment when he hears muffled grumbling.
Newt’s sister—Sonya, his brain helpfully provides—is cursing softly at her laptop.
“Are you okay?” Thomas asks.
Sonya looks over from where she’s sitting. “Does it look like I’m okay? No, I’m not okay.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” He doesn’t know her very well, but sometimes it helps to speak to an outsider about problems.
“Has Newt ever told you about our family’s no-dating rule?”
“Um…kind of?”
Sonya gives him an info-dump, about how her parents are against their children dating, and how she’s tired of sneaking around with her girlfriend, so she thinks that if Newt also had a partner, they could date in solidarity.
“My plan,” she says, “is to find Newt a boyfriend. It doesn’t have to be a real one. A fake boyfriend will do. I made a list of his friends that he could date, but I’ve had to rule them all out. Rachel told me Ben and Gally just got together but are keeping it quiet on social media, Minho has been totally into Alby ever since he made it onto the varsity team with him, Chuck is a freshman and therefore babie, and Winston is tragically straight.”
Before he can even think about it, Thomas says, “What about me?”
“What about you?”
“Am I on your list?”
“Do you want to be?” Sonya abruptly stands, pushing back her chair that almost topples over from the sudden movement.
“Um.” Thomas suddenly feels like a prey animal being hunted—a strange feeling given Sonya is a full head shorter than him.
Sonya takes a step forward. Thomas takes a step back. They repeat this until Sonya is crowding him against a bookshelf.
“Do you want to fake date my brother? Do you want to real date my brother?”
Thomas caves. “Okay, okay. Yes. To both. I maybe have a little crush on Newt. But there’s the whole no dating rule so I haven’t pushed it. He’s my friend, my good friend.”
Sonya steps back and grins at him. Her eyes are sparkling with a concerning intensity. “Don’t worry, I have the perfect plan.”
“I don’t know…”
“Listen. Newt loves rom-coms. I’ve watched countless ones over the years with him. This will work. It might take a while—my brother can be shy. But I’m sure, if the spark is there, then sparks will be flying by…Christmas. Yeah, Christmas.” She nods, infinitely confident in herself.
“If you’re sure…” Thomas would like to steal some of Sonya’s confidence for himself. What he is sure of though, is that Newt has rapidly become an important part of his life, and he’ll value prioritize that friendship, fake dating scheme or not.
“Just you wait, Thomas. I’m going to make you and Newt into a Christmas miracle.”