Chapter Text
Newt hated this.
He grumbled under his breath, silently praying Minho wouldn’t hear him — but of course, nothing in the universe ever worked in his favor. Honestly, it felt like life took personal pleasure in screwing him over.
Minho heard him.
And worse: Minho shot him that annoying little side–smile, the one that made it look like he was reading Newt’s soul through the car window.
“Come on, Newt!” Minho said cheerfully, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “It’s gonna be fun!”
“Yeah, Minho, I’m sure it’ll be so fun,” Newt replied with the dead enthusiasm of an old man paying bills.
“It will!” Minho insisted. “You need to be less pessimistic. Everyone’s gonna be there!”
“Exactly.” Newt huffed. “Everyone’s gonna be there.”
“If you were just a bit more sociable—”
“I’m not some antisocial gremlin, Minho. I just don’t like this circus people call a college party.”
“What is your problem with parties??” Minho asked — right as the light turned red, giving him the perfect chance to turn and stare at Newt.
For exactly half a second, Newt considered how convenient it would be if Minho crashed the car. Nothing fatal, just… enough to cancel the party.
“You know the problem isn’t parties,” Newt said at last. “It’s this kind of party.”
“It’s just a college party!”
“They’re unsanitary.”
“Name me one party you’ve ever been to that wasn’t unsanitary.”
“Several,” Newt shrugged, completely indifferent.
“Liar!” Minho pointed at him as if they were in court, then put both hands back on the wheel. “You just don’t wanna go because of Thomas and Brenda!”
“That has nothing to do with it!” Newt nearly choked on indignation. “Spare me, Minho.”
“Think about it. You might not even see Thomas tonight. You’re gonna drink, make out, have fun…”
They both knew that was a lie. Thomas stuck to their group like a sticker on a notebook. No amount of alcohol on Earth would keep Newt from bumping into him.
And worse than seeing Thomas…was seeing Thomas with Brenda.
Just remembering the two of them together made his stomach flip. The way Brenda touched Thomas’s arm like she had any right — a light, intimate touch that was way too casual for “just friends.” Her giggles. Their whispered conversations. How close they stood.
Newt’s skin tingled just thinking about it.
He still remembered the ridiculous burst of happiness — pathetic, but real — the day he found out Thomas and Teresa weren’t a couple. He and Minho practically popped imaginary champagne.
Then the joy vanished in thirty minutes, because Brenda entered the chat.
The anger bubbled again under his skin.
Minho glanced at him, sighing with that pitying look Newt despised. Pity was the last thing he wanted.
Not that he didn’t deserve this stupid ache in his chest. Who told him to fall for the straight friend?
“Dude…” Minho began as he parked in front of the huge house glowing with lights. But Newt didn’t let him finish.
“Stop. I’m going.”
Minho blinked.
“You… are? Like… going in? And staying?”
“Obviously, idiot. What else would I mean?”
“But Newt—”
“There’s nothing for you to pity or stutter about. Just stop.”
He stepped out of the car and stared at the house’s flashy façade. The colorful lights. The loud laughter. The smell of smoke drifting from the windows.
Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.
Minho walked around the car to join him.
“Stop,” Newt repeated.
“What? I didn’t even say anything!” Minho lifted his hands.
“But I know what’s going on in that tiny brain of yours.”
“You know you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. I don’t want yo—”
“Minho,” Newt turned to him, unimpressed. “Do you actually think that if I didn’t want to be here… I’d be here?”
Minho stared at him for a few seconds, like he was trying to read his soul again — and then sighed.
“…Okay. Yeah. Fine.”
Before any dramatic speech could continue, the front door swung open and someone stumbled out, throwing up all over a rose bush.
The smell hit Newt instantly.
Behind the human fountain, Alby appeared.
“Dude…” Alby said with a mix of pity and disgust.
“Hey, Alby!” Minho waved.
Alby finally noticed them and walked over.
“Hey, Minho! Hey, Newt! Didn’t expect to see you tonight.”
“Me neither,” Newt said, completely shameless.
They all laughed and headed inside — and everything from outside (noise, smell, chaos) multiplied by ten the second Newt crossed the doorway.
The music vibrated in his bones. People danced everywhere. Plastic cups covered tables. Cheap perfume, cigarette smoke, weed, sweat — an emotional sauna.
The house was huge and modern, but none of that mattered. It was overflowing with people.
“Hey,” Alby leaned in to shout in their ears. “Look at Gally.”
In the middle of the room, Gally stood surrounded by strangers chanting:
“Chug! Chug! Chug!”
Gally downed another beer like it was water. The floor around him was decorated with empty cans like trophies.
“Jesus!” Minho shouted. “He’s insane.”
“Definitely,” Newt muttered, almost laughing.
“Let’s see who’s stuck taking care of him tomorrow,” Alby said. “Not me.”
“He’s not a baby. He can take care of himself,” Newt lied with zero shame.
They laughed, and Alby dragged them away before someone spilled a drink on them. The air was way too hot, almost suffocating, and Newt wondered if the owners had abolished the concept of windows.
Someone called Minho, Alby followed, and Newt ended up alone against the wall, watching the human zoo unfold. Weird dancing, people making out, people arguing, someone crying on the couch, someone trying to talk to a plant. Classic.
And then it happened.
The back door slammed.
And Newt recognized the laugh before he even looked.
Thomas walked in. Brenda right behind him.
Talking too close. Laughing too close. Existing too close.
She touched his arm. Touched.
Newt’s stomach folded like origami.
Minho reappeared out of nowhere, immediately catching on.
“Hey,” he whispered. “Breathe. Don’t look over there.”
Newt was already looking.
Minho groaned, slung an arm around his shoulders, and dragged him toward the kitchen like saving him from a burning building.
“Let’s go before you die poisoned by your own emotions,” Minho said.
“Screw you,” Newt muttered — but followed.
In the kitchen, the noise was lower, the air slightly more breathable. Minho opened the fridge like he owned the place, grabbed two drinks, and tossed one to Newt.
“Here. And if you’re gonna lose your mind over Thomas and Brenda’s little hand-holding, we can just leave now.”
“I’m not losing my mind.”
Minho made the ugliest sure-you’re-not face.
“Newt. You went pale like a ghost. If someone showed up with holy water, you’d evaporate.”
Newt took a sip. The drink was terrible. Fitting.
“I just…” he muttered. “I just don’t like seeing it.”
“I know,” Minho said softly. “But you’ll survive. And if you don’t, I’ll bury you in the backyard. Easy.”
Newt laughed. Damn it. Minho always managed that.
But then — of course — Thomas walked into the kitchen, opening the fridge.
And saw him immediately.
His smile lit up everything Newt was trying to shut down.
“Newt! You came!” Thomas said, like that meant something.
And, because the universe hated him, Brenda came right after him.
“Of course I came, idiot,” Newt said. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Because you’re here, you adorable disaster.
“I don’t know,” Thomas laughed. “You never show up to parties anymore.”
Brenda smirked behind him.
Minho reappeared like an irritated guardian angel.
“What, you don’t greet me anymore, Thomas? I’m offended.”
Thomas laughed, greeted him, and before anything else could happen, Frypan yelled from the doorway:
“HEY, GUYS! Truth or dare?”
Newt wanted to evaporate.
“YES!” Brenda practically jumped, dragging Thomas with her.
Minho looked at Newt with a stay strong, soldier expression and sighed before following.
Newt went too, because apparently he enjoyed suffering.
In the living room, everyone was already settling on the carpet.
Gally sat there (way too drunk).
Teresa on the couch, bored, scrolling her phone.
Aris against the wall.
Sonya handing out drinks like freebies.
Brenda sat on the carpet.
Thomas sat right beside her.
Of course.