Chapter Text
Thomas had completely, utterly, stupidly, grandiosely fucked up.
And he wished it was an exaggeration.
It all started on a Tuesday morning. He’d just gotten out of bed, his mind only half-awake as usual -- well, you could hardly call it a bed; it was the ragged, hard and uncomfortable couch in the middle of Teresa’s apartment that he liked to pretend was a bed to convince himself sleeping on the thing wasn’t as bad (it never worked).
He got up at eight, yawning and desperately trying to tidy his hair. His bed hair was ridiculous, even if he wasn’t technically sleeping in a bed.
And there she was.
Teresa stood in the kitchen, dressed in a silk, light blue bathrobe, making pancakes, and Thomas fucked up. Because in that very moment, as he stood there, craving coffee and a plate full of food, looking like an idiot, he realized just how attractive she was. Her raven black hair was down for once, cascading over her shoulders, and her eyes matched her bathrobe perfectly. She was smiling to herself, probably thinking about her job at the florist or her A+ on her recent essay, and Thomas felt his heart stop.
It wasn’t that he didn’t know she was pretty before. He could see it, of course, it was impossible not to -- some might even call her beautiful. It was just that it had never struck him like that before, and suddenly he found himself wondering how he hadn’t noticed it sooner. He knew, deep down, that it was bad when his mind went blank and something jumped in his chest, but still couldn’t stop staring.
Teresa. His Teresa. His best friend for many years. The girl that had called him a freckled idiot when they first met.
The door opened and Thomas snapped out of it, groaning internally when he saw who it was.
Aris. Also known as Teresa’s boyfriend.
***
“So what exactly are you saying?” Minho asked, sweeping the counter Thomas sat at. He moved around the small space energetically, his voice rising with every word he said.
“I don’t know,” Thomas said, sighing and leaning onto the counter with his chin resting on his hand. “I really don’t know.”
“Wait, wait, wait…” Minho said, rubbing his hands on his coffee-stained apron to get rid of the dirt and then leaning over the counter, his left hand raised. “Let me get this straight. You woke up Tuesday morning and was suddenly attracted to your best friend?”
“I don’t know!” Thomas hissed and he glared at his best friend. “But maybe say it a little louder, I think the old deaf woman across the street didn’t quite get that.”
“Sorry,” Minho said, grinning. “I just can’t believe it.”
“Me neither,” Thomas sighed. “I’m not even sure it’s true, to be honest.”
“You’re not sure?” Minho asked, his voice desperate. “You’ve had four days to think about it, what do you mean, you’re not sure?”
“Dunno,” Thomas shrugged, absentmindedly playing with the straws standing in a glass jar on the countertop. It was difficult to explain, even to himself -- the attraction was there, of course, but the thought of being with Teresa like that was so bizarre he wasn’t sure it was what he wanted. “I’m just hoping it’s nothing and it passes soon.”
“Leave those alone,” Minho said, slapping the top of his hand with his cleaning rag. “Either way, you’re gonna have to do something.”
Thomas huffed out a sarcastic laugh. “Right. I’m just gonna march into their home, confess my love for her and then we’ll ride off into the sunset together.”
“If that’s what you want,” Minho shrugged. He looked so casual and calm about it all, Thomas kind of envied him for it.
“It’s not,” he said sharply. “To be honest, I just want this all to be over so I won’t ever have to think about it again.”
Minho smirked, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “You’re gonna wait for it to pass?”
“Yes.”
“Good luck with that, dude,” Minho snorted. “I’ll bet you ten bucks you’ll give up within a day and overthink it instead, as usual.”
“I’m not that bad,” Thomas countered, but he knew it was a lie. Besides getting himself into trouble, overthinking was probably his only talent. He was the complete opposite of Minho, in that way. Maybe that was why they worked so well.
“You’re terrible.” Minho shook his head. “Hey -- maybe it’s just loneliness. You’ve been single for, like, thirty years now.”
“Only one, and don’t you have some counters to clean?” Thomas teased him and Minho rolled his eyes.
“Don’t go changing the subject now,” he said, holding up his finger as if warning him. “You’re the one who brought it up in the first place.”
“Well, I’m done talking about it,” Thomas said, standing up. “And thinking about it.”
“If you say so,” Minho smiled.
“It’s the truth,” Thomas said, walking backwards towards the exit while putting his coat back on. “I promise.”
“If you say so!”
Thomas left the Homestead quickly, shaking his head.
He came back five minutes later, handing Minho a ten-dollar bill, his face red.
Minho’s laughter was hearable all the way to the end of the street.
***
Thomas wasn’t exactly sure where he was going until he found himself standing in front of a quiet diner, cold wind blowing through his hair, messing it up. It looked quite cosy, with pretty golden chandeliers and small red booths.
He’d planned on going home that night. He really had. But as soon as he’d opened the door, he found Teresa and Aris making out on the couch, his couch, and he’d left the apartment in a hurry.
It had been a long day full of exhausting lectures and Minho spamming his phone with stupid texts and all he wanted was to eat and fall asleep. Deciding that returning home wasn’t an option, he’d wandered through the city until he found this place, hidden on the side of the road beside a wide river.
It was a pretty place, and it looked safe enough, so he shrugged and walked inside.
The insides of the place were even prettier than the outside. The whole room was filled with small candles and red carpet and he immediately considered walking straight back out, because oh my god, this is a romantic diner.
Even though it was relatively quiet inside the diner, everyone inside seemed to be on a date and he had just turned around to leave when a hand touched his shoulder and he jumped.
“Thomas?”
The voice was strange, but not unfamiliar, and Thomas turned around to face the person standing behind him.
It was a tall guy, his face young but handsome. His hair was blond and messy and fell into his eyes and Thomas could immediately tell something was wrong. His dark eyes were worried, maybe a little sad, and Thomas wondered if he’d done something to upset the guy.
But he didn’t just sound familiar -- he also looked familiar. Even though he couldn’t immediately tell who it was, he knew this guy from somewhere. He’d seen it all before; the hair, the eyes, the long, skinny legs…
Slowly but surely, the pieces fell into place, and he could link a name to the face. Newt. After another moment of confusion, the final piece fell, and he felt himself smile.
Newt Ross. The yearbook guy from high school. Also known as Thomas’ bisexual awakening -- not that he’d ever tell him. They hadn’t been very close; Newt was a little older and had other friends, but they did hang out every once in a while, with Minho being a mutual friend of theirs.
“Newt?”
Newt smiled a little, but the worried look didn’t leave his face. “It’s good to see you.”
“Yeah,” Thomas said, studying Newt’s face for a second. He looked like he hadn’t aged a bit since high school, but there was a certain maturity to his face that showed him he was no longer the carefree kid that’d show up in the middle of class, take a candid picture of you, then disappear.
“Waiting for a date?” Newt asked, his voice a little teasing but still kind. Because Newt was just like that -- always gentle, always making sure you were okay. Thomas kind of admired him for it.
“No,” Thomas chuckled. “I didn’t realize this was a romantic diner till I walked in. You?”
He wasn’t sure why he asked, but regretted it when Newt’s face fell a little before he sent Thomas another small smile.
“Nope. Was, but seems like he’s not gonna show up.”
The silence that fell was painful and awkward, and Thomas scraped his throat before carefully speaking up.
“Sorry about that.”
“It’s fine,” Newt shrugged. “Didn’t know him yet anyway. My friend set us up.”
Despite his reassurance, Newt seemed a little tense, and Thomas’ mind raced to find a way to comfort him. He wasn’t good with words, so he knew he couldn’t do a little speech to cheer him up. Newt was always the talker between the two of them. Actions were more Thomas’ thing -- thinking came much later. Slowly, an idea started to form in his head. Newt didn’t say anything and just looked at him, his face blank.
“Um…” Thomas said, because he was an idiot and didn’t know how to properly start a sentence, “Are you hungry?”
After a moment of silence, Newt’s face lit up, and Thomas decided that he liked the blond’s small smile.
***
Thomas learned that Newt gave workshops at an art gallery, where he taught young students the basics of art, but one day, he wanted to see his own paintings on the wall. If he wasn’t busy with teaching, he was cleaning or giving tours. He showed Thomas pictures of his art on his phone, which then led into a conversation about how Thomas once signed up for an art competition in middle school but lost to a kid who simply put down a blank canvas and made up a crazy story about what it all meant. Newt laughed at him in a way that made Thomas’ heart jump in his chest.
Newt was talented, he really was. Thomas was quite impressed by his art, even though Newt seemed to think of it as average. His paintings and drawings were not abstract or hard to understand, which Thomas was thankful for. He was never good at understanding complicated pieces, not seeing further than the most obvious details. To him, a black square was just a black square.
Newt’s paintings were nothing like that, but incredibly beautiful anyway. They were harsh, raw and realistic. One of them, a dark piece with all sorts of colours flying across the canvas, showing a whirlwind of emotions in someone’s head, left Thomas speechless for several minutes.
Thomas also found out Newt was two years older than him, which surprised him, to say the least. He knew Newt had been a year or two higher than him in high school, but his face was so young Thomas wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d been eighteen years old. Newt, upon hearing Thomas was twenty-one, teased him about his age the whole night, calling him ‘baby’, ‘tiny Tommy’, and even ‘toddler Tommy’ once. Thomas had playfully hit him on the head.
Thomas also talked about himself, telling him about his little brother Chuck, his friends and his mom, who, for some reason, wanted to name him after a scientist (he’d grown fond of his name, after years of hating it, but he still liked to playfully complain about it to his mother every once in a while). Newt had smirked at that and told him his full first name was actually Newton, after Isaac Newton, to which Thomas had called him a nerd and Newt had hit him on the head.
They didn’t speak about Teresa once.
***
“Why didn’t you become a scientist? ‘Cause of your name? You were pretty good at science back in high school, as far as I remember.”
Thomas looked up from his fries. Newt was looking at him, his food untouched.
Thomas shook his head. “No. I guess I just wasn’t interested in it. I study architecture now.”
“And do you like it? Architecture?” Newt asked, frowning.
Thomas shrugged. “I guess.”
“You guess?”
“Do you like your major?” Thomas shot back and Newt smiled softly, taking a sip from his glass of water.
“I guess,” he said in a horrible imitation of Thomas’ voice. Thomas rolled his eyes, but couldn’t bite back a grin.
“I don’t actually go to college,” Newt then said. “Was never my thing, and I didn’t need it for the gallery anyways.”
“Must be nice,” Thomas said. His college life was rather hectic and exhausting, and he really couldn’t wait for it to be over. Not that he didn’t like it -- he just didn’t particularly enjoy studying all the time.
“It’s alright,” Newt shrugged. “I’ve still got work to worry about, so there’s that.”
They were quiet for a while. While eating, Thomas noticed, for some reason, that Newt had very pale, slender hands.
He had the strange urge to reach out and touch them.
“What about that Teresa girl?”
“Hm?” Thomas looked up again. Newt wasn’t looking at him this time, very focused on his plate.
“You used to hang out with her all the time. She’s your girlfriend?”
“No, god,” Thomas said. “We’re just friends.”
“Because of that Aris guy. With the mousy brown hair.”
It wasn’t a question, but Thomas nodded nevertheless.
“What about you?” Thomas cut him off before he could continue. Newt looked at him at that, a puzzled look on his face. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
Newt laughed at that, almost choking on his water. “Jesus, Tommy, I’m gay. Figured you knew already.”
Thomas felt himself blush but shrugged it off. “A boyfriend, then.”
“Nope. Never found anyone who loved me back, sadly.” He said it very casually, and for some reason, it made Thomas even more interested in the blond. Why was this guy so damn cool?
“I don’t believe that.”
Newt shot him a small smile. “It’s the truth. Most people just wanna fuck and go.”
Thomas frowned. “That’s just sad.”
Newt shrugged, seemingly not sad at all. “I get it. I’m very good in bed.”
This time it was Thomas who almost choked on his drink, coughing loudly as Newt laughed at him. Some people at the diner looked at them, frowning, but Thomas tried to ignore them as he fought off a blush creeping up on his cheeks.
“God, Tommy, I had no idea you were so easily startled,” Newt said, smirking. Thomas coughed one more time before glaring at him.
“I was just not expecting that,” Thomas said, too embarrassed to look up from his plate.
“Sure.”
They spent the rest of their dinner in comfortable silence, only speaking again when Newt offered to pay for their food.
“Absolutely not,” Thomas said, already taking out his wallet.
“I insist.”
“Stop being such a gentleman.”
“Alright, alright. But I’m warning you, this place is bloody expensive.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
They ended up each paying for their own food, Newt commenting on how much more expensive Thomas’ was and how he should’ve paid for them both, while Thomas rolled his eyes at him. He was goddamn unbelievable.
“So, where are you taking me now?” Thomas asked as they stepped out of the diner together, his breath forming puffs of smoke in the cold air. He was genuinely enjoying their time together, and didn’t want to leave just yet.
Newt didn’t look at him, eyes focused on the starry night above them. In the darkness of the night, Thomas couldn’t see his pupils anymore. His eyes were just black, glistening due to the stars reflecting in them.
Newt looked at him, breaking his stare. “Depends, do you want peace and quiet or some wild shit in your life?”
Thomas looked at him, biting his lip. Peace and quiet sounded great, maybe they’d have time to talk some more, but god damn it, was he bored. Not of Newt, just of the peace and quiet in general. He wished more than ever for just one night of no thoughts, loud music and too much alcohol. Even if it was just to forget about Teresa. God, he really needed to talk to her.
“Wild shit, please.”
Newt’s smirk couldn’t mean anything good.
***
The place Newt brought him to was exactly what Thomas needed. It was an old building, graffiti all over the walls and loud, booming music coming from inside, accompanied by flashing blue lights.
The Scorch, read the sign above the door. Thomas took a second to think about the strange name, but then Newt dragged him inside by his arm.
All around him were people in tiny clothes, holding drinks and cigarettes, talking loudly so they’d be heard over the music. There was a bar on the far right, bathrooms straight across from him and pretty much the entire place seemed to be a dance floor. There were so many people inside Thomas was almost sure it was illegal.
They weren’t all American, either. Walking across the room, Newt still holding onto him tightly, he heard conversations in all sorts of languages, including a couple French and Spanish ones. A loud song he didn’t know was playing and he could almost feel the alcohol burn in his throat.
“This is my favourite place to come,” Newt said, his voice only just loud enough for Thomas to hear. “Great place to find hookups.”
He winked and turned back around, dragging Thomas towards the bar, where a tall girl was serving drinks, moving around elegantly. It was only when he was up close that Thomas realized how pretty she was; she had dark, curly hair and black tattoos of flowers and butterflies curled around her dark skin.
“Harriet!”
The girl looked up and smiled at Newt, reaching over the bar to pull him in a short hug. “Newt.”
She looked at Thomas as she pulled away. “Who’s this?”
“I’m Thomas,” Thomas said, extending his hand for her to shake. She took it, her grip firmer than he’d expected.
“Nice to meet you, Thomas.”
“Tommy’s never been here before,” Newt said, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “And the girl he fancies has a boyfriend. What’s the strongest drink you’ve got?”
“I don’t-” Thomas started, but Newt shushed him as Harriet ducked beneath the counter and started rummaging through the cabinets.
“She cute?” She asked as she reappeared, a glass in one hand and a bottle of something in the other. Thomas swallowed, hesitated, then nodded.
“Yeah. We’ve been friends my entire life.”
Harriet whistled as she poured the drink into the glass. “Sorry about that, dude. At least you’ve got Newt, hm?”
There was a certain glint in her dark eyes that couldn’t mean anything good as she slid the drink over to Thomas. “Cheers.”
Thomas picked up the glass, hesitating, looking at Newt. “You sure this won’t kill me?”
Newt nodded, leaning on the bar. “Trust me. She’s fed it to me countless times.”
Thomas held himself back from asking why and nodded, downing the drink in one shot. It burned his throat and he almost teared up from how strong it was.
“Jesus.” He winced.
Harriet held up the bottle. “Another one?”
Thomas looked at her, then at Newt, who looked at him with a gleeful expression on his handsome face.
Sighing, he placed his glass down on the bar. “Please.”
***
Thomas was a lightweight. He was terrible with alcohol, often ending up in places he didn’t know with people he didn’t know, wearing clothes that weren’t his own. When he started living with Teresa, he quit drinking completely, knowing she hated it.
Which was probably the reason why this hit him extra hard.
His brain started to get fuzzy after his third drink and he was officially drunk after his fourth. Newt had joined him on his second, dealing with the alcohol a lot better than Thomas. He laughed lovingly when Thomas almost choked on his fifth and guided him towards the dancefloor before he could take a sixth, telling him he needed to slow down.
Bodies were pressed against him on every inch of his body, moving up and down to the beat of the music, moving him from left to right without his feet ever moving. Newt was pressed tightly against his side, his hand on Thomas’ back. The touch sent strange, hot tingles down his spine and Thomas found himself leaning into it.
They found a spot in the middle of the crowd and started dancing together, people interrupting them every once in a while to walk to the bar or bathroom or to take one of them for a dance.
Thomas ended up dancing with at least six, seven people he didn’t know, most of them girls. They pressed themselves against him, touched his arms, tried to kiss him, and every time, a soft hand on his arm pulled him back, long fingers almost completely wrapped around his bicep. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that it was Newt, but then again, he didn’t care. His thoughts didn’t make sense anymore and he let the music and alcohol take complete control over him, desperate to forget all his worries.
His phone buzzed.
He wasn’t sure how he registered it -- there were people all around him, pressing up against every inch of his body, but somehow, he did, and he pushed himself through the crowd before picking up. As soon as the cold breeze hit his face, he felt himself get pulled back to reality the tiniest bit, and he took out his phone to answer it.
“Hi, this is Thomas. Leave a message after the annoying beeping noise,” he giggled.
“Tom?” A voice spoke, and a wave of nerves and recognition hit him.
“Teresa! How’ve you been?”
“Tom -- are you drunk?”
“No,” Thomas said, his voice defensive. “Are you?”
“Tom, listen.”
“No,” Thomas said, suddenly mad. “No, you listen, I didn’t do anything wrong, I’m not…”
He followed a bird with his eyes, trying to figure out what his next words were supposed to be. He was not… What? Evil? A bad person?
He was, though, wasn’t he?
“Tom, please come home. We’re worried sick, are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Teresa,” he said, sitting down. “I’m out. With Newt.”
“Newt?”
“From high school. Minho’s friend.”
“Oh, him. Listen, Tom, Aris -”
“Aris?” Thomas asked, picking at the grass below his feet. “How’s he doing?”
“He’s fine, Thomas. Are you sure you’re okay?”
Thomas giggled.
“Tom, are you laughing?”
“You just sound funny,” Thomas said, looking at the people walking past him. He was vaguely aware that he was being watched by someone, but he didn’t really care.
“Right. Tom, please promise me you’re okay. Do you know where you are? Do you need me to pick you up? You sound really drunk.”
Thomas stood up, trying very hard to remember the name he saw earlier. It was strange, he remembered that much. Newt was holding his wrist when he read it.
“The... Scorch. I think.”
“Okay. Do you need me to pick you up or -”
“I’m fine, Teresa,” he slurred. “I’m having a great time. I’m an adult. Adulting. I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?”
“Sure,” he said, giggling. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Or... not.”
“Tomorrow? Tom -”
Thomas hung up the phone, dropping his arm to his side.
He stared into nothingness for a few moments, jumping when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning around, he saw Newt staring down at him, concern visible on his face, his mouth slightly opened as if he was about to speak. He had really nice lips, Thomas noticed. They were pink and soft-looking and Thomas kind of wanted to reach out and touch them.
So, in his drunken state, Thomas did the only logical next thing.
He kissed Newt.