Chapter Text
Newt lost his phone. Probably. Or maybe he just left it somewhere. He didn’t know. The main thing was accomplished by it though. Thomas couldn’t call him. Or text him. God knows he tried. Even Newt tried. But then stopped himself, throwing the device away, wishing for not remembering the number so vividly to hold himself back even without the phone on him.
He felt like a body without soul. He didn’t even properly remembered how exactly he ended up at Minho’s place, suddenly he sat on the couch, staring dazedly at the table in front of it with magazines about cars, and Minho was sitting next to him, holding him around his shoulders, making cooing noises.
Then Newt realized it was probably because he was crying. His whole body shook violently ad he cried and cried, and Minho petted his hair and told him it’s going to be alright, everything was fine, all fine, all good, just a little hiccup.
All fine, all good.
Nothing was fine. The dullness was slowly creeping away and an unfathomable pain took its place, making him feel like his heart was torn out and now a gaping wound stayed in the middle of his chest. He was barely aware of his own sobs and pleas, questions like how could it happen? What did I do wrong?
Minho only held him and probably even replied with something happy and nice to cheer him up, but it didn’t reach him.
Another set of arms held him from behind and he saw Brenda’s bracelets and rings on the hands that hugged him, and her voice soothingly washing over him.
“We will deal,” he heard her saying. “We will make it right. Don’t give up. Never give up.”
“What did I do?” he hiccupped, burying his face into Minho’s shirt, wetting it with tears. “Did I dump him? I gave him the ring back, why did I do that?”
“It’ll teach him a lesson,” Brenda replied calmly, rubbing his back reassuringly. “It’ll show him there are limits to his selfishness. He loves you. He’ll come back.”
“He never left,” Minho opposed softly. “Don’t worry, bun, don’t you worry.”
Newt didn’t know how long they held him and how long he wept like a child in their embrace, but when the reality crashed back into him, he woke up on the couch, cocooned in a blanket and both of them were curled around him like a pile of puppies, holding him safe and warm.
***
Helping Brenda was good. It made him think about how weird the girl was and not how bad he felt, sorting all her dirty brushes and messy pictures, sketches and half-finished sculptures, jewellery and strangely shaped objects he was afraid to ask what they were for or what they represented.
Brenda kept him in line. She touched his back when necessary to lead his thoughts back to the point, she left him alone when he was needed it, she talked to him about her childhood to make him feel better. He felt grateful and embarrassed at the same time, but she was patient and caring, and he couldn’t stop thinking if this was how she treated Thomas when he was a mess.
“I know it’s hard to grasp it, but she is bewitching,” Brenda suddenly said in the middle of painting. All her stuff was lying around the apartment and Newt wondered how Minho didn’t even mind it smelled there like in a studio. He went for a run, Newt was aware, but he seemed perfectly fine with the fact Brenda made such a mess in the morning.
“I don’t think she is evil per se,” the girl continued, the brush stroking the canvas languidly. “She just doesn’t mind when people get hurt as far as she has fun. Minho can tell you a lot about that.”
It suddenly made sense to Newt. She was talking about Thomas’ ex, and the thought of Minho being involved with her made him uneasy.
“They…?”
“Had sex,” she finished his thought. “Yeah. On his defence, she told him they broke up with Thomas. They still had those ups and downs, once together, once not. She always found a way how to get him back, even that it was obvious she fucked the whole neighbourhood in meantime. Thomas was such an idiot. He forgave her everything, even that he knew. He started to be jealous and insecure at every gesture, every person near her, and it only escalated. She broke up with him and then made up, telling him she was just lonely and unappreciated, and he should try harder. And he did. And it was slowly making him lose his mind.”
Newt glanced back at the flower shaped necklace he was holding thoughtfully. His throat felt tight at the thought of the writer, and it got even worse after hearing this. Thomas was always very unsure in their relationship, even after two years, Newt could tell. There was still a bit too much fussing, sometimes an unnecessary texting, and a lot of assuring. But Newt trusted him and Thomas trusted him back, and suddenly this woman appeared again and he couldn’t tell anymore.
“I think you can imagine what kind of mess it did,” Brenda concluded. “Between Minho and Thomas. I thought they’ll never talk to each other anymore. Thomas just couldn’t deal.”
“So how did they make up?” he asked cautiously and Brenda smiled at him.
“I have no idea. Wasn’t there. They refused to talk about it. I’m just glad they did.”
“Yeah,” he mumbled, putting the necklace to the box, sorting it slowly.
“I know Thomas can be difficult,” she turned back to the canvas. “But you changed him a lot. You made him a better person. I hope you considered making me your best man at the wedding.”
A sudden change in the topic made him blink and then groan.
“Brenda, you are a girl.”
“I can wear a suit if it helps,” she smirked. “And I thought about making the wedding in 1920’s style. Smartsuits and all, I think it’s sexy.”
He took a deep breath. The wedding. Something that seemed out of reach, impossible to even think of.
She noticed his sudden quietness and left the canvas alone, sitting next to him and bumping into his shoulder.
“Minho is taking care of him,” she informed him lightly. “So he won’t do anything stupid. Are you ready now?”
“I don’t know,” he mumbled. “Am I?”
“I think you are,” she nodded and stood up, walking towards the door, opening it slowly. “Man up. You got this.”
Thomas stood there alone.
***
Newt lost his sanity.
He didn’t remember where or when exactly, he just knew he didn’t have it anymore. He was a wreck. A mash of emotions jumbled together into one average human body, a one big nerve ending ready to blow up.
He sat on the couch, completely paralyzed, and Thomas stood in front of him, his face sad and so, so tired. His eyes were red and puffy and his body held only barely, trying to mask it with fake leisure, hands in pockets, legs wide apart.
Brenda disappeared. The flat was quiet and smelled like paint.
“Tenda was meowing the whole night,” Thomas broke the silence suddenly. “Think she was crying.”
Newt looked down on his joined hands, noticing how he trembled slightly, trying to get still.
“She kept on scratching at your spot on the couch,” the writer continued, his voice rough and heavy, as if he was shouting the whole night.
The shivering got worse.
“I can’t,” Thomas said a little more desperately. “Newt, I can’t do this.”
“Then don’t,” the blond said without looking up, not trusting himself for it.
“Please come back,” another plea, a broken one that made Newt’s lower lip tremble. “Please don’t leave me.”
A sudden touch on his knees made him flinch and the contact disappeared, but Thomas stayed in front of him, kneeling and looking so lost and miserable it almost made Newt cry all over again.
“Please don’t do this to me,” the writer pleaded. “I know I messed up, I always mess up, and I am a mess by myself, a wreck and I can’t deal with stuff properly, but please… you give me all the strength I need, I can’t even function without you anymore, it’s too much…” His voice broke down in an involuntary sob and Newt’s breath hitched.
“Do you still love her?”
The question was out before Newt could stop himself, and Thomas shook his head violently, repeating nonononono all over again.
“Do you still want her?” Newt continued, afraid of the answer so much he had to bite his tongue to keep his mind a little out of the gutter.
Thomas stayed quiet. His eyes were wide and wet and he stared back at the blond with so much pain in them it hurt Newt almost physically. Then he closed them, forcing two trickles of tears to drop from the corners, and moved forward, pushing against Newt insistently, burrowing his face in his shirt, inhaling deeply.
“I thought I did,” he mumbled into Newt’s stomach. “I thought she still had the power. I was confused and angry and she was like… like the wrong voice in the back in your head, telling you what to do. The one you can’t get rid of, yeah?”
“Did you get rid of it?” the blond asked, but forced his hands to stay away. Thomas gripped his legs, slowly sliding his hands over Newt’s thighs, up to his back, hugging him tightly.
“It wasn’t there anymore,” he replied quietly. “I freaked out for nothing. It felt wrong. I knew it. My body remembered, but my mind was already closed.”
“Do you still love me?” Newt breathed out hesitantly, his hands twitching at his sides, and the hold got suddenly tight and Thomas rose, seizing him in an intense embrace, almost crushing him.
“Oh god, yes, please, yes, I love you, I never stopped, please, let me make it up to you, please, don’t leave me, please,” the litany of pleas was flooding from his mouth, whispering it into Newt’s hair, against his neck, into his lips, kissing him deeply and taste like salt from the tears, and then Newt realized they weren’t just his, and it was the last thing he needed.
***
“Do you still want to marry me?”
Newt propped his chin on Thomas’ chest, lying sprawled on top of him, wrapped in a blanked and the man’s embrace. He only nodded, not trusting his voice just yet, and Thomas ran his fingers through Newt’s hair slowly.
“You sure?”
“Are you?” Newt replied with a question, his eyes half lidded and curious.
“Yes,” the writer answered strongly, the voice rumbling in his chest like a thunder. “Yes.”
***
Minho texted them later he ate all the curry from the fridge and fed the cat.
“You are welcome, jerkfaces. I hope you didn’t have sex on my couch.”
Newt threw Thomas’ phone somewhere behind Brenda’s mess and fell asleep on top of his lover, completely content. The ring on his finger never felt more right.