Work Text:
Click, click click.
Newt clicked his pen, hovering over the empty page in the notebook. If he could just think of a start, a sentence, even just a word… But this particular morning his inspiration seemed to have drained completely. He reached for his cup and took a long slow sip of the strong coffee. Well, maybe if he sat long enough the spark of inspiration would hit him.
The coffee shop was almost empty this early in the day. Newt preferred it that way. It meant silence and less interruptions. It was a time where he could pretend he didn’t live in such a hectic city and just spend time in his own head alone with his thoughts for a while. It was when he wrote his best stories.
The bell over the door chimed, and on any other day he would barely even have noticed the new arrival, too lost in whatever world he created, but since he was, for once, out of words he looked up. And froze.
It wasn’t a stranger who’d entered, no nameless nobody - who then could be anybody; a new interesting character in a story. No, the man who had just entered the small coffee shop was someone who had once been all too familiar to Newt.
The man stopped just inside the door and shook his umbrella free from rain as he folded it up. Then he raised his head and swept a glance across the room. He appeared to do a double take as his eyes met Newt’s.
For a few long heartbeats they seemed to be frozen in time. The world around them had stopped spinning and everyone in it had disappeared, leaving only them. Then the man broke his gaze and walked up to the counter. Newt looked back at his coffee that suddenly didn’t feel strong enough for this. And he’d need a smoke to calm his nerves.
He fished around in his coat pocket and got up the squashed pack. Three cigs left. He needed to go buy more. He took one and shoved the rest back into his coat. There was a tealight on the table in a tiny but very dusty dish. Newt held the cig over the flame until the tip started to glow. He put the end to his lip and sucked in a deep breath and swore he already felt more collected.
“Would you mind if I sat down here?”
Newt looked up into the eyes he’d known better than anyone else’s. “Thomas.” he exhaled.
“Can I?” Thomas asked again. “Newt?” His voice was deeper than what Newt remembered. Not by much, but there was a new sort of rumble to it that sent shivers down his spine. Newt nodded curtly to the chair opposite him, and Thomas sat down, placing his own coffee cup on the table.
“Do you still go by Newt? Or is it Samuel now?”
Newt wrinkled his nose at the name. It had been years since he’d been called that, and he had no plans to start again. “It’s still Newt.”
Thomas only nodded his reply, and Newt took another long drag on his cigarette. Thomas pulled out one of his own from his jeans pocket and lit it with a flashy zippo.
“Didn’t know you smoked,” Newt commented, mostly just to have something to say.
“Didn’t know you did,” Thomas answered.
The sat in silence, each one smoking their cigarettes and occasionally taking a sip of coffee. While Newt drank his coffee black and brewed strong, the scent drifting up from Thomas’ cup was sweet and creamy. Some things never changed.
“Why did you come here, at this hour?”
Thomas shrugged. “Woke up early, I guess. And you?”
“Writing.” Newt made a gesture to the closed notebook. “I always come here to write in the mornings.”
“Yeah, I saw that you got published. Your writing is amazing, you know?”
Newt looked up in surprise. “You read my books?” That was somewhat of a shock. It was true that Thomas had always enjoyed reading the short stories Newt had written back in high school, but that was almost nine years ago. He wouldn’t have thought that Thomas would have bothered about him anymore. Then again...
A slight rosy flush could be seen on Thomas’ ears. Newt had always found that adorable, that even when he managed not to look flustered, his ears would betray him. Thomas stared down at the table. “Multiple times.”
Newt felt a surge of something in the pit of his stomach. Silence stretched out between them again, because what was he supposed to say to that? The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable though. It never was with them, not even after so many years apart.
“When you read my books…” Newt began, unsure of how to ask what he wanted or if it was even a good idea to voice the thought. “Did you think of me?”
“Every time.” The answer was honest and open, and underlined with a thousand unspoken words. “You are present in every sentence,” Thomas continued. “In every single letter. If I closed my eyes I could almost hear your voice in them.”
“I went to your exhibitions,” Newt admitted. “Every single one. Your photography is stunning.”
Newt put out his forgotten cigarette in the ashtray, and Thomas absentmindedly did the same.
“What happened to us, Newt?”
He shrugged. “Family. Expectation. A difference in life goals and quite a bit of youth’s folly, I’d wager. We didn’t fit each other back then.”
“We fit perfectly. I think we still do.”
Newt looked Thomas in the eyes, trying to see if he meant it, but he already knew he did. “Yeah,” Newt sighed before repeating Thomas’ words. “I think we still do.”
Thomas slowly reached over the table and nudged the back of Newt’s hand with his fingertips. Newt turned his hand over, allowing Thomas to hold it. It was warm, sweet, familiar, and Newt’s heart beat just a bit faster than what was probably healthy.
“I thought of you everyday, Tommy.”
Thomas gently squeezed his hand at the sound of the old pet name. “I thought of you too. I don’t think I ever stopped loving you.”
Something warm bloomed in Newt’s chest, and he returned the little hand squeeze. “Me neither.”
Thomas’ smile could still rival the sun itself. “We were pretty stupid as kids, huh?”
“Yeah.” Newt chuckled a little. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this ecstatic. It was almost like being a child once again, going about his life without any worries and believing in Forever. “But at least we seem to have gotten another chance.”