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“Food?”
Thomas jumped, eyes wide as he snapped his head around. Minho stood behind him, hands up in the air.
“Whoa, sorry! Didn’t mean to startle you. Though that was a great reaction,” he said with a wink. “Just wondering if you wanted to get lunch.”
“Oh, I, um… sorry, I…” Thomas groaned, rubbing his eyes and taking a deep breath to collect himself. “Uh, no, thanks. I’ll go a bit later. Need to... finish... the thing,” he replied, gesturing vaguely toward the computer on his desk.
Thomas looked up when Minho didn't respond. The Asian was standing before him, arms crossed and eyebrows raised, seemingly studying him as if he were under a microscope. When their eyes met, Minho huffed out a laugh that sounded somewhere between amusement and exasperation, before slowly shaking his head, grin spreading on his face.
"Alright, whatever you say," he said, turning to walk back toward the group of people he'd already collected. "But seriously, Thomas? Just do it."
Thomas groaned again, slamming his head down against his desk and muttering incoherent words as he listened to the voices of his coworkers gradually fade. He picked his head back up, staring at the lines of code that swam in his monitor, seeing but not really comprehending their purpose. His fingers floated above the keys, prepared to strike as soon as they were given the command, but none came.
He sat there for what felt like hours, begging his brain to focus on the task at hand. But just as it had every shucking day for the past three weeks, it completely ignored him. Eventually, Thomas gave up and glanced over his screen.
Thomas's breath hitched, his pulse quickened. His face began to warm, and his hands began to sweat. Because sitting seven desks down was the boy who had been at the forefront of his mind every single minute of every single day for the past three weeks. And this time, his face was scrunched in concentration as he stared at his screen, fingers flying furiously over the keys before his expression finally softened and was replaced with a satisfied smile. It was the most beautiful moment Thomas had ever witnessed.
Then again, that's what Thomas thought every time he watched Newt. Newt. Even his name sounded good on his tongue. Truth be told, when he had first seen his name assigned to the desk he was looking up on the campus map (because Thomas just had to know his name, okay?) he'd thought it a little weird. But the name grew on him, and the more he repeated it, the more right it felt. It was a unique name, perfect for describing the only person Thomas really noticed these days.
Thomas watched as Newt leaned back in his chair and stretched, arms raised high above his head. He watched as Newt took a sip from the thermos he always carried around with him. He watched as Newt checked something on his phone and then looked in Thomas's direction.
Oh shuck! Thomas immediately shrank behind his monitor, trying desperately to get his heartbeat back to normal. Eventually he risked a glance back toward Newt, noticing that the blond had gone back to working, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
Thomas groaned yet again. When'd he become this pathetic? He had always been the most outgoing person in any room, making conversation easily and confidently. And now here he was hiding behind his computer from a boy he hadn’t even managed to come close to talking to for three weeks, despite how much his heart ached with longing every time he thought about doing so. What was wrong with him?
You're terrified because you're attracted to him.
Teresa's words echoed through his mind. He had finally mustered up the courage to tell her about how he felt the previous weekend. She had looked like a child in a candy store the whole time, a grin as wide as the Cheshire Cat's plastered on her face and eyes twinkling like stars in the night. After he'd finished his story, she spent the next two hours trying to convince him to go and actually talk to Newt while completely ignoring his horrified refusals to do any such thing for fear of his heart stopping right then and there.
You just have to be willing to let yourself be afraid sometimes. Otherwise what’s the point? You gotta take some risks and face some fears to make a life worth living.
Thomas pulled at his hair in exasperation. She was right. As much as he hated admitting it, she was always right. He couldn't keep yearning, not if he wanted to keep his sanity.
Just do it.
He forced himself to stand, his heart hammering in his chest. He forced himself to take step after step, feeling like he was walking toward his own execution. And he forced himself to reach out, hand frozen, hovering, for just a moment, a moment that felt like an eternity, before gently tapping the boy on his shoulder.
Their eyes met, and Thomas fell into two chocolate seas so deep he felt like he was drowning.
"Uh... Hi. I'm Thomas. I sit over there."
A smile.
"Hey Tommy."
A smooth accent. An extended hand.
Thomas's heart swooned at the sound. Never in a million years would he have thought that his weakness would be blond, British boys. He took the offered hand.
Electricity shooting up his arm. Breath stuck in his throat.
Thomas reminded himself how to breathe.
"I... Uh... Any chance you want to get lunch?"
A pause.
Searching eyes.
A nod.
"Sure."