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It’s not that Newt doesn’t like Valentine’s day, it’s that he just doesn’t really care. And no, he’s not one of those people that walks around complaining about obnoxious people in relationships partaking in more publicly displayed affection than should be legally permitted - partly because he is one of those people, but mostly because, again, he just doesn’t care about holidays. Especially ones founded on capitalism and highly public and, often, highly manipulative gestures.
But he does care about Thomas, and Thomas cares about Valentine’s day, so.
Newt’s going to make next Thursday special, all personal opinions aside. It is in his personal opinion that every day with Thomas is special, but that’s the kind of sappy stuff he needs to save for next week.
There are eight days until Valentine’s when he starts plotting. He knows that Thomas has an evening class on Thursdays, so he’d have the perfect window of time to set up something romantic.
What that something romantic is, Newt has no idea. But he has just over a week and only one assignment due in the time between then and the big day, so he’s not worried.
He’s not worried right now.
Looking back, he should have seen the signs - should have predicted that the final cumulation of everyone’s collective bullshit would land on the one (1) week that he needed to get something done with a reasonable degree of secrecy.
He should have known that he would be the one the universe chose to deal with it all.
If we’re starting from the very beginning, it was probably Minho and Gally’s incorrectly infamous hookup at one of Gally and Ben’s parties the year before that put him in this position now. It’s infamous because absolutely everyone that lived in their residence building last year ended up hearing about it, and it’s incorrect because it didn’t really happen - at least, not when the story says.
This is how it went: on the last Friday night before year-end exams in April, Gally and Ben - roommates, the only engineering students in their building, and the reigning beer pong champions - hosted one last rager before people had to actually buckle down and start studying.
(And yes, the facebook event page was called one last rager . To this day, Newt is still not sure if it was ironic or not.)
At one last rager - which is, by the way, what people still call it when discussing Minho and Gally’s Infamous Hookup - both Minho and Gally were remarkably drunk. Wasted out of their minds, if you will. Newt can’t vouch for Gally because he didn’t - and still doesn’t, really - know him that well, but he can say with absolute certainty that one last rager was the most drunk Minho has been in his entire life.
They were all over each other, which wasn’t exactly a surprising sight by that point, but it was definitely amped up to a level Newt hadn’t seen before. You could have frozen time at any moment throughout the night and the two of them would have looked like they were about to jump each other’s bones. It was usually just Newt and Thomas that shared exasperated looks whenever the two of them fight-flirted, but that night was different. Even Aris didn’t bother to hide his scandalized/amused/disbelieving facial expressions.
At one point towards the end of the night, they disappeared for two long hours, and then came back looking significantly more dishevelled than before.
It didn’t take long for people to talk. It was widely assumed that the two of them had banged it out during their mutual disappearance.
But here’s the surprise icing on the hookup cake - there was no such banging until three weeks later.
Minho only told him a few months later during the Summer, and even then it was by accident that he let it slip. Up until then, he’d just let everyone believe it happened when they thought it happened, Newt included. He was just a little hurt when he found out Minho had kept it from him - his best friend of ten years and now roommate - but once he divulged more details, Newt understood why.
There had been more feelings involved than previously advertised. And when it came to Minho - god, when it came to Gally - feelings were never smooth sailing.
At the party, Gally had a headache and needed some air. Minho noticed he was gone after approximately one minute (delayed response time likely due to inebriation) and wandered out to the back courtyard to find him. After a couple minutes of chatting, they decided they were both hungry and walked the twenty minutes to Chinatown for some cheap midnight eats.
And allegedly, that was all that happened.
But three weeks later, the day before Gally’s last exam, he and Minho had spent the night hanging out and drinking alone in Minho’s dorm.
His single dorm.
Apparently, the beds there are more resilient than they look.
(Which Newt knew already, but he in no way wanted to hear about it from Minho.)
And here’s the kicker: to this day, ten months later, they still haven’t spoken a single word of it to each other. The next morning Gally was gone, off to write his exam, and then after that he was back across the country working for his dad’s construction company for the entire Summer.
Now that we’re all caught up on that: unresolved feelings. Yes, ten months later, on the couch in Newt and Minho’s shared apartment, throwing a seemingly small wrench in Newt’s plans to spend the night brainstorming ideas for making Valentine’s special for his boyfriend.
“It’s like - why am I still so hung up on it? It was one time , and he’s clearly had, like. He’s clearly slept with other people since then, so he’s over it.”
Minho is leaning his head against the back of the couch, looking absolutely distraught, which is a somewhat shocking change from his normal aloof self. He bites his lip and Newt realizes that he isn’t getting any Valentine’s plotting done tonight.
“How do you know he’s been with other people?”
“I mean, look at him.”
Newt holds back a laugh. He doesn’t want to alienate Minho as soon as he’s allowed himself to open up, so he goes for a deadpan instead. “Min, you know that doesn’t prove anything.”
He sighs, folding his arms across his chest as he looks back up at Newt and pouts like a child. “I overheard Ben complaining about Gally kicking him out of their room last weekend.”
Newt hums sympathetically. That’s definitely not a promising sign. “Okay, but…” The way he trails off is damning - he really doesn’t know what to say.
“Exactly,” Minho says, defeated. “It’s just. It’s really annoying.”
“That he’s sleeping with other people?”
“No, that I care that he’s sleeping with other people!”
“Minho, have you ever considered-”
“I do not have feelings for him,” he asserts, cutting Newt off with a stern look. “It was a one time hookup, and we handled it like adults.”
By never addressing it? Newt is smart enough not to voice his thoughts on that.
There is desperation in Minho’s eyes. “And I mean, come on, it’s Gally. ” He lets out a short, manic-sounding laugh. Newt just waits. Minho looks at him with rising hysteria, until, quietly:
“Oh my god, it’s Gally. ”
“There there,” Newt comforts, patting Minho on the shoulder as he crumples into Newt’s lap, hugging his knees into his chest.
“God, whyyyyyy .”
“Shh, get it out.”
Minho continues to whine lowly as the realization sets in. Newt doesn’t blame him, honestly. It wasn’t much different when he realized he had feelings for Thomas (back in high school, singing Avril Lavigne in the car at three in the morning). His experience was a little more wide-eyed terror than begrudging moans, but same difference.
After a couple minutes in quasi-silence, Newt offers a quiet suggestion. “There’s the party on Friday - why don’t you try and gauge where things are at then?”
Minho lifts his head specifically to give him an incredulous, open-mouthed look, and Newt can practically hear the silent wHy DoN’t YoU tRy AnD gAuGe WhErE tHiNgS aRe At ThEn? that’s surely being telepathically screamed at him in that moment.
He sighs. “Alright, then just go to the party and don’t even look at him and maybe you’ll make it another ten months before your next breakdown.”
At first he wonders if he’s gone too far, but then the offended expression on Minho’s face dissolves and he cracks a laugh.
“Shut up. I hate you. And him. But especially you.”
Minho is Newt’s best friend, and he’s more than happy to talk him through his romance-themed woes. He has an hour break between classes the next day that he can spend working on his surprise for Thomas (which he decides sometime during Minho’s third cycle of whyyyyyy ’s is going to be a surprise).
But the universe is a bitch, so when he settles down in one of the common areas on campus with a latte and an hour reserved for the best google has to offer, a familiar face is beelining toward him not one minute later.
“Newt! You’ve known Teresa for a long time, right?”
“Yes?”
Brenda smiles. “You have a minute?”
He ends up spending his entire free hour listening to Brenda speak for fifty-eight consecutive minutes in great detail about her crush on Teresa. She doesn’t even leave him a spare breath to get in an I knew it (which he totally did, by the way, first suspicions arising as early as the end of first semester last year ) before she is rushing off to her class, yelling a frantic, “Also don’t tell Thomas - you know that boy can’t keep a secret!” over her shoulder.
It’s pretty satisfying to know that all those longing looks he spotted were actually something, and it is kind of nice that now two of his friends have decided to trust him with their top secret feelings.
Two feels nice. But as they say, three’s a crowd.
(And four, and five, and then anything beyond that is frankly just too much, but all of that comes later.)
He is meeting Sonya for coffee the next afternoon at this cafe she likes, as per their weekly catch-up. He’s been waiting for only a couple of minutes when she bursts through the doors with a flurry of snow and cold air, not even waiting until she’s seated to dramatically announce, “Newt, I need your help.”
There is a feeling that materializes in his gut then, somewhere between suspicion and dread. It’s not familiar, but by the end of the week it sure as hell will be.
“What’s wrong?”
“I think I’m in love with Harriet.”
And he might just be a terrible brother, because.
“Harriet.”
“Harriet .”
“...Harriet?”
“Harriet! ”
“Sonya.”
“Newt.”
“I am so sorry, but, erm, remind me which one Harriet is?”
She grabs his latte and slides it over to her side of the table. He doesn’t stop her, even when she lifts it to her lips and downs half of it in one go. “You’re a terrible brother.”
Ah, there it is. “I know,” he agrees, wincing inwardly. “But, I am so very happy for you?”
She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Of course you are. Wait here.” She pounds back the rest of his drink and slides out of the booth, floating up to the counter in that Sonya way. He watches her order two more lattes, his plain and hers with extra cinnamon, smiling brightly at the barista who clearly already knows her name and regular order. A minute later she comes back with their drinks in hand, fishing her phone out of her jacket pocket as soon as the cups are on the table.
“This is Harriet,” she says, showing him a picture of her and a girl with a septum ring and fabulous hair that he’s definitely met on more than one occasion.
“Right, Harriet.”
Sonya pretty much melts into the table, sipping the foam off her latte in what looks like the most uncomfortable position ever. Newt has the thought in the back of his head that three of these confessions/counselling sessions in the span of 48 hours is a bit bizarre, but he loves his sister, so he smiles and leans back.
“So, tell me about Harriet.”
It starts to get a little ridiculous when Teresa texts him later that night, asking if he wouldn’t mind giving her some relationship advice. He is tired and just about to settle into bed with next week’s readings and a cup of tea, but he is also a good friend.
He is a good friend, but this is where his troubles start, because he somehow has to figure out a way to talk to Teresa about asking out Brenda without revealing that he knows anything about Brenda’s intentions to ask out Teresa. He ends up managing, and goes to sleep without having done his readings, a pleasantly warm feeling in his chest all the same.
He is, at this point, still naive as to think that his troubles may end here.
On Friday night, the masses gather at their old residence hall to congregate in Gally and Ben’s shared room for the first party of the semester. Apart from the obvious few - Thomas, Minho, Teresa, and Sonya - it will be the first time since before the Winter break that Newt gets to see most of his friends.
But somewhere deep down, he knows that he’s not gonna get to do a lot of catching up tonight. He has, so far, four people and their feelings to manage: Minho and his resentful acceptance of his feelings toward Gally, Brenda and Teresa and their mutual but not telling each other yet thing, and Sonya (who is slotted to make an appearance even though everyone at the party is Newt’s age) with her classic in love with my best friend dilemma.
Must run in the family or something.
It’s an hour or so into the party and the tiny dorm room is starting to get uncomfortably hot. Still, Newt stays pressed into Thomas’ side, the two of them with their backs against the wall and legs hanging awkwardly halfway off the edge of Ben’s bed, happily inhabiting their own little corner of the world. Teresa keeps meeting his eye from across the room, alternating between looking at him and looking at the door, waiting for Brenda to arrive as she always does, fashionably late and drowning in a ridiculously oversized hoodie.
(“Dressing up for parties is so stupid,” she’d told Newt once in first year, about half a bottle of vodka deep, “we’re in a dorm . We should be in comfy clothes. Look at me - I am so comfy. Rachel? She does not look comfy.”)
The next person to walk in, much to Teresa’s evident chagrin, is not Brenda but some guy Newt vaguely recognizes.
“Nick!” Thomas calls out, smiling wide. “How’s it goin’?”
“Oh, it’s goin’,” the guy replies, giving Thomas a fist bump. He turns to Newt next. “Newt! What’s up?”
“Oh, you know,” he says blankly.
“Oh, don’t I ever,” the guy responds, laughing to himself before making his way across the room. Newt waits three full seconds and then opens his mouth, but Thomas beats him to it.
“You had no idea who that was, did you?”
Newt hums. “Nope.”
Thomas lowers his voice, speaking directly into Newt’s ear and sending a shiver down to his fingertips. “Okay, so Nick is friends with Alby. They knew each other in high school, I think. He’s also in engineering with Gally and Ben, which is why he’s here, but if you - oh, look, okay-” Thomas stops, nodding his chin toward the far side of the room where Ben is brooding, arms crossed and leaning against the radiator. “So Ben and Gally and Nick used to be, like, a trio or whatever - like you me and Minho but straighter - but now both Ben and Nick like Rachel, so there’s bad blood or whatever there.”
Newt looks at Thomas. Usually, he was the one that had no idea what was going on with anyone, ever. “How do you know all this?”
“Teresa told me. Brenda’s apparently cousins with Nick, so she told her.”
Interesting. Newt almost makes a comment about Teresa and Brenda but bites his tongue at the last second, remembering that Brenda didn’t want Thomas to know about her crush on Teresa. It’s not like he was going to say it outright, but he wants to be careful - while Thomas remains blissfully oblivious most of the time, Newt had learned that sometimes it was the smallest things that got his wheels turning. And once he grabbed hold of an idea, it was very rare that he let it go unless he found some kind of confirmation or fulfillment from it. And besides, Newt has no idea if Thomas knows about Teresa’s crush - if he doesn’t, Newt doesn’t want to announce her private feelings to him. And if he does, he doesn’t want to say anything that could make him inadvertently sabotage anything Brenda’s planning.
God, his head hurts.
“I’m gonna grab another drink, you want anything?”
Thomas smiles. “Sure, wanna grab me one of my ciders?”
“Got it.” Newt shimmies down the bed, planting his feet on the ground beside a water bottle filled with suspiciously brown liquid. Thomas fingers curl loosely around his as he stands up.
“Hurry back,” he drawls.
Newt snorts. “The mini-fridge is four steps away, Tommy.”
“And I’ll miss you every second.” He ends it with a wink and Newt rolls his eyes, stepping around a girl from his British Lit class to get to the aforementioned mini-fridge where he and Thomas had stored their drinks at the start of the night.
He has his cooler in one fist and Thomas’ cider in the other when he looks up to see Minho talking animatedly to Frypan, and then Gally, a couple feet over, looking unbelievably and undeniably fond. It’s almost like a tableau, the moment suspended in the slightly dank air as the rest of the party lives on in slow-motion around it. And then Newt nudges the mini-fridge closed with his hip, and Gally blinks, whipping his head around to look right at Newt.
The tableau shatters, jumping back into motion.
Gally looks like less like a deer in the headlights and more like a student walking into the exam centre hearing people discuss sections of the textbook he didn’t even know existed prior to that moment.
He gets up and heads straight for Newt. “Hallway, now, ” he hisses, not even meeting his eyes before making a swift exit from the room.
It’s great that there’s another pairing that’s apparently already halfway to resolving itself - and that that pairing includes his best friend, who will be very happy to find out just how much admiration Gally was silently directing towards him - but Newt is tired. He looks down at the drinks in his hand and lets out a sound that is somewhere midway between a whine, a groan, and a sigh before handing both drinks to Thomas and mumbling an annoyed, “I’ll be back in a second,” and following Gally out of the room.
He is pacing in a circle near the end of the hallway.
“Was there something you wanted?” His voice comes out a little more angry than intended and Newt bites his lip, reminding himself that Gally is also a human person.
He spins around on his heel, looking a lot more scared than Newt was expecting. “You will tell no one.”
Newt throws his hands up and huffs a sigh. “I want no part in this.” It’s not entirely true - because while yes, he is quickly getting tired of the whole matchmaker role that’s been continually thrust upon him over the past few days, he does want some part in this, because he is a nosy bugger that wants to get into the psyche of the only person he knows that is more emotionally stunted than Minho.
And that is a tall task in and of itself, but somehow Gally does it.
He bites on a fingernail, still towering over Newt with nervously hunched shoulders. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps frowning, and Newt turns to leave.
“Wait.” Gally has gone soft, features no longer pulled tight and angry across his face. Like this, with his eyes shiny and dusting of freckles scattered across his unfrowning cheeks, Newt can almost understand why Minho’s so hung up on the guy.
He waits.
“Can you put in a good word for me, though?”
He bites his tongue. Oh, it’s gonna be so hard not to tell Minho.
“Mhmm.” He doesn’t trust himself to say any more without giving anything away. It’s like last night all over again. Gally straightens up, swallowing hard and setting his jaw once more. In an instant he looks like his normal self again, unapproachable and vaguely threatening. Except - and it might just be the weird dorm lights, but - this time, there is a hint of smile on his lips.
And Newt is satisfied with that, so he turns once more to go back to the room containing the one person he actually wants to talk to tonight - but the universe clearly isn’t done torturing him, because:
“Yo!”
Ben is striding down the hall, fifth of rum in his hand and basketball shorts on his legs. Newt can’t even register that it’s February and that Ben is really that straight before he is blowing right past him, going straight to Gally.
“Dude, Rachel’s coming, what do I do?”
Newt takes one step, as quietly as he can, toward the door. And then another. And then another. And then he’s almost there, and then:
“Oh hey, you’re in a relationship, how do I-”
The “Nope,” is out of Newt’s mouth before he can think otherwise, not even turning around to look Ben in the eye as he refuses to help. He closes the gap between himself and the door to their room, exhaling sharply as he crosses the threshold, safely out of acceptable range for Ben to call on him again. I am drawing the line. I will not be a matchmaker for straight people that I barely know.
Thomas’ voice imitating the you gotta draw the fucking line in sand, dude , guy rings in his mind and he almost gets a chuckle out before Jeff is grabbing onto his shoulders, that same desperate look in his eye - the one that all of them have, the one that he is no longer willing to deal with, not tonight.
“You got a minute, Newt?”
“No, sorry, Tommy’s not feeling well, we’re heading out actually-”
“Oh ‘cause there’s just one thing I wanted to ask you about because-”
“Sorry Jeff, maybe another time?”
Newt doesn’t wait to hear his answer before he sidesteps him, maneuvering with little grace around a few more bodies and then collapsing back onto the bed where Thomas is still sitting, looking over at him with an amused smile.
“Long romantic talk with Gally?”
Newt groans into his shoulder. “Don’t even start.”
He looks curious, but doesn’t press. “Alright.”
“Hey, Tommy?” Newt removes his face from Thomas’ collarbone, planting his chin on his boyfriend’s shoulder and looking up at him with what he hopes are what Sonya calls his puppydog eyes. “Let’s go home. I just want it to be us tonight.”
And the eyes must be working, because Thomas melts. “Yeah, okay. Let’s go home.”
They are met with two and a half obstacles before they make it out of the building.
Obstacle one: Rachel.
She is lingering in the doorway of the room, clearly scanning the crowd inside for a specific face. Newt doubts that he is that face, but she stops him all the same. “Hey, Newt - I saw you talking to Ben earlier. Did he by any chance-”
“Sorry, Rach, Thomas is really sick, we gotta get home.” There is a beat and then Thomas coughs loudly, adding some sniffles to the end for dramatic flair. Newt makes a mental note to tell him he loves him, later.
Her face changes instantly. “Oh, no! Feel better, hun,” she says, because she is one of those people that calls everyone some form of endearment. Thomas smiles weakly and thanks her before they step out into the hall.
Obstacle two: Teresa (and Brenda).
They are near the end of the hall on the side closer to the stairwell, leaning against the wall and standing at a very non-platonic distance from each other. Newt is already cringing in anticipation for the text(s) he will receive later that night, likely from Brenda but maybe also from Teresa, admonishing him for ruining what could have been the moment.
They linger only slightly awkwardly at the end of the hall, waiting for the two girls to notice that there are people other than them that exist in this world. “Hey, Reese, we’re headed home for the night,” Thomas says as he threads his fingers through Newt’s.
Teresa blinks as if she’s just noticing the two of them are standing there beside her. “Like - home as in our place, or?” She looks only slightly wary.
(She has done this dance many times before. The first month that they all moved into their apartments - Minho and Newt in one, and Thomas and Teresa in another - she neglected to inform that her work had sent her home early, and came back to the apartment ready to relax but instead was scarred for at least the next five to ten years.
She does not sit on that side of the couch anymore, and Thomas always makes sure to communicate when Newt is coming over.)
Brenda beats them to it, a saving grace in the form of a snorting laugh. “You can stay at mine tonight, T.”
Obstacle two point five: Aris?
He is standing at the top of the stairwell, cold air and cigarette stench coming off his jacket.
“Thomas, Newt.” He nods at the two of them in turn, unravelling the scarf from around his neck. After that the two of them start down the stairwell because that’s the end of the interaction, but a moment later Aris is laughing quietly to himself.
“Or, should I say, Cupid?”
They don’t even have time to process before he is through the door and starting down the hall, leaving them alone and confused in the stairwell. And considering all that Newt’s had to do in the past 48 hours, he’s technically not wrong. But how would he know about any of that?
“Weird,” Thomas says.
“Yeah. Weird.”
The next morning finds them slowly and peacefully dragged back into consciousness by warm streams of sunlight filtering in through the thin fabric of Thomas’ curtains. Newt can see his phone lighting up from the bedside table, a screen already full of notifications even though it’s only ten in the morning.
“Mr. Popular over here,” Thomas comments sleepily, nodding his chin lazily towards where Newt’s phone is sitting. “Am I gonna have to fight for your hand on Thursday?”
Newt snorts, because there is no world in which Thomas would ever have to battle for his affections. “No,” he answers, still kinda laughing to himself as he imagines Thomas in ridiculous medieval armor. “It’s just - ugh .”
Thomas perks up a bit, propping himself up on an elbow. “What?”
And Newt doesn’t wanna spill everyone’s personal private business to his boyfriend, and no, they’re not one of those weird unhealthy couples that like, demand to know every single thing that’s happened to the other person - so he doesn’t feel obligated to in any way, shape or form, and he knows that Thomas definitely won’t push him to tell anyone’s secrets, but.
“Somehow, everyone in the whole bloody world has decided that I’m gonna be their matchmaker this Valentine’s.”
Thomas blinks, ridiculous smile appearing on his face. “Oh, do tell.”
Newt groans both internally and externally. He can’t. “I told them I would keep it a secret,” he says into the pillow, which ends up coming out something like “I toldem I wooeep uhh secret.”
Somehow, Thomas understands. “Hey, I respect that, but like-” he pauses for a second to look appropriately offended, and then, “why isn’t anyone asking me for my help - I mean, I’m also in a relationship, I should be equally as equipped to field their questions as you are.”
Newt rolls over to give Thomas a look of absolute bewilderment, and then places a hand gently on his cheek as if consoling him. “Tommy, it took you two years to figure out I was flirting with you.”
“I thought that was just how British people were!”
The two of them erupt into giggles that last for a good, long minute before Newt sighs deeply. “You probably couldn’t even guess who.”
Thomas takes Newt’s hands and holds them to his chest. “Tell me.”
“I can’t.”
“Please. ”
Newt sighs again, defeated. “They hooked up last year.”
Thomas spends a long thirty seconds looking like the wheels of his brain are just spinning out - staring off into space with his eyes narrowed, head occasionally shifting to a new position as he considers who he knows that have hooked up - and not gotten together for real afterwards - in the past year.
Then his eyes go wide and he gasps. “ No.”
“Yeah .”
“No! Are you serious?”
“One hundred percent.”
“Oh my god - wait, we are talking about Jeff and Winston, right?”
Newt takes one second to study Thomas’ baffled expression to see if he’s bluffing or not, and then he starts laughing, because that’s not even who he’s talking about. He laughs and he laughs and he does not stop until Thomas is kissing him, cutting off his air supply so he can laugh no longer.
He’s got the sun-dappled curtains, the perfect boyfriend, and the ridiculous friends that keep inadvertently sabotaging his romantic Valentine’s day plans - his life really is turning into a bloody rom com.
That afternoon, only forty minutes after Newt has finally taken care of everyone else’s problems for the day and his phone has a total of zero unread messages, he gets a text from Frypan, addressed to both him and Minho:
From: fry
hey guys jeff and win are being gross and dumb and oblivious again and i just CANT DO IT TODAY can i crash on yalls couch tn
So, yeah, apparently Newt’s boyfriend is a fucking witch, because that night he, Thomas, Minho, and Frypan are all sat in Newt and Minho’s living room, listening to Frypan animatedly recount the past six months of Jeff and Winston’s fumbling around each other.
“It was cute at the start. It’s not cute anymore. ” Frypan sinks down the couch, taking Thomas and Minho’s abandoned film analysis assignments to the ground with him. “And like I love them, I really do, and I want them to be happy, but - our apartment is so small. There’s only so many places I can go, guys.”
Minho nods in sympathy a little too fast and Newt wonders if he and Thomas are one of those annoying couples.
Thomas, on the other hand, chuckles quietly to himself. “Oh my god, they were roommates.”
Frypan shoots him a glare. “ No. We don’t get to say that yet ‘cause they’re still - they haven’t - ugh.” He lets his head fall back onto the couch cushions in utter frustration. Newt is about to offer a word of advice but Thomas speaks first.
“But like - there was - y’know, last year, they, like…” he trails off and Newt clues in that he’s probably alluding to the fact that he thought Newt was talking about Jeff and Winston when he told them the people he was playing matchmaker for hooked up last year.
Minho’s jaw drops, happily scandalized. “Wait, they - what? ”
Newt hums. “Yeah, I’m not really clear on the details of this either - exactly what happened last year?”
Thomas stares at the ground like not my story to tell and Frypan takes a second to give Thomas a look like how do you know before rolling his eyes and groaning.
“Y’all remember one last rager ?”
Everyone remembers one last rager . Apparently, Jeff and Winston were also plastered beyond belief that night, and also snuck off together at some point. But unlike Minho and Gally, they actually hooked up that night, and then proceeded to call it a one-time fluke once sober, and never talk about it again.
“And everyone was just talking about Minho and Gally’s thing and never brought up how they disappeared, so they just never told anyone. Except me.” Frypan gives a pained smile at the last part as he finishes his explanation.
Minho has gone pale and quiet, and Thomas looks like he’s sitting on something juicy.
“Actually, Winston told me,” he admits, “I - God knows why he chose me , but that night he texted me, like, in a panic, saying that he and Jeff just, and I quote: ‘totally fucking banged???’” Everyone stares at Thomas in amazement. “Once he was sober, he called me and made me swear never to tell anyone.” He turns to Newt then. “Which is why I never told you, by the way.”
“Yeah,” Newt responds dumbly, still processing the fact that Jeff and Winston actually hooked up. And the fact that they - and Thomas - actually managed to keep it a secret.
“Oh, but you - one of them was asking you for relationship advice, right Newt? They hooked up last year and you said the person asking you for advice hooked up last year with the person they have feelings for?”
Newt loves Thomas, but shit . The three of them are now looking at him expectantly: Frypan intrigued, Thomas waiting for confirmation, and Minho simultaneously about to drop dead and about to make sure Newt drops dead.
Why must my life be like this, he wonders, and then, completely out of his ass: “Oh, yeah, Jeff was texting me the other day talking about how he needed advice ‘cause he had feelings for, uhm, a friend of his that he may or may not have slept with last year. Wouldn’t tell me who, but makes sense that it’s Win.”
There’s a scary second of silence, but then Minho speaks up. “Looking back, it makes so much sense .”
“It really does.”
“Fry, when do you think it’s finally gonna happen?”
“Shit dude, let me tell you. So yesterday…”
Thomas leaves late that night, because Newt has dedicated Sunday to writing his paper and he knows that if Thomas is there when he wakes up, he is absolutely not going to write his paper. At the door, Thomas makes an offer.
“Y’know, I could help out with your matchmaking stuff, if you want.” He’s struggling to pull his shoes on, dirty old converse even in the dead of Winter. Newt offers an arm for balance as he shimmies around on one foot.
“Really?”
“Yeah - like I said, also in a relationship. Very qualified to give relationship advice.”
Newt just snorts at that, sighing fondly. “I suppose that’s true.”
Thomas gets his first shoe on, and then moves on to the next, switching the arm that’s holding onto Newt. “Seriously, though. I can talk to Winston, if you wanna talk to Jeff, we can double-team it.”
“I don’t think you know what that means, Tommy.”
“Like, be a matchmaking duo. Make love happen.”
“Mm, sure.”
“Come on. It’ll be fun.”
Newt already has enough on his plate with regards to People He’s Promised To Set Up, but Thomas is looking at him with those big brown eyes, so.
“Alright. I’ll take Jeff, you take Winston.”
And maybe this is gonna come back to bite Newt in the ass, but the smile that lights up Thomas’ face makes everything already worth it.
Miraculously, he starts and finishes his paper on Sunday. He is wise enough at this point to spend the day with his phone turned completely off, left in the drawer of his desk. It’s an effective strategy, and he doesn’t feel bad about ignoring people’s texts because he can’t hear or see them come in.
On Sunday night, he pulls out the planner Sonya bought him for Christmas (that he has used a grand total of three times, including right now) and scopes out his week:
His Monday is always brutal, with class from ten in the morning until eight at night, with only two one-hour breaks. He usually met with Thomas for the second one, who would bring him some sort of lunch, bless his soul.
His Tuesday is completely free, and he usually spent it catching up on readings for the rest of the week.
Wednesday is another busy day, though not nearly as gross as Mondays.
These are his thoughts - if he takes Monday to just focus on school, (and maybe solidifying his plans for Thomas before bed - he has a vague idea, now, just needs to work out the specifics) he can use Tuesday to power through all his friends relationship dramas, hopefully for the last time. Then Wednesday can be dedicated to putting the final touches on his surprise for Thomas, to be executed on Thursday night.
It’s the perfect plan.
And for once, it goes off without a hitch.
He survives Monday, as he somehow always does.
Tuesday starts early, meeting Teresa for coffee at the same place he’d seen Sonya last week. She tells him that she does not have a lot of time, so Newt gets right to it, list of talking points he’d written out the night before open on his phone.
“So, Brenda.”
Teresa sighs at the mention of her name, chin cupped in her hands. “On Friday, after the party, we went back to her place, and I was like, grabbing a blanket so I could sleep on the couch and she just - she just looked at me like, I don’t know, like I was dumb and she was just like, ‘That couch’ll kill your back. We can share the bed.’ And I-” she widens her eyes and sighs heavily, looking at Newt like she is absolutely helpless. “I got it bad, dude. I got it real bad . The other day I started writing a song about her.”
“Shit,” Newt says, laughing quietly. He’s known Teresa for what - ten years, now? And he’s never seen her like this. Not even close.
There is a beat, and then her face shifts from a lovesick expression to one of genuine worry. “Newt, I don’t know how much longer I can do this without - god, without some sort of release. I feel like - I feel like I’m gonna explode with how much I love her.” She stops and sighs once more, troubled gaze directed into her hot chocolate - it’s moments like these that Newt is reminded of just how similar her and Thomas are: exact same sigh and exact same look. Even the same drink, down to the cinnamon sprinkled on top.
After a long moment of contemplation, she asks, “How did you do it? When you realized you were in love with Thomas?”
Newt smiles, remembering fondly the days of feeling like he was going to die every single time Thomas so much as breathed in his direction. “It wasn’t easy,” he laughs, “I was - I was pretty much exactly where you were now. But Thomas was always awful at picking up signals like that, so at one point I realized that I could get away with a lot more than I thought. That helped.”
Teresa’s holding back a laugh, taking a sip of her drink with smiling eyes. “He was so clueless. I remember - grade eleven, I think, like a month or two before you guys actually got together - I kept telling him that you were clearly into him, but he kept telling me I was crazy. ‘You’re crazy, Reese, you’re just seeing what you want to see, he doesn’t think of me like that’. That’s what he would always say. He was - obviously, he was in love with you too. I think he was just scared of, like, actually confronting what you did or didn’t feel for him, so it was easier for him to decide that you didn’t.”
Newt smiles and speaks softly. “Well, I think it ended up working out pretty well, in the end.”
“Obviously.” Teresa rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling all the same. At the end of the day, she was always rooting for the two of them, no matter how many times she accidentally walked in on them going at it.
“And I promise you, Teresa, I’m not just seeing what I want to see when I say that Brenda’s into you. She’s outgoing, yeah, but I’ve never seen her flirt with someone so openly as she does with you - and you see how she is, like, around Minho - y’know, talking shit and cracking jokes and all that. But when she’s around you it’s like she goes soft, Reese.”
Her face soars, just ever so slightly. The tiniest sliver of hope. “You think?”
“Bloody hell, Teresa, yes. And god, if you knew how much she stares at you. She is not a subtle girl.”
Teresa giggles a bit then, tucking her hair behind her ear. “But like - what if it’s just a friend thing? Girls are different about that, Newt. We’re affectionate. ”
“Would she ask Rachel to share a bed with her? Or Beth?” Newt can tell she knows this is a losing argument, but he continues on anyway, for the fun of it. “Do you catch her gazing longingly at Sonya? Or making sure her bag with her lesbian pride pin on it is in plain sight when she’s hanging out with that girl from her bio lecture?”
Teresa smiles. “No.”
“Exactly. Teresa, she likes you. A lot. Even Sonya’s noticed, for god’s sake. After the party on Friday she texted me asking if the two of you were together now. That’s how much of a couple you already look like. You just have to make it official.”
She takes a long moment to process, eyes looking suspiciously shiny in the light of the window. “Thanks, Newt,” she says. They spend a moment in silence just reveling in the wholesomeness of it all, before Teresa suddenly looks down at her watch and swears. “Shit, I gotta get to class. Thanks again, you really are the best, Newt.” She gathers up her bag and winds her scarf around her neck, shuffling sideways out of the booth. “Oh, and-”
“Don’t tell Thomas, I know.” Newt finishes her sentence with a wink, and she gives him a thumbs up before heading toward the door. He has not a single moment to rest, as a familiar sniffle reaches his ears not a moment after Teresa leaves the cafe.
“Dude, you’re never gonna guess what happened.” Sonya is barrelling through the cafe, somehow shedding her hat, scarf, and gloves without smacking any of the other patrons. Her I’ve got some major tea face is disturbed only for a brief second as she gives the counter a big, smiling wave, and then she collapses into the booth opposite Newt.
“You’re never. Gonna guess.”
“Oh, try me.”
She pauses for dramatic effect, as always. And then: “Harriet came out to me - last night!”
Newt lets his jaw hang open, hopefully doing an okay job of communicating the endless string of exclamation marks he wishes to convey in that moment.
Evidently, it is communicated just fine. “I know!” she screeches, bouncing up and down in her seat. “So, like, okay - it’s two am and we’re in the common room just, like, talking - we were there at ten but then all of a sudden it was two, and we were talking about, like, high school? And dumb shit that happened and she was just like, ‘I had the biggest crush on this girl, and, oh yeah - I’m, uh, girls.’ and then she laughed her cute laugh and was like, ‘I’m a lesbian by the way, if you couldn’t tell’ and I was just like ‘oh cool’ but I was really like ohmygodohmygodohmygod because, Newt! She’s a lesbian! She likes girls! I’m a girl!”
“That you are,” Newt responds, trying not to love his excitable little sister too much in that moment. Across the cafe, two girls sharing a table glance over with smiles as wide as if Sonya was a golden retriever puppy. Honestly, it’s not too far off.
“And like, she definitely knows I’m pan because I’ve talked about it before and I have the pin on my bag and I feel like I act pretty gay most of the time, and. Newt. ”
Just a year prior, Sonya could barely even say the words out loud. Hearing her now is maybe the proudest Newt has ever been. “Sonya .”
“And so like, after that there were? There were vibes? It might have just been two am but there were vibes , Newt. And we were sitting really really close and I just - I don’t know. I wanna tell her so bad, but what if she doesn’t feel the same?”
“Son, she came out to you when it was just the two of you alone. At two am. And I know I left almost right after you guys got there, but she seemed pretty enamored with you at the party last week.”
Sonya blinks, momentarily out of her manic excitement. “Yeah, I barely saw you - what was up with that?”
He resists the urge to groan. “Oh, you don’t even want me to get into that right now.” But I’m taking care of it, whether it kills me or not, he adds mentally.
“Alright,” she shrugs, happy to leave it at that. Clearly there are more pressing matters at hand. “So what do you think? Should I go for it?”
The primal part of his brain reserved for High School Musical quotes takes over his tongue before he can remember to be a normal person. “Should I go for it? Yikes, gotta shake this.”
“Oh my god,” Sonya sighs, letting her head fall to the table with a thunk . “I gotta get my head in the game,” she laughs.
(When their family first moved to the states, Sonya had quickly become the laughing stock of her third grade class for not knowing who Zac Efron was. When she’d come home from school one day crying, Newt had promptly monopolized the family computer and figured out how to watch the movies online. Two life-changing theatrical masterpieces and four computer viruses later, he and Sonya were experts. And clearly, it stuck.)
“Yes, you do. And obviously don’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, but for what it’s worth, I think you should tell her, Son.”
She looks scared, but hopeful. “You really think so?”
“I do. In my experience, it usually works out.”
Sonya smiles with all the determination in the world.
He is on the way from the cafe to campus, with intent to knock down the door of Gally and Ben’s shared dorm, when a call interrupts his music.
“Hello?”
The caller does not greet him. “You like, know Teresa, right? Do you think she’d be, like - okay hear me out, I know that both she and Thomas are piano prodigies or whatever and like, I know how to play, but I don’t think Teresa knows that so what if I pretend I don’t so then I can ask her to teach me and then we’re like all close and it can be all romantic and intimate and then I make a move.”
“Hey Brenda, I’m good, thanks for asking.”
He can hear her eye roll through the phone. “Newt, this is life or death here, I don’t have time for pleasantries. Whaddya think?”
Newt thinks that Teresa might actually physically combust if she was leant over Brenda, hands resting softly on top of hers as they went slowly through elementary scales together, alone in the afternoon light of the common room, baby grand piano the only witness to their extreme gayness.
“I think it’s fucking perfect, Bren.”
“Fuck yeah it’s fucking perfect. Thanks, Newt. I don’t think I would’ve been able to go through with this if it wasn’t for all your help.”
It’s getting a little harder to do this whole annoyed thing. “Glad I could be there for you,” he says, smiling. He really wishes he could say and Teresa is totally so in love with you that she is writing songs about you and she is going to absolutely love it, but he settles instead on, “And great plan, really. That’s some cute shit.”
“I know, right? Okay I gotta let you go for now, but thanks, really.” With that she hangs up, which is perfect timing, because Newt is now standing in front of his old residence building.
The light is on in Gally and Ben’s window, thank god. Newt marches up the stairs, shedding his coat with disgust as he wonders how he ever forgot how hot they kept this building in the Winter. He walks down the hall of the third floor with purpose, not even bothering to knock on their already open door, Gally with a textbook open on his bed and Ben typing away at the desk when Newt appears in the doorway. Time to kill two birds with one stone.
Gally is first, and Newt wastes no time on preambles. “Gally, I think that if you really truly have feelings for Minho you should go for it. I know he talks a big game and acts aloof and all that, but I’ve known the guy since I was ten and believe me when I tell you that he will never make the first move, not when it comes to actual feelings. And I can’t say anything because he’s my best friend, but. I Really Think You Should Tell Him.”
He doesn’t wait for him to pick up on the meaning behind the verbal capitalization in his words, and he doesn’t allow him to formulate a response before he turns to Ben, offering the exact same rigour and bluntness he did Gally.
“Now Ben, I’ll admit that I don’t know how straight people work and you and Rachel really are the least of my worries right now, but it’s clear that she’s into you and I don’t want to have to deal with any more pining, so get to it. Please.”
He says all of this with approximately zero breaks, and is a little out of breath when he’s finally finished, Gally and Ben just staring at him, dumbfounded and utterly speechless. If there are wheels turning up in either of their heads, Newt doesn’t care. He spares one last look at Gally in particular, widening his eyes just a little as if to telepathically beam the words yes my best friend very much has feelings for you please do something about it directly into his brain.
And with a final huff he turns to leave, hoping that his work is finally done.
But of course it’s not, because upon leaving he walks almost directly into Aris, his ever present lollipop nearly getting stuck in Newt’s hair as they collide.
Aris is seemingly unphased. He smirks. “You’ve been busy.”
“Excuse me?” Newt tries not to be hostile because Aris hasn’t done anything to him except maybe beat him out of the title for house twink in first year, but his patience is already worn as thin as it can possibly be, and Newt’s not a very patient person to begin with.
Aris just smiles. “Rachel’s been into Ben since first year, so good call on that one. Oh and same, on the whole straight people thing.” He says it with a wink and pops his lollipop back into his mouth, lips that permanent shade of red. Newt wonders how many cavities he has. “I’ve seen you running around all week - Gally and Minho, Teresa and Brenda, Ben and Rachel - god, Jeff and Winston.” He counts them on his fingers, as if he’s listing off the courses he’s taking for the semester. “Oh, and Harriet is totally in love with your sister, in case you didn’t know. Good thing it’s mutual.” Aris clearly senses that Newt has lost the ability to speak, so he continues on once more. “How do I know all this? I have my sources. But I also have eyes, which is all you really need to see what’s going on with this bunch of sad-sacks.”
Finally, Newt speaks, voice completely dry. “Somehow, I’m the only person in this entire university qualified to give relationship advice.”
Aris snorts a silent laugh. “Yeah, your boyfriend’s pretty-” He stops when he sees Newt’s look, the one that says I dare you to finish that sentence. Aris smiles, sugary sweet. “Your boyfriend’s pretty.”
Newt blinks, about to give him another look when Aris waves a dismissive lollipop in the air.
“Oh, don’t worry. The whole oblivious passionate idiot isn’t really my deal. And besides, you two are basically soulmates.” He almost looks wistful for a second before snapping out of it and finishing, “Anyway, thanks for the entertainment. It’s been fun watching you run around like some grumpy, second-rate cupid with his head cut off.”
And with that Aris sticks his lollipop back in his mouth, and waltzes away down the hall.
Newt stands there for a couple seconds, wondering if what just happened, really happened. He thinks to himself, at least someone is having fun with all of this.
Wednesday passes with suspiciously little disruption, in comparison to the last week of Newt’s life. Minho is doing homework at the kitchen table when Newt comes home with a package from the porch - the next part in his now fully solidified plan for Thomas.
(Yesterday, after his bizarre run-in with Aris, he went to two separate stores for parts one and two. They’re stashed at the bottom of his closet, under a pile of jackets, so that Thomas doesn’t accidentally stumble upon them before the big day in the event that he decides to go rummaging through Newt’s closet.)
Minho glances up from his homework and tilts his head, judgemental. “Amazon Prime? Don’t tell Thomas.”
Newt laughs as he tears open the box, looking inside to see - yep, all six seasons of Community on DVD. Thomas had been absolutely devastated when they took it off Netflix, and refused to get a Prime Video subscription to watch it, ‘because fuck Jeff Bezos’.
“Listen, this was my only option - thanks to you , I’ve not had a lot of time to prepare for tomorrow.”
And maybe Newt’s tone is a little too accusatory, because then Minho gets this awfully sad looking smile on his face, and he says, too softly for Newt’s liking, “I’m really happy for you guys.”
And before he can think better of it, Newt nips that in the bud. “Alright, let’s talk about it.”
Minho deflates immediately, sliding down low in the kitchen chair. “You guys are just - you make it look so easy. To be in love. To have - to have feelings, and to be able to talk about them, and all that. I wish that kind of stuff was easy for me, but it’s just not.”
“Min, we’ve been together almost four years. Of course it’s easy now,” he says, “but it wasn’t always. Remember back in high school when I told you I thought I was catching feelings for Tommy?” He waits and Minho nods, listening intently, “Well I had already been in love with him for a year before that, I just didn’t tell you because I was like, I don’t know. This stuff isn’t always for me either.”
“Oh, yeah, I definitely knew that already. You weren’t fooling anyone, Newt.”
Well, shit. “Okay, well still. Feelings suck a lot of the time, but they suck less if you learn how to feel them without working yourself up about everything.”
Minho crosses his arms, considering. After a second he smiles, previous glum seemingly gone. “What’s the fun in that?
Newt groans, throwing his hands up in the air. “The fact that you find stewing in your own emotions and never acting upon them fun is seriously worrying, Min.”
“Big words, Mr. pined after Thomas for two entire years before doing something about it.”
“But I did something about it, didn’t I?” Newt folds down the box and tosses it into the recycling bin. “Which one of us is gonna be spending Valentine’s watching their favourite show and eating pizza with their boyfriend, and which one of us is gonna be dwelling over a hookup that happened a year ago that they still haven’t talked about?”
And okay, maybe that was a bit mean, but it’s what Minho needs to hear if he’s ever going to get off his ass and do something about his feelings for Gally. Conveniently, in the moment afterwards when Minho is shock-faced and clearly trying to formulate a reply, Newt’s phone lights up with a new text notification.
From: gally
alright…. im gonna do it. thanks for the pep talk you loser
Newt sighs and wishes he spent more time thinking about the words he said before they left his mouth. “Minho. Gally would be an idiot not to like you.”
He’s still a little hurt, but he bites anyway. “But he is an idiot.”
Newt really, really wants to give up, but the week is almost over and he’s a good friend, so he just. “I Think It’s Going To Work Out.”
There is a beat where the weird emphasis pattern hangs slightly heavy in the air, and then Minho catches on and quietly, carefully:
“What do you know?”
Newt has given up trying to control his face, grinning ear to ear. “Nothing.”
Minho stands. “Thomas told me you were caught up in some dumb matchmaking crap - oh my god, Newt wait - tell me what you know!” he yells, and then he proceeds to continue yelling things along the lines of tell me and Newt I swear to god as he chases him around the apartment. After a minute or two of running into the corners of various table-like objects, Minho pins Newt onto the couch and traps him underneath his butt, sit-bouncing on him with no mercy as he continues to holler.
And because Newt hasn’t suffered this much to let the cat out of the bag only a day before it’s supposed to go down, and because he’s a stubborn bitch, he just lies there and lets Minho suffocate him a little more with each bounce.
Luckily, Brenda picks that exact moment to knock loudly on the window, expression on her face saying everything Newt needs to know about how their current seating arrangement looks.
“Is Thomas here?” she mouths, clearly beyond caring whatever Newt and Minho are up to this time. Newt does his best to shake his head, and then Brenda gives a thumbs up and disappears from view, the door to the apartment opening a couple of seconds later.
Newt is still being crushed by his belligerent, lovesick idiot of a roommate when she walks in. “Newt, I need you to help me pick out what to wear when I see Teresa tomorrow.”
“Why would you think I know what a girl would find attractive?”
Brenda nods thoughtfully. “Oh, true. Minho?” Finally, Minho climbs off of Newt (whose ribcage almost returns to its original shape) and Brenda fills him in - quite shamelessly and excitably, which Newt can’t help but admire - about her crush on Teresa, how Newt’s been helping her, and her plans for tomorrow afternoon.
Minho’s primary takeaway from this all is somewhat tangential to the point. “So last year when you told me I wasn’t your type, you really meant that boys aren’t your type.”
“Precisely. You know I’ve had a lesbian flag pin on my backpack since the day we met, right?”
“Oh, the pink one, right? Oh, okay, that makes a lot of sense.”
“You are hopeless, Minho Park.”
Once Brenda has exhausted herself explaining and re-explaining her plan to tell Teresa about her feelings, she quickly figures out that something is up with Minho. At this point Newt is merely spectating, halfheartedly doing a reading at the kitchen table while Brenda and Minho continue to lament and mumble, respectively, about their love lifes (or current lack thereof).
Newt is only half listening, but tunes in fully when he hears Brenda pretty much pulling teeth to get Minho to admit - which he does, amazingly, finally - that he likes Gally. When he finally says it, Brenda promptly flips her shit and insists that Gally’s totally into him and that she definitely noticed him checking Minho out at the party last week (and every other week) more than once.
Newt almost breaks and asks Brenda why she didn’t say anything if she noticed it too, and why does he have to be the one managing all their love lives, but he manages to keep his mouth shut and stay out of it. It is probably good for the two of them to have some new ears on their respective situations, because as far as Newt knows, he’s the only one that either of them had told up until now.
While they talk animatedly, Minho finally coming out of his funk and matching Brenda’s fiery, manic tone like his usual self, Newt has a sudden surge of love go through him. He really does love his ridiculous, lovesick, amazing friends. And even though he’s been pretty much fueled by spite and spite alone throughout this whole ordeal, he realizes now that there was also a whole lot of love underlying that, too. Because how could he go through with all of this craziness if he didn’t truly love these people? And the holiday only makes it all the more appropriate. He’d be spending tomorrow night with Thomas, but in reality, all of these people he’d spent the last week running around and giving advice to and sneakily lying for - and to - were his valentines, too.
Because he loves each and every one of them, and that’s what makes all of this worth it in the end.
The next morning, he wakes up with a text from Thomas containing a sappy message and approximately one million heart emojis, and then another, significantly shorter one from Sonya.
From: sonny
she totally put her head on my shoulder last night when we were watching love simon!!!!
It’s a pretty wholesome way to start the morning, and Newt feels secure in the fact that his work there is done, the train pretty much driving itself at this point. He sends off a reply to Thomas (a matching sappy message, pre-written the night before) and then, again, a much shorter one to his sister before getting up to get ready for his first class.
To: sonny
love simon? thats pretty gay son
From: sonny
i know!!!
we both cried
god i like her so much
His day progresses on as normal, and Newt finds himself getting more and more restless in lecture as the clock seems to move in slow motion. He has everything ready for tonight, he just needs it to be tonight. He just doesn’t have the patience or the attention span in him today for Medieval Literature.
Thursdays are Thomas’ busy day, so Newt doesn’t see him at all during the day, and won’t see him until he’s done his final lecture of the night, at nine. It gives him ample time to set up for the surprise, which he must say he’s done a pretty bang-up job on.
He’s converted his room into a pillow fort, with much help from the hook on the ceiling left there by the previous tenant. He’s hung a canopy (courtesy of Sonya, a hula hoop, and a lot of hot glue) and strung fairy lights all through it, so that it glows like some sort of ethereal shroud surrounding his bed. The sides are lifted up and propped behind both his headboard and the back of his dresser - which also functions as a TV stand - so that there’s ample room for hanging out inside. There are pillows stacked everywhere else, making a cozy barrier around the edges of the bed, duvet covered by the softest blankets Walmart could provide.
He’s taken Minho’s DVD player from the living room and hooked it up to the TV in his room, Community DVDs already spread out in a fan shape on the bed. There are a couple bottles of Thomas’ favourite overly sugary lemonade (one of each flavour) chilling in the fridge, and a timed order already placed with their favourite pizza place so that it’ll arrive hot and ready just minutes before he gets home.
And the finishing touch, which Newt has Teresa to thank for, is the bouquet of flowers waiting on the bed alongside the DVDs. Newt had always thought roses were cheesy and stupid, so he originally was going to skip the flowers, but then Teresa had casually mentioned that Thomas used to help his mom plant the Gardenias each year in the family garden, so there were a dozen of those instead.
It’s around four in the afternoon when he’s just finished weaving the lights through the mesh of the canopy, and the influx of texts begins.
First is Frypan texting his group with him and Minho, sending a very enthusiastic message informing them that Jeff and Winston are now officially an item, and that he may need to start crashing on their couch a little more often.
Second is Aris, telling Newt that he heard about ‘Jeffston’ and that Rach and Ben are on a date as they speak. He texts in a very stream of consciousness way, not unlike Thomas, and his final remark is only slightly ominous:
From: aris (lollipop kid)
only three more…
A little later, around dinnertime, the next texts come as a pair, almost one after the other.
From: reesa
SHE KISSED ME!!!!!!! NEWT SHE KISSED ME
From: bren
guess who has a gf now??
ITS ME BITCH
thank you for all your help!!!
and thank minho for the outfit advice lol
Newt can’t wait to hear the details on that one. He’s almost recovered from the quiet giddiness of realizing that he’s actually succeeded in getting people together when Minho comes home from his six o’ clock lecture and tells him with both trepidation and well-contained excitement that he is meeting up with Gally at seven to talk.
“To talk? Newt, what does that mean?”
“We just don’t know,” Newt says, even though both he and Minho very well know that both of them know.
Shortly after Minho leaves, (after a shower, two outfit changes, some vigorous teeth brushing, and a considerable amount of cologne) Newt gets a call from Sonya. Before the answers, the brief thought of this could be either very good or very bad runs through his head, but he somehow knows it’s going to be the former.
“Hey,” she says, voice bursting with emotion.
“Hey.”
“So.”
“So .”
“I kissed her.”
“And?”
Her smile practically leaps through the phone. “It went really, really well.”
She spends the next hour or so taking Newt through every moment of the past four hours of her life, from Harriet leaving a note under her door telling her to meet her in the courtyard to kissing her with the light of the sunset reflecting off the snow, Harriet’s eyes like glowing amber as they laughed together for no reason at all other than that it finally happened. Newt just lies in his sparkling pillow fort, letting out genuine aww s and oh my god s at all the right moments.
After she’s done, he tells her about his crazy week and all the people he’s had to dance around without spilling everyone else’s business. He proudly informs her that he spilled exactly zero units of business, and that the only pair left yet to confirm their pair status was Minho and Gally, who were likely busy confirming something at this very moment. He also informs her that she was the only one that he wasn’t secretly playing the other side for, but he was still always sure that it would work out.
Once it gets closer to nine, Sonya lets him go and Newt is left there alone, chest feeling incredibly warm from all the love he’s helped spread this past week. His sister’s elation still rings in his mind, starting the warm fuzzy feelings all over again.
And now, he gets to spend the rest of the night - a perfect night - with the person he loves.
At five past nine, the pizza arrives and he gets the lemonades out of the fridge, splaying everything out on the bed alongside the DVDs and flowers like the dramatic sap he is. He tries to imagine the look that’ll be on Thomas’ face when he takes it all in. Another wave of warmth runs through Newt. He might malfunction if he feels any more love tonight, already filled to the brim before he even sees his boyfriend.
A few minutes later, he hears the front door unlock (they had a key made for Thomas the second week they moved in, because it’s Thomas) and gets into position, cheesy paint me like one of your french girls pose only made all the more sexy by his green sweatpants and Thomas’ oversized navy hoodie.
“Dude, Reese and Brenda are like, together now,” Thomas calls out from the front room, voice full of bewilderment. Newt doesn’t answer but he smiles wide as he realizes that Thomas probably had no idea. His voice gets closer as he yells some more. “I didn’t even know that they, like, liked each other? And she didn’t even tell me - me! And I - hey, also did you know about-”
It’s at this point that he opens the door to Newt’s room and stops in his tracks, whatever words he was about to say next dying on his lips as he takes everything in. His face goes from a look of brief confusion to as soft as Newt’s ever seen it, eyes instantly growing shiny as he smiles wide, softly and adorably gasping every time he notices something new. It might be the most endearing thing Newt’s ever seen, and then Thomas’ grin turns into the biggest, weepiest smile and he walks over, parting the canopy ceremoniously as he grabs Newt’s face and kisses him softly.
They break apart after a few breathless, perfect seconds, and gaze disgustingly, softly, into each other’s eyes.
“I love you so much,” Thomas says, stealing another quick kiss. “Thank you.” The gazing goes on for another short moment before he pulls back a bit, raising his eyebrows. “But oh my god, Teresa and Brenda.”
Newt smiles wide. “And Winston and Jeff, and Sonya and Harriet, and Ben and Rachel, and, actually, probably right now, Minho and Gally.”
“Minho and Gally? ” Thomas recoils a bit in surprise, complete shock melting away to something cutesier for a brief second when his land hands on a bottle of peach flavoured lemonade. “And also Sonny, aww!” Newt nods, heart filling up once again before Thomas reverts back to the shock. “But Minho and Gally?”
“Tommy, you can’t possibly tell me you didn’t notice Minho and Gally.”
And Thomas just looks like Newt has explained the secrets of the universe to him, blinking one hundred times per minute. “I need a second to process that.” Newt is about to make a comment about how cute Thomas looks right now before he cuts back in with:
“Wait, wait. So when you said - when you said that everyone was - you mean everyone?”
Newt lets his head fall back onto the bed, laughter bubbling up out of him. The entire week melts away as Thomas takes his hand in his, threading their fingers together. “Thomas. Everyone. It was exhausting.”
And then Thomas does that laugh that Newt loves so much, the full-bellied one where he wheezes just a little bit and shakes the entire bed, collapsing onto Newt’s shoulder, and then - so fondly, so softly, so lovely:
“Tell me about it.”
And Newt knows that they’re probably not going to end up watching any TV tonight, but that’s more than alright. It’s perfect, actually, because he gets to spend the next few hours in the arms of the boy that he loves more than anything, talking about everything and nothing and all that lies between.
And maybe, just maybe, he’s starting to like Valentine’s day.