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Thomas frowned as the icy wind whipped around his body, cradling any of his exposed skin in its cold grasp. Wispies of snow fell down around him, landing on his shoulders and the top of his head and the length of his eyelashes, making home on his skin.
“This is stupid,” Thomas commented for the twentieth time in an hour. “We’re in England, we could be doing literally anything else, and this is where you choose to go?”
Minho grinned, his teeth shining in the fading sunlight. Damn him for being completely unaffected by the freezing weather, and damn him for making the most useless decisions. “Hear that? My choice. No one said you had to like it, brat. Now keep walking, the website I read said that the statue gets closed up at night because of the vandalism, or something.”
Thomas sighed, facing forward and continuing to walk in step with his friend.
There was this statue in London, one that had been in the news nonstop for the past few months. It had been in the same spot on the same street corner for nearly one hundred years, but was all of a sudden getting attention for the supposed story behind it: Once there was a boy named Newton, who had little to nothing to his name. He didn’t have a family to go home to, he had only a few friends that he trusted, and he had practically given up on even the idea of even finding love. One night, while Newton was leaving work, he meets a boy that he falls head over heels in love with; they were soulmates, destined to love each other from the start. They marry quickly, not wanting to waste time getting to their future. They were as happy as could be, deeply in love with each other and feeling like nothing could ever go wrong. But on one fateful evening, when the snow was thick and the roads were dangerous, Newton’s husband was killed on his way home from work. And, as the story goes, Newton sat on the corner of his street waiting for his husband to return, where he eventually froze to death. When his body was found they erected a statue in his memory, telling people that whenever the person who was destined to be Newton’s soulmate touched the hand of his statue, Newton would return to being human so he could relive his life with his soulmate.
Thomas had to admit, it was truly a beautiful story. After he heard about it in the news, he’d went back to his room and read up on it, seeing thousands of pictures of people taking pictures holding hands with the statue, their faces never surprised that the statue didn’t wake up. It was silly, and Thomas knew he shouldn’t have even told Minho about it, especially not with their winter vacation plans to go to London that they’d made.
It wasn’t that Thomas was scared the statue would awaken when he touched it, that was idiotic, but there was something about Newton’s face that seemed so familiar, like Thomas had met him once in elementary school, or had seen him once in a faraway dream. It was unnerving, and Thomas couldn’t get the idea out of his mind that he knew the boy immortalized in the metal statue.
“We’re nearly there,” Minho said, scaring Thomas out of his reverie. “I can see all the people crowded around something.”
Thomas squinted through the burning sunlight, and sure enough stood thirty or forty people, all idling around one part of the road. Most were probably tourists like Thomas and Minho, just wanting to see why this statue had grown to be so popular.
“You’re going to make me take a picture with him, aren’t you?” Thomas asked, glancing over at his friend.
A smile grew on the little bastard’s face, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “You bet I am. Maybe then you’ll stop being such a sissy bitch about being in love with this dead guy.”
“I’m not in love with him!” Thomas yelled, punching Minho in the shoulder. “It’s just interesting. The guy literally froze to death because he was so in love, dude. Would you ever do some shit like that for Teresa?”
Minho contemplated for a moment. “No. But I also know she’d never do it for me, so it doesn’t make me feel as guilty.”
“Only a fool would freeze to death for your ugly ass,” Thomas responded. “You’re not that great.”
“Makes me wonder,” Minho started, ignoring Thomas’s insult. “What was so great about that guy he waited for? I mean, I get they thought they were soulmates or whatever, but what even makes people decide they’ve met their soulmate? That’s like saying someone is your best friend because they smiled at you once.”
Thomas shrugged. “Beats me, man. You’re the one who’s dating someone. You should know more than me about this topic. I’ve got no idea why people fall in love in the first place, honestly.”
The two of them crossed the street, finally making it to where the crowd was circled, people standing around and talking about the statue and how tragic the story was, some laughing over funny pictures they’d taken with it.
The sun had began to fall further in the sky, now resting atop the skyline, watching as the tiny people milled around in their tiny world. A few people began to leave after realizing that it was nearly nighttime, and that with the moon came the cold.
Minho lead the way to the statue, his demeanour confident and strong as he pushed his way through a few little clumps of people, apologizing if he nudged someone too hard. Thomas walked a bit behind Minho, trying to come up with a plan to get out of taking a picture with this Newton guy. He could fake a heart attack, or a seizure, or maybe even death.
Minho turned to grin at Thomas as soon as he got in touching distance from the statue. Minho’s eyes sparkled and his teeth sparkled and his skin shone and Thomas hated him for it. Why’d Minho have to be the attractive one with a girlfriend and no worries about a fucking statue.
“Come on over, lover boy,” Minho called, gesturing for Thomas to go stand by him in front of the statue. “Newtie over here misses you.”
Thomas rolled his eyes at his friend, but his breath caught in his throat when he saw the statue. It looked different in real life, with the sun glinting off of the metal and the little details like little frown lines or the wrinkles people get from smiling too much. It was a beautiful statue of a beautiful person.
The many people around them started to disperse, and Thomas moved even closer to the statue, turning towards Minho.
“Let’s get this over with,” he mumbled, handing his phone to his friend. Minho smiled brightly as he pulled up the camera.
Minho held up a thumb, telling Thomas that the video had started.
It was stupid. Idiotic. Thomas literally couldn’t be more of a dumbass for feeling butterflies erupt deep in his stomach as he brought up his hand, eyes traveling up to the top of the statue. It towered over him, at least a foot or two taller than him due to the pedestal they’d built Newton upon, and he had to squint against the sun to look at Newton’s head completely. The sun around the metal made it look like the statue was wearing a halo, like he was some guardian angel.
The metal was cool on Thomas’s skin, nearly ice cold due to the freezing air. Thomas grinned when nothing happened, turning towards Minho with his hand still clasped around metal. Everything was normal. The wind was blowing, picking up snow and littered pieces of plastic and leaves that the trees had began to shed. Cars drove on by, people walked on by, no one cared enough to even glance over at them.
And then, Thomas felt skin, rather than metal, grasping his hand. Fingers wrapped around his tentatively, warm skin sending shots of electricity through his arm and his body, his veins replaced with live wires and his blood replaced with water.
Thomas’s reflexes were barely quick enough for him to catch the boy in his arms, holding him bridal style. Thomas looked at the boy in his arms, at his wide and afraid brown eyes, his smooth pale skin and freckled nose. Thomas couldn’t breathe.
“Who are you?” The boy asked, his accent thick and his voice laced with fear. He hadn’t moved from Thomas’s arms, and Thomas couldn’t think about anything but the empty pedestal beside him.
“I’m Thomas,” he replied, his voice barely there. “You’re not a statue anymore.”
Newton squinted at Thomas as if he was speaking another language. Maybe he was. Maybe Thomas was dreaming and he was going crazy, turned inside out and upside down and backwards. “A statue?”
“I don’t even know how to explain it,” Thomas said. He turned to where his friend stood, nearly dropping the boy in his arms when he saw the number of people surrounding them, their phones out and their mouths moving. “But I’ll start with the fact that you’re very famous and right now the two of us have just taken a giant shit on the world, so there are definitely a lot of people who would pay to speak to you right now.”
Newton’s eyes widened, as if he just noticed they weren’t the only two people in the world, and looked around at everyone in shock, his head lolling to the side as he took in the amount of people that gathered around them. “I don’t want to talk to them.”
Thomas searched frantically for his friend, heaving a relieved sigh when he saw Minho’s stupid face staring at him slack jawed.
“You don’t have to talk to them,” Thomas responded quickly, turning to look back down at Newton. His arms were beginning to feel tired. His brain was whirling, but his mind finally stopped on one idea. This was supposedly his soulmate in his arms, the person he was destined to love for as long as the world turned.
Newton moved again, his eyes coming to rest back on Thomas’s. His eyes were so dark, the color of black coffee and dark chocolate, and they were so familiar. “Thomas? Who am I to all of these people? To you?”
Thomas drew a blank, before his mouth began moving. “I’ll explain everything later, but we really need to get out of here. I’m not even from this country and I can see people thinking of how to put the both of us on a throne. I’m going to set you down, okay? And then Minho and I can figure out what the fuck we’re going to do?”
Newton nodded, but then glanced at Thomas questioningly. “Who’s Minho?”
“My friend. Down you go,” Thomas said, carefully setting Newton down on his feet. He felt cold without the boy against his body, goosebumps running along his arms. Newton must’ve been colder, him only in a thin white t-shirt that reached only to his forearms.
Thomas removed his jacket and wrapped it around Newton’s shoulders, smiling at the boy to tell him it was okay if he put his arms in it and got comfortable. He watched Newton gratefully shove his arms in the sleeves, curling his fists in the excess material. His blonde hair tangled in the wind, flying around his face and twisting itself in snowflakes.
My soulmate. My soulmate. Mysoulmatemysoulmatemysoulmatemysoulmate.
Thomas ignored the people. There were at least double the amount that there had been when him and Minho got there, people begging to talk to Newton or Thomas or anyone who had seen what happened. Thomas didn’t doubt that if they stood there for another five minutes there’d be news companies waiting to speak with them.
“Minho, we gotta go,” Thomas said as soon as he reached his friend, shaking him out of his stupor. Minho blinked rapidly, his eyes sticking themselves on Newton’s face very obviously, still just as shocked as he had been a few minutes ago.
Minho nodded dumbly, his mouth moving as if to form words, but nothing came out.
“Is he stupid?” Newton asked softly, his eyes dark alight with laughter.
Thomas nodded. “He’s the stupidest. Now, let’s go before someone kidnaps you. And before Minho passes out.”
He reached around to grab Newton’s hand, watching the way the said boy stared at their intertwined fingers before squeezing Thomas’s hand very gently. Warmth seeped into Thomas’s core, warming every joint and tendon and muscle and bone in his body.
They ran down the street, shoving through people but not apologizing this time. There was really nothing to be sorry for.
Newton kept staring at Thomas and Minho, his eyes shifting between the two as if he was unsure who was more interesting to look at. Ultimately, he kept his gaze locked on Thomas’s, his eyes curious and more than a little bit scared.
They were sat down at a cafe that was right down the street from where Thomas and Minho were staying, the three of them shoved in a little booth in the corner of the building. There weren’t many people, which was what they’d been hoping for.
“So... ,” Newton began, “is someone going to explain the statue thing to me, or am I going to have to come to my own conclusions? Because I really do not want to do that.”
Thomas smiled softly at him, leaning forward as to be heard over the music playing out through the cafe. “Here’s the thing. Minho and I aren’t even sure what’s going on. There’s a story going around about you and your, um, your statue. But it’s really not the most pleasant story.”
Newton shrugged. “Again, me coming to my own conclusions isn’t the best way to go. I guess I could go ask around, there seems to be a lot of people willing to speak with me.”
Thomas shook his head quickly. He set his hands on the table in front of him, hands flat on the table in some sort of peace offering. Newton smiled at him. “A long while ago, around 100 years, I think? There’s a story about how you met someone you considered to be your soulmate…”
Newton listened to everything Thomas said carefully, nodding at the appropriate times but remaining silent. That was until a realization hit him square in the face, his eyes widening and his eyes moving along Thomas’s face slowly, as if memorizing every detail. Or checking for something familiar. “So you’re him? The one I waited for?”
“I don’t know,” Thomas replied honestly. “Do you remember what happened back then? Anything at all?”
Newton nodded. “A little bit. Some of the stuff sounds familiar, but I can’t seem to remember his face. I remember the feelings, the happiness, the way I fell in love on that very first night. I remember waiting, but then it’s all gone. Guess that’s when I died, or whatever you said.”
“How did you feel when you first saw Thomas?” Minho asked, his first words since they’d gotten there. Thomas probably would’ve forgotten he was there, but he could feel the warmth Minho’s body radiated from beside him, could feel the way his friend’s leg kept bouncing beneath the table, over and over and over again.
Newton glanced at Thomas, and his eyes were so familiar, so different, so unsure. “I felt safe.”
Thomas’s heart beat heavily in his chest, drumming a messy rhythm against his ribcage. His body was reacting to Newton as if he’d known him for years. Maybe they were soulmates, maybe all those years Thomas wasted pining after people who would never love him back were all just a part of some universal plan to keep him waiting for Newton, waiting for his future.
Thomas took a deep breath and reached further across the table, snatching up Newton’s hand and covering it in his own. Newton was just as warm as he had been a little bit ago outside, and was infinitely warmer than the metal of his hand as a statue. This man in front of him carried the other piece of Thomas, carried the other half of his soul and everything that made Thomas good supposedly made Newton so much better.
Looking into Newton’s eyes, seeing the way the cafe lights sparkled across his skin and how he had smile lines and wrinkles across his forehead and softness in his skin, Thomas accepted that he knew Newton. Knew him from past dreams and fading memories. They’d met in other lifetimes, and he knew they would make the best of this one.
before
the night they met
Newt considered running home and forgoing the dinner. Night had fallen quickly, which meant the air was icy and painful and carried little pieces of snow that would hit his skin and melt down his shirt. He should’ve worn a thicker jacket that morning; anything but the thin long sleeved shirt and hoodie he had on currently.
If he were to get hypothermia, that day would’ve been the worst day to have it on. He was supposed to meet up with Alby and Zart and a few of their friends that night at some diner in central London. Newt had never heard of the place, and didn’t liked to eat at nice restaurants if he was going to be eating alone.
The sidewalks were slick and glistening with water and ice, and Newt walked as carefully as possible to avoid slipping and busting his ass. There weren’t any taxi cars out on the street where Newt was, many of them probably more towards the center of the city where the masses were located.
He he had been the corner, his eyes focused on his feet and the concrete ahead of him, when someone slammed into him, his feet falling from underneath him and landing him flat on his back. Someone’s elbow found his ribs and a knee knocked against his own, sending shots of pain down Newt’s bad leg.
Newt groaned in pain, his head aching from where he’d smacked it against the concrete. He brought a hand to his left leg and tried to massage away the little bursts of pain that shot down the limb. It didn’t hurt much anymore, but when the weather got colder he could feel aches and creaks in his knee; he was sure that this human tornado running into him would not help much.
“I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have been running around that corner, I just figured that because of the weather no one would be out walking! I’m really sorry, are you okay?” The person rambled on, their hands hovering above Newt’s chest, almost as if they were afraid he’d snap if they touched him.
Newt slowly sat up, his hands moving to carry his weight as he leaned back on his arms. “I’m okay. Just took me by surprise; I wasn’t expecting anyone out in this weather, either.”
The person shifted, sitting down criss cross beside Newt. He finally turned to look and see who his companion was. It was cliche, the way his breath caught in his throat and he forgot all about the pain in his leg. It was cliche how Newt wanted to reach out and count the number of freckles and moles that littered the boy’s skin, it was cliche how Newt could’ve sworn he’d never seen anyone with such beautiful eyes.
The boy smiled, and it was cliche how quickly Newt smiled back. “Seems like you and I are the only idiots willing to walk around in this cold. Where are you going to?”
Newt took a minute to register the boy’s words as a question, and he tried to shake off the honey that trickled down his spine and the sound of the boy’s voice. “I’m supposed to be meeting up with some friends. Why are you out?”
The boy grinned, chuckling a little. “My sister wanted some ice cream, and I didn’t want it to melt before I got home, thus my turning the corner like that.”
Newt glanced around and noticed a little plastic bag, the torn handles blowing in the wind. The boy must’ve accidently dropped it when he ran into Newt. “That’s very sweet. I hope your sister knows that you’re a hero.”
“Oh, I got some for myself too,” the boy replied. “I’m not completely selfless.”
Newt laughed, watching the way the boy’s eyes lit up at the sound. His heart raced, his fingers were going numb from sitting on the ground for so long, his hair was whipping around his face wildly, and he could barely breathe. “What’s your name?”
The boy held out a hand for Newt to shake, and he did, ignoring the cliche tingles that ran up his arm and wrapped themselves around his heart like vines. “Thomas. It’s nice to meet you... ?”
“Newt,” he replied, releasing Thomas’s hand grudgingly. “And it’s nice to meet you too, considering the circumstances.”
Thomas laughed a bit before he stood, shaking out his arms and legs. His body was perfect too, Newt noted, eyes lingering a bit at the way Thomas’s dark shirt stretched over his chest. “I’m sorry again, Newt, but I’m glad we ran into each other.”
“Me too,” Newt replied honestly. “I kinda wish you didn’t have to go.”
“Well I didn’t get enough ice cream for three people,” Thomas said, smiling down at Newt, who was still stretched out on the sidewalk. “But maybe in two nights, we meet right here in this same spot, at this same time, and I’ll have enough ice cream for you.”
Newt’s heart turned into mush in his chest, chopped up into tiny little pieces for him to give to Thomas. “Is that a date?”
Thomas bent down to grab his bag of ice cream, turning to face Newt when it was secured in his grasp. “Do you want it to be a date? Because if it was my choice, then we’d be having a date now.”
“Yes,” Newt replied, his gaze moving to look into Thomas’s whiskey brown eyes, “I want it to be a date.”
And it was cliche how quickly Newt fell in love.