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Thomas approaches Sonya with what probably looks like doom in his eyes.
He doesn’t pass by any mirrors or windows in the school hallways, so he can’t say for certain that is what he looks like, but he’s been told he looks very intense when he’s under pressure and, well. He’s very much under pressure right now.
“Sonya, hey. Got a moment?” He slides into her group of friends where they’re eating lunch at the top of the amphitheater. Normally, he would say hi to them first, make some small talk and ask about their classes. But he’s got more important things to worry about.
“Thomas. Hi, um, sure.” Sonya says, clearly confused about why he’s approached her.
He leads her off to the side and down a few steps—far away enough that her friends won’t see them, but still in eyeshot so they can’t accuse him of kidnapping her or something.
Thomas also gets paranoid when he’s under pressure.
Sonya waits for him to start speaking about whatever he’s dragged her out here to say, but loses patience when he fidgets without saying anything. “What did you want to ask me?”
Thomas takes in a big breath and says all at once, “Idon’tknowwhattogetNewtforChristmas.”
She frowns at him. “Can you try that again? Maybe with spaces in between the words, you know, like how you normally speak?”
“I don’t know what to get Newt for Christmas.” It’s a struggle to clearly enunciate each word, but Thomas thinks his second attempt is much clearer.
“You’re asking me?” Sonya laughs, not in a cruel way, but more disbelieving. “I can’t help you out much. This year I’m making everyone socks.” Sonya shakes the knitting needles she carried over with her, which have a half-done sock connected and are connected to a skein of yarn inside a tote bag strung on her arm. She’s not one for secrets.
Sonya is super crafty and uses knit goods as a sign of affection. Socks, from Newt’s explanation of the hierarchy of knit goods, are extremely time-consuming to make and thus valuable from a labor of love perspective. Thomas knows this because he hangs off every word Newt says.
“Fair enough, you’re not the best person to ask about gifts. But it’s not exactly that I have no idea whatsoever in the whole wide world of what to get Newt. It’s that I’ve got loosely-formed ideas and no idea if it’s good or bad.”
“Spit them out. Christmas is in two weeks, you haven’t got much time.” Sonya starts up her knitting, apparently deciding she can listen to Thomas ramble and knit at the same time.
“Okay, so, I’m getting him some online game items that I know he’s been eyeing but hasn’t wanted to spend money on. And there’s this cool book I found at a secondhand shop, you know, the one off 5th and Maze. And his favorite sweets from Alfie’s.”
“It sounds like you already have a gift. Several gifts, in fact.” Sonya doesn’t look up from her knitting.
“But they’re so generic. I want to do something special.”
“Wouldn’t it be more special if you thought of it yourself?”
“Well…”
Now Sonya looks up and pins Thomas with a hard stare.
Thomas caves and says, “Your grandma’s secret bread pudding recipe. Can you get it for me?”
Newt loves sweets. It’s honestly shocking how much candy Newt can go through in a single day, with bites snuck while teachers aren’t looking. And apparently, in some twist of genetic fate, he never gets cavities. Ever. His teeth are perfect.
Thomas knows that Newt would probably love it if Thomas just got him an obscenely large container of his favorite caramels, but there’s no excitement, no creativity, no pizzazz in that.
He wants to do more.
Secret-recipe-level more.
Newt has talked about the family recipe, his grandmother’s wonderful bread pudding that he could only get when he visited England, where she lived. And the recipe isn’t you-have-to-marry-into-the-family-level secret as far as Thomas knows, just generic-level secret.
What Thomas does know for sure is that Newt’s parents are terrible bakers. Both of them are great at cooking. Thomas can attest to this with personal knowledge, having spent a few dinners at their house. But they are awful bakers somehow. It’s all store-bought cookies and cakes in their household.
The only reason Newt didn’t make the bread pudding himself is because he’s an all-around disaster in the kitchen. He once burned cup noodles by microwaving the noodles without the water.
Thomas, while not spectacular at baking, can follow instructions—for the most part.
He waits for Sonya’s response.
She looks like she’s considering it, which is a plus in his mind.
“Okay, I’ll get you the recipe. But you’ll owe me a favor afterwards.”
“Whatever you want, thank you, you’re an angel.”
“I know.” She smirks and heads off to rejoin her friends.
Two weeks to Christmas and one gift to finalize—Thomas can do this.
Thomas gets the recipe in the form of pictures texted to him while he’s gaming with Newt and the guys. He buzzes with anticipation, enough so that Newt can tell from across the internet that he’s distracted and asks in private messages what’s throwing his game off.
He tells Newt that he got a spam caller that wouldn’t quit calling his phone until his blocked the number.
After a few more rounds of team battles, they all call it quits for the night.
Thomas and Newt continue to stay up, messaging into the early morning hours. They don’t even have school tomorrow, so it’s fine.
Sometimes, Thomas is surprised that they don’t run out of things to talk about. They see each other every school day and often on weekends, too. Eventually, they should exhaust all topics.
But they haven’t, and Thomas doesn’t think they will anytime soon.
Thomas wants to know everything about Newt, as much as Newt is willing to give. His thoughts, his likes and dislikes, his dreams and hopes and fears.
Newt is a reserved person, the kind of friendly person that people like and respect well enough but don’t know much about. He’s more open with the people he’s close to, but it’s different between them. Even before they started dating, they clicked in a way that was instant kismet. Texting between classes became late night texting became late night calls.
Thomas covets every part of Newt and hoards each freely-given piece of him like a dragon treasuring gold, basking in the affection. Some days, he wants to scream to anyone who will listen about how amazing and intelligent and brilliant Newt is, and how it’s a miracle that Newt thinks Thomas is worth loving back.
That’s why Thomas wants to make his Christmas gift special.
Newt soothes the part of Thomas that still stings from how his mother gave him up, not as a baby, but as a toddler just old enough to remember being unwanted. He can’t recall her face or the sound of her voice, not really, but sometimes he dreams of being held back as he screams for her. And he always wakes up cold afterwards. Thomas is never sure if that’s a real memory or just a nightmare his mind has tricked him into thinking is real.
Jorge and Vince are great dads and Thomas couldn’t ask for more from them, but years of also being the awkward kid nobody wanted to hang out with left a mark—a mark that Newt helps erase.
As he trades jokes with Newt and laughs at the meme that was just sent to him, Thomas transcribes the bread pudding recipe from the pictures Sonya texted and prints it out.
He’ll need to practice the recipe a few times at least, in smaller batches, before Christmas. Sonya, hilariously enough, is the complete opposite of her brother and doesn’t even like sweets, so Thomas will keep her in reserve for tasting a final test version.
But who to make his test subjects?
Brenda, of course. His adopted sister would make Thomas regret it if she wasn’t included in taste testing.
Frypan, definitely. Fry’s going on scholarship to culinary school next year and could provide invaluable advice. If Thomas wasn’t so determined to make it completely by himself, he would rope the boy into directly helping.
Gally, maybe. He has some kind of painfully awkward will they, won’t they thing happening with Brenda, but maybe this could help push them together. Despite all of Thomas’s blustering complaints about his rival and his sister getting together, they work well together.
Minho, too. Minho is Newt’s best friend, but knows how to keep a secret.
Four taste testers and twelve days before Christmas. He can do this.
Eleven days, technically, because it’s 2 am and he and Newt have spent a good chunk of the last hour talking about the impending doom of climate change.
Thomas: shit dude when did 2am happen
Newt❤: oops. should be expecting this by now
Thomas: you got volunteering at the library in the morning right?? go to bed
Newt❤: you too, good night Tommy 💤 🌙💚
Thomas: night!!! 💤🌙💙
---
Thomas accosts Gally as he’s leaving the band and orchestra room—Gally can’t run off while carrying a cello. They started off on totally the wrong foot when Thomas first moved to town and while Thomas considers them friends now, Gally can still be finicky to deal with.
“Gally, hey. What are you doing tomorrow after school?”
Gally gives Thomas an assessing stare, like he’s trying to figure out if he’s walking into a trap. “Not much. Youth orchestra is over for the rest of the year, so I don’t have rehearsal.”
“Perfect. 5:30, my place. Free food. Don’t tell anyone.”
Thomas starts walking away.
Gally calls after him, “I didn’t say yes.”
Thomas turns his head and says, “Brenda will be there. And so will you.” The dismissal probably pisses Gally off a bit, but Thomas is certain he’ll show.
After track practice, Thomas gets his chance to ask Minho as they’re doing cooldown stretches.
“You busy after practice tomorrow?”
“No, what’s up?” Minho asks as he does a side lunge.
“Mind coming over to help with a secret project?”
“Secret project?”
“Yep.” Thomas knows Minho loves mysteries and secrets, and this is easier than saying ‘hey, don’t tell Newt.’
“Okay, I’m down.”
“Sweet, man. Thanks!”
Nine days to Christmas feels cutting it close but Thomas is sure he can do this with all his friends on board.
Brenda had been subject to attempt number one, a soggy bread pudding that was more soup than pudding. And yes, Thomas knows pudding means dessert, not egg pudding, but it’s a good comparison in this case. The texture was completely off.
Thomas bribed Frypan to come over the next day for attempt number two, offering the recipe in exchange for Frypan watching over his entire baking process to pinpoint and stop what happened in attempt number one.
Attempt number two ended up much better, but still not perfect. Thomas doesn’t exactly know what perfect bread pudding tastes like, but from what Newt’s said, the flavors should be stronger.
Now it’s time for attempt number three.
“Aren’t you overthinking this? The recipe doesn’t look that hard,” Gally says, as Thomas drizzles rum sauce over the bread pudding.
“Don’t complain about free food. I think it’s sweet of Thomas to go through all this effort.” Minho smiles encouragingly.
“No, he’s totally overthinking it.” As usual, Brenda is in sync with Gally. “All he needs is for Sonya to have a bite and confirm if it’s the correct taste or not. I’ll eat your piece if you don’t want it.”
“Oh, I want it. No cake-stealing.”
Thomas tunes out their flirting and trades a look with Minho. Minho shrugs a what can you do kind of shrug.
Attempt number three is damn delicious. The flavors pop and the bread melts in Thomas’s mouth without crumpling like a soggy mess.
The rest of his friends agree.
Thomas packs containers to give to Frypan—who couldn’t be here because he worked after school—and Sonya tomorrow.
It’s eight days before Christmas, and he’s got this in the bag.
---
Sonya takes one bite of the bread pudding and chews. And chews. And then takes a sip of her water bottle, because she is clearly trying to torture Thomas.
Finally, she looks up at him and says, “Wow. You actually did it. This tastes like Grammy’s.”
“What, really?”
“Yes, really. Why would I lie? Newt would just be sad if I let you feed him subpar bread pudding.” She hands off the dessert to Harriet to finish and picks up her knitting. It’s a sock, but in different color yarn this time.
“Well, I don’t have the exact same type of bread the recipe calls for and that caused an issue at first and so I found a better bread to use and—” Thomas takes a breath and reconsiders telling her his entire experimental process. “You probably don’t care.”
Sonya offers him, “I care that you’re doing this for Newt.”
“It’s just bread pudding.” Thomas coughs, embarrassed by such direct observation of his affection and efforts. “Anyways, thanks so much for the recipe. Let me know when you want to cash in on the favor.”
“Will do.”
On Christmas Eve, Thomas watches as his dad Vince lights the third candle on the menorah. He snaps a picture of it and sends it to Newt before dinner.
Then papa Jorge drives all of them to midnight mass at the local church.
Thomas hasn’t made up his mind about religion yet. It’s a little weird for him, since his parents are Catholic and Jewish respectively but don’t insist he has to believe in either faith. He doesn’t know what his birth parents believed in, but also doesn’t think highly enough of them to care, most days.
It’s often a topic of discussion with Newt in their late night chats. Thomas likes comparing his mixed-faith upbringing with Newt’s non-practicing Protestant one. He takes comfort in how they’re both undecided.
Thomas enjoys Christmas mass well enough and takes pictures of the church’s beautiful nativity scene to send to Newt.
He gets back a picture of socks made by Sonya, still partially inside wrapping paper.
Newt’s family has a tradition of opening one present right at midnight and then leaving the rest for the proper morning.
Thomas: why’d u open the socks u knew what it was gonna be
Newt❤: but now I can wear them and my feet will be warm
Thomas: you and your poor circulation
Newt❤: 😛💕
Thomas tucks his phone away.
Technically, it’s already Christmas now. Thomas tries to focus on the priest as mass begins and not on how he’d like to keep Newt warm.
Newt is due to arrive at Thomas’s house any moment now.
His dads are in the kitchen working on Christmas dinner. Brenda is upstairs in her room, video chatting with Gally, who she finally got together with. Which leaves Thomas vibrating on the stairs near the front door.
There’s a knock on the door that signals Newt’s arrival. He’s not a fan of ringing doorbells and knows from experience that Thomas will be waiting.
Thomas opens the door. “Hey, Merry Christmas.”
Newt walks in, pressing a quick kiss on Thomas’s cheek as he steps by. “Happy Christmas, Thomas.”
“Here.” Thomas hands Newt a gift bag containing the book and candy once they’re up in his room. “Check your main account later too.” Thomas had gifted Newt some limited-edition skins for his character right after Newt left for his house.
Newt hands him a wrapped package in return. “Let’s open them at the same time.”
Thomas makes a pretense of opening the wrapping paper gently before losing patience and tearing into it. Beneath the wrapping is a hand-bound book. The cover says “<3 for late nights and restless times.” He opens up the book to find a series of handwritten letters and annotated pictures, a sort of epistolary scrapbook.
Dear Thomas,
This is the first letter I’ve ever written, to a real person anyway. Letters to Santa or the radio station don’t count. I guess you make up a lot of my firsts.
…
The letters are all from Newt, and chronicle from when they met two years ago through now.
He wants to read every letter over and over again until each word is engraved on his very soul, until he can recite word-for-word what they say. He doesn’t, for two reasons. The first is that reading and appreciating the gift will take up all his time with Newt. The second is that he’s definitely going to cry if he reads it all at once, and Newt is self-proclaimed bad at handling crying people.
“This is—” Thomas is already a little choked up and has to clear his throat. “Thank you. I love it.”
“I’m glad. And this looks brilliant.” Newt holds up the book of illustrated nature poems.
Newt dabbles with creative writing, mostly poems and short stories, so Thomas just knew when he saw the book that Newt would enjoy it.
“There’s more.” Thomas spent the morning preparing the bread pudding and had taken it out of the oven right before Newt arrived.
“More? Tommy, you didn’t have to. This is already plenty.”
“I know, but I wanted to.”
The scrapbook Newt gave him might not seem like much, but it’s everything. Thomas has already skimmed through it and they are undeniably a series of love letters. More than that, they’re a symbol of just how well Newt knows him. Thomas can get wrapped up and stuck in his own mind, brain weasels running rampant and sowing chaos. Newt, his dads and sister, his other friends—nobody can be around or online all the time. But having something tangible to flip through and read anytime, or even just to hold and know what’s in it, means more than he can say. Newt is one who’s good at words.
Thomas leads them downstairs to the dining room. “I know you were saying how you missed being able to eat your grandmother’s baking and you haven’t been back to England in ages, so, I uh.”
He gestures towards the table.
“You made this?” Newt’s voice has the slightest tremor. “You don’t even like cooking.”
“It’s okay.” Thomas shrugs.
“You have said, and I quote, ‘following recipes takes too much time but I don’t know enough to actually know what I’m doing’.” Newt raises an eyebrow and Thomas gives him a sheepish grin.
“Well, I followed it this time.” To distract himself from Newt’s scrutiny, Thomas starts cutting into the pudding. “Here, try it.”
Newt takes a bite and closes his eyes. “It’s perfect.” He opens his eyes and looks at Thomas, with a smile brighter than the sun. “It tastes just like Grammy’s.”
“It was noth—” Thomas starts to say.
Newt presses a finger to his lips.
“Don’t say it’s nothing. I know you well enough to know you put a lot of effort into this.”
“Okay, yeah. I did.”
“I love this. And you.”
Newt closes their distance with a kiss that tastes like cinnamon and feels like a promise—a moment Thomas tucks away in his heart for a lonely day like the scrapbook on his desk.
Zero days to Christmas and everything is perfect.