Chapter Text
It’s not like Newt had a crush on the cocky sophomore. It’s just that he had this butt, and these eyes, and a smile that could make anyone drop their pants in negative three seconds. He didn’t actually like Minho – he was rude, and loud and always dug around in everyone else’s business.
Even if Newt did like Minho, it didn’t matter because he already has his Thomas, who was way out of Newt’s league anyway, so Newt didn’t stand a chance. Sure, Thomas was cute, with his slender physique and altruism, but the way Minho talked about him, you’d think he was a god. Not that Newt was listening. It’s just that Minho talks too loud for his own good, and Brenda has a way of teasing him about it, in front of the entire class. Minho doesn’t mind though, because he’s already got ‘the love of his life.’ Except the love of Minho’s life isn’t Newt.
Not that Newt wants to be the love of Minho’s life. But he wouldn’t mind being the guy groping his ass on his way to his next class. Newt has never been a fan of PDA, but if he was with Minho he might be.
Luckily he only has to deal with Minho’s intoxicating presence once a week: Tuesday’s during Psych. Today was said Tuesday, and Newt was on his way to class when he heard the all too familiar voice of Minho Park.
“‘Ey! Pretty boy, wait up!” At first he figured Minho was calling after Thomas, but when the insistent yelling didn’t stop after a good 15 seconds, he turned around to see what all the fuss was about. Sure enough, the Minho Park was jogging towards him.
"Finally! I thought I was gonna have to chase you all the way to the classroom." Newt just arched an eyebrow at him, not completely certain this was happening.
"Don"t look at me like that, you’re making me feel self-conscious."
Newt just blinked at him for a few more seconds before mumbling, “Whaddya want?”
Minho looked straight-out offended at that. “What? I can’t attempt to befriend someone without being interrogated?”
Newt sighed. “Is this how you make all your friends? Provoke them until they give in?”
"Pretty much, yeah." Minho laughed. They were only a hundred meters from the Psych building.
"Why me?" Newt was still suspicious of Minho’s intentions.
"Why not? Hell, you’re the prettiest shuck-face here, excluding me and Thomas, that is," Minho confessed. Of course, he just had to bring up ‘Tommy.’
"Shuck-face?" Newt stared blankly at Minho. Minho opened the front door for Newt.
"Shit, right, sorry. I just, I look after my younger siblings, it’s complicated, but yeah I just – to avoid swearing. I came up with my own words," Newt stopped in his tracks. They’d arrived at the classroom.
"Wow, that’s uh – actually really sweet." Newt was at a loss for words, so he just sort of gaped at Minho.
"Don’t look so surprised." He winked at Newt before finding Brenda and the others gathered around his desk at the back.
***
A week passed before Minho talked to him again. A clear bellow across the campus “Yo, pretty boy!” Newt couldn’t help how the corners of his mouth turned up as he turned to face the boy. Sure enough, Minho was smiling at him as he ran across the quad to catch up to him.
“‘Sup?” Minho said once he’d reached hearing distance, more of a greeting then a question.
"Why’d you call me that?"
Minho squinted at him, as he caught his breath.
"What?" he panted. “‘Sup?’ Oh, that’s a – a thing we say here – in America, it’s a contraction of the phrase ‘What’s up’ –” Minho took a deep breath before continuing. “What’s up means –”
"Oh for fuck’s sake I know what ‘sup’ means," Minho squinted at him again.
"Then why’d you ask?" Wounded was the best way to describe Minho at that moment.
"I was asking why you called me pretty boy, genius." A look of realization dawned on Minho’s face. He started to laugh, full-out, bent-over laughing.
"Then why the shuck didn’t you stop me earlier in my wonderful explanation?"
Newt shrugged. “I found it amusing.”
Minho punched Newt’s shoulder softly, and they walked towards the Psych building in silence.
It was a good minute before Newt spoke up. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Minho stopped, waiting for Newt to do the same before looking him straight in the eyes. “You hella fine.” He then continued to walk, as if nothing had happened. Newt felt sort of dazed, and he couldn’t think of a response so he just continued to walk with a slight blush on his cheeks.
***
Psych was relatively boring, but for whatever reason Minho had decided to abandon his posse in favor of sitting with Newt. Newt liked this new development, not because he particularly cared for Minho and his adorable laugh, but because it suddenly made the class a lot more quiet, making it easier for him to actually focus.
***
Newt and Minho started to fall into somewhat of a routine, meeting at the quad every Tuesday, before walking to Psych together. Minho called him pretty boy at least thrice during the day – not that Newt was counting. He would sit next to him and pass him notes that Newt tried to ignore, until one day he didn’t.
Because one day he got the note: Will you be my pretty boy? ;*
Newt blushed and looked away. He crumpled up the paper and ignored Minho for the next five minutes, but something kept eating at him. He unfolded the paper and scribbled quickly while the professor wasn’t paying attention.
What about Tommy?
Minho smirked at that – not that Newt was paying attention – and jotted something down too.
He also thinks you’re pretty.
Newt was suddenly even more confused. He assessed the situation and decided it would be best to just leave things be for the moment. Except Minho hit him in the head with another note. Newt was getting pretty annoyed by this point.
He doesn’t mind who I date, though I’d prefer to be with you guys… together. Friday 8pm meet me at the quad?
Just as he finished reading the note, Minho slid another neatly folded note onto Newt’s desk.
Consider it?
"Mr. Park, are you paying attention?" Professor Janson scoffed.
"Yes sir," Minho replied in a mock-military tone, winking at Newt.
"Then I suppose you wouldn’t mind describing what a parapraxis is to the rest of the class.” Janson’s scowl increased when Minho stood up on his desk and faced the rest of the class.
"A parapraxis, more commonly known as a freudian slip is when your subconscious interferes with your actions or senses. A freudian slip is usually associated with errors in speech or writing, in which you say or write what you’re subconsciously thinking, instead of what you meant to say or write. The psychological phenomena was first discussed by psychologist Sigmund Freud in 1901 in his book The Psychopathology of Everyday Life." He turned to Janson. "Is that good enough or would you like me to recite the entire Wikipedia article?” Minho asked smugly.
Janson cleared his throat. “No that is quite alright, in fact it seems we have run out of time, lesson dismissed,” Janson declared.
Minho got off the chair to gather his stuff. Newt just sort of gaped at him. Bloody hell, this kid is smart. Minho snapped his fingers in front of Newt’s face, and Newt jumped out of his trance. “Can you – can you really recite the entire Wikipedia article about the freudian slip?”
Minho just laughed. “Nah, but it shut him up, didn’t it?”. He waited for Newt to finish packing up his stuff before asking “So, we on for Friday?” Newt couldn’t imagine ever saying no to Minho, but he didn’t know if he could ever say yes to such a proposal, so he just smiled and nodded and screamed internally.
***
The rest of the week was a nightmare.
Newt made up and changed his mind about four times an hour. On Thursday, he didn’t have any morning classes, so he usually spent the time catching up on work, but this Thursday he spent an entire hour typing and retyping a cancellation, and then a rain check, and then a confirmation message. He ended up getting so frustrated that he just threw his phone on the bed, resulting in him accidentally sending ‘hedgehog’ (autocorrected from ‘hgjdedghjt’), which if anything, made things worse.
Three hours later he got a response from Minho ’?’ How eloquent. He replied ‘wrong number,’ because that sounded like as good of an explanation as any, until he got another reply: ‘to who, and in what context does ‘hedgehog’ make sense?’. Newt decided to ignore the message until at least after Gender Studies. He realized a little too late that ignoring Minho was possibly the worst thing he could do in any situation. In fact, once he got a chance to check his phone he had no less than 12 messages from Minho, the last one being ‘like “hey would you let me put my prick in you?’”, so Newt was sort of weary when he unlocked his phone to read the other messages.
'Is it like code?'
'some british slang word that’s too sophisticated for us common americans?’
'hedgehog….'
'oh come on, just tell me already'
'…'
'hedgehogs have pricks'
'dude is it some sort of british booty call?’
'i ask you out and you go behind my back to bootycall some british beauty, eh?’
'are they prettier than me?'
'you are such a douce’
'what kind of bootycall would that even be tho’
'like “hey would you let me put my prick in you?'
Newt hated to take part in this, but he just had to reply.
'It would work on you'
The reply was almost immediate.
'you're right, i'm a sucker for your british charm’
'wait, so it really is a british booty call?’
Newt rolled his eyes at that, which perhaps was a good thing, because he barely noticed he was walking in the wrong direction.
'No, you idiot'
He put his phone in his pocket, but he only managed to walk a few more meters before his phone vibrated again.
'thank god I’m not the only one who thinks he’s an idiot, he’s been going on and on about he outsmarted ratman, it’s exhausting’
Newt was utterly perplexed for a whole thirty seconds until he realized what was happening.
'Tommy?'
'it's thomas'
'Right, Tommy'
'sure, whatever. so how was gender studies?'
'How did you know I was taking gender studies?'
'minho won't shut up about you “but thomas he’s a feminist, i think i'm in love”’
Newt blushed at that, but then he got another message.
'i never said that!'
and another
'you didn't have to. you're still coming on friday, right?’
'uhh, yeah?'
'can't wait'
That was the last message Newt received, and he wasn’t sure if he was relieved or slightly disappointed. He also wasn’t entirely sure who sent it, but he decided it didn’t really matter.
What he did know was that there was no way of canceling now.