Chapter Text
A soft knock at the door awoke a young, blonde boy from his sleep. His brown eyes - normally gentle and calm - were sharp with annoyance. He glanced over at the alarm clock on his nightstand, glaring at the bright, red numbers. They screamed the words “3 AM” at his mind, and he groaned to himself. ‘Who the hell would be here at this hour?’ he thought to himself, just getting ready to fall back asleep when another knock came.
He mentally cursed his apartment for being so small, and contemplated getting up to check who was at the door. Instead, the blonde remained in his bed, figuring that if he was really needed, the person would knock again. Several minutes passed, and no other knock came. Shrugging to himself, he let the midnight intrusion of his sleep leave his mind, and tugged his covers up to his chin. The young man muttered something about needing to “fix the bloody heating” before he rolled over with a huff. The bright red numbers now casted a taunting glow on his back. He felt himself beginning to slip back into sleep, and - much to his annoyance - his last thought was of who could have been at the door.
-&-&-&-&-&-
Giggles erupted from a young man’s mouth as he stumbled down the hallway of some apartment building. He was almost certain his friend lived on this floor. He ran a hand through his brunette hair, making it even messier than it already was, and lifted a brown bottle to his lips. Laughing still, he tipped his head back, downing whatever was left in it. Brown eyes, glazed over with the obvious effects of alcohol, looked around the empty hallway in confusion as he figured out where to put his empty beer bottle.
Deciding that the ground was good enough, he set it down. Unfortunately, he misjudged the distance, and the bottle teetered over onto its side. A loud “thump” resounded through the hallway, and the boy frowned, brows furrowing as he continued onward. His eyes searched for a specific number on one of the doors, and upon finding the door he seeked, he began to let out a triumphant yell, only to have it cut off by a loud burp.
Chuckling at the noise he made, the dark-haired boy knocked on the door of the apartment, and leaned against the wall next to it. He waited for an answer, and when none came, he knocked again. The young man grew more and more impatient as time ticked by, the growing need to pee arising and making him hop in place.
Still not receiving an answer, the young man was about to leave, when an idea struck his mind - he was going to break into his friend’s apartment. In normal circumstances, he’d probably end up ringing his friend and impatiently telling them to let him in. Though, now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure he left his phone with his other friend. ‘Brenda? Or… Teresa!’ he thought, tilting his head a bit and smiling to himself for figuring out who had his phone. It quickly turned upside down, though - he couldn’t remember where Teresa was. Or, for that matter, where any of his friends were.
The young man stroked his chin a bit as he thought, before shrugging it off. He figured they must have been close by. They had all gone out for drinks, and he remembered they said something along the lines of ‘You’re too drunk, Thomas, go home’, and Minho saying his place was unlocked, to just go in…
He let those thoughts leave his mind, and concentrated on the idea he had scrounged up. With a look of determination set on his face, the brunette walked back down the hall, knowing one thing for sure - Minho’s windows were almost always open.
-&-&-&-&-&-
As Thomas stood outside in the chilly fall air, he realized maybe breaking in wasn’t the best idea. He also realized that Minho had closed his windows, and that the only way in was if he climbed up a bit, and unlocked them himself. Or, he could go inside and ring Minho himself, and tell him he didn’t unlock the doors.
Thomas shook his head - he couldn’t do that, he was already outside, and his friends would probably take another hour to get there. Besides, trying to remember Minho’s number would be fruitless with how wasted he was.
Repeating to himself that this was a great idea, he hopped up, trying to see where the latch was. His eyes spotted it after the third or fourth hop, and with a drunken smile, Thomas reached up to unlock it, tiptoeing and stretching the best he could.
A tiny ‘click’ was heard from above Thomas, and he pushed against the glass pane near his hand, giggling when he felt it give. ‘Oh, what a story I’ll have by the morning,’ he thought to himself.
Hauling himself up so his front half leaned on the ledge of the window, Thomas dragged himself through the open window. He expected to be able to land on the couch directly under said window. Instead, he unceremoniously landed face-first on soft carpet. He groaned softly in pain - who knew carpet could be so hard - before getting to his feet, using a tiny table near him as support.
Thomas glanced around the apartment, sensing it’s layout to be unfamiliar. He spotted photo frames on the tiny table, and on some of the walls. He questioned when Minho moved things around, but the question left his mind when he spotted a leather couch only six feet from where he stood.
Mumbling to himself about Minho’s taste in decor, Thomas stumbled over to the couch, promptly falling onto it once he reached it. Within moments, the young man was out for the count, soft snores escaping his lips. In the back of his mind, he vaguely realized he didn’t recognize anyone in the photographs scattered about the apartment walls.
-&-&-&-&-&-
“Who the bloody hell are you?”
Thomas rolled over, blinking open his eyes with a soft groan. In front of him stood a young man with a skinny build, and fair hair. His brows were furrowed in confusion and slight caution, and with a jolt, Thomas realized he had no clue who this man was. His mouth gaped as he backtracked his thoughts, trying to piece together events from the night before. Getting drunk, being sent home, no one answering the door, climbing into Mino’s apartment through a window…
“Are you drunk?”
Thomas glanced up when the man spoke again, his accent slightly exaggerating the word ‘drunk’. Thomas mentally shook himself, and he sat up, looking around.
“Ah, uhm… no, I’m not… Hungover, yes, but drunk, no,” he answered, taking in his surroundings. Thomas frowned when he saw the couch he had apparently passed out on was not Minho’s, because his was over by the window he climbed in through, and it definitely wasn’t leather.
Realization hit Thomas like a freight train, and the young boy shot up from the couch, clutching the armrest when he wobbled slightly. Apologies frantically tumbled past his lips, and he ran a hand through his hair, biting his lip in worry.
“I-I’m so sorry. I thought… this was my friend’s apartment - we were out drinking, and I was wasted and he said ‘go home’ and I was like ‘well, okay’ and I must have read the wrong room number-”
“Slim it, Greenie,” the blonde interrupted, holding a hand up. Thomas furrowed his eyebrows at the unfamiliar word that was uttered.
“Greenie?” Thomas repeated. His acquaintance rolled his eyes at the confusion in Thomas’s voice.
“Well, you haven’t given me your name. You do have one, right?” he explained, and began to walk towards a small kitchen, glancing over his shoulder at Thomas in a way that said ‘follow me’. “Mine’s Newt.”
Thomas complied with the stranger’s wordless command, whispering the boy’s name to himself. ‘Newt. Huh. Odd,” he thought. He looked up and watched as Newt began to make some coffee, staying close to the entrance of the kitchen.
“There’s water in the fridge; help yourself. And please, if you feel like vomiting, the bathroom’s down the hall to the left,” Newt told him, turning around with a mug in his hand. He leaned back against the counter, one hand grasping the edge while the other lifted the mug to his lips, a smirk barely concealed.
Thomas chuckled, and quietly reassured Newt that he wasn’t going to throw up. He glanced around the kitchen, looking for and finding a tiny fridge. He opened it up and quickly grabbed a water bottle. Opening it, Thomas took a long drink from it, sighing as the cool liquid traveled down his throat. He was about to ask Newt if he had any aspirin when the young man held out his hand, showing two pills sitting in his palm.
“I imagine you have a killer headache, or you’ll have one soon,” Newt commented. Thomas nodded his thanks before downing the pills, exhaling softly after. The two stood in silence, both sipping their own drinks. It wasn’t long before Thomas began to feel awkward, as if he should apologize again.
“So, you never answered my question- do you have a name?” Newt asked again, beating Thomas to speaking and breaking the silence. He eyed Thomas a bit, never leaving his position against the counter. Thomas quickly nodded, and told the other his name.
“Well, Thomas, nice to meet you,” Newt murmured, and finally moved away from the counter, rinsing out his mug in the sink and setting it down. “Got any friends you might want to call?”
Thomas cleared his throat, scratching the base of his neck, a blush rising to his cheeks. “Ah, I think I left my phone with a friend… I believe my buddy’s place is somewhere in this building. You might’ve seen him before.”
“What’s he look like?” Newt questioned
“Uh, about my height, black hair, Asian, really muscular arms?”
“You mean that shank Minho?” Newt asked, turning to look at Thomas, surprise written across his facial features.
“Uh, yeah… Minho - you know him?” Thomas replied, tilting his head to the side a bit.
“Yeah, I do, actually,” Newt mumbled, turning away from Thomas again. He walked out of the kitchen, and Thomas wordlessly followed.
“How do you know that slinthead?” Newt asked Thomas, making him chuckle.
“We grew up together; we’re roommates now,” Thomas explained. “How do you know him?”
“Met some time ago, in a class, freshman year of college,” Newt replied, walking over to the couch and fixing it up. “Started chatting, became friends, and eventually found out we lived in the same apartment complex.”
Thomas frowned a bit at that. How could they both know the same person, and never even met each other? He voiced his question to Newt, who shrugged wordlessly.
“It happens,” Newt answered, facing Thomas. “I’m surprised he didn’t just ask me to move in with him.” Newt grumbled almost bitterly, before shaking his head. “I suppose I wouldn’t be able to live with him for long, though - he has a knack for being talkative in the middle of the night.” Newt said with a wink. Thomas chuckled softly.
“If only he cleaned up as often as he talked,” Thomas said with a mock sigh of exasperation, earning a bout of laughter from the blonde. Thomas found himself smiling and laughing along with Newt, noticing the way the other would wrap an arm around his own midsection, his brown eyes closed as he giggled helplessly. Thomas barely noticed when they stopped laughing, too caught up in the way the blonde’s shoulder shook with every chuckle.
“Well, Tommy,” Newt began, after they both had calmed down, an easy smile on his lips. “How about we send you back home? Sure Minho could be worrying about you at this point, ‘specially if you lost your bloody phone.”
Thomas felt a funny tug at his heart at the nickname Newt used on him. He hadn’t been called that since… Fourth grade? He used to hate it, too - always insisted that everyone call him “Tom” or just straight up “Thomas”. His eyes flicked up and down Newt’s skinny body, finding it odd how he didn’t mind that Newt called him the silly pet name. In fact, Thomas liked it. The blonde’s accent made it that much more endearing, and he wondered if they would ever hang out, so he could hear him say his name like that again. Thomas felt his heart speed up at the thought of hanging around the Brit - the thought of making him laugh again, and getting to know him better.
“See something you like?” Newt commented sarcastically, a smirk brushing his lips as twirled around in a circle, arms spread out in a ‘voila’ gesture. Thomas felt a faint blush creep up his neck, and he cleared his throat, realizing he had been staring at Newt for well over a minute now.
“Ah, no - I mean, you are attractive, but - I don’t - you probably-” Thomas tripped over his words, hands making various gestures as he tried to make up for gawking at the taller boy.
“Calm down, Tommy,” Newt laughed, placing a hand on the shorter man’s shoulder. “I was just joking around with you. Now, let’s go talk to Minho.” Thomas could have sworn he heard something akin to longing in the other man’s voice. His eyes seemed almost melancholy - a look that Thomas found himself not liking on his new acquaintance.
He looked into the other’s brown eyes - he noted that they were like the color of dark chocolate, and absolutely captivating. They were a nice contrast to his fair hair, which fell to about his eyebrows. His eyes wandered to Newt’s lips - thin but soft-looking, slightly chapped from what Thomas could tell.
The sound of Newt clearing his throat made Thomas tear his eyes away from his lips, glancing up at the other, who had a look of curiosity in his eyes. Thomas immediately stepped back a bit, avoiding Newt’s gaze as he swallowed, face burning in shame. He uttered a tiny “yeah, let’s go talk to Minho”, and kept his eyes trained on the carpet below him.
With a slight smile, Newt walked by his companion, heading towards the door to show him their way out. Thomas swore he felt Newt’s hand brush against the small of his back, as if he were reassuring the younger that everything was okay, but it was too faint to be sure. Thomas followed without a word, thoughts buzzing around in his mind, but one sticking out the most, chanting louder than the rest and making his head spin:
He definitely wanted to see Newt again.