Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The keys clicked in the lock and the coffee shop was finally out of business for the day. Newt had been waiting to hear this faint click, the oh so long-awaited sound signaling the beginning of his weekend.

On Fridays, Newt was the one to close the shop, meaning he also had to clean up the booths, wipe the counter and rinse the last cups. He didn’t mind working alone. However, he did mind staying until 10pm, waiting for customers who would never push the door. Because, let’s be honest, not many people go get a hot chocolate or a coffee on a Friday night in this big city. But no matter how often Newt tried telling his manager that waiting for ghosts seemed quite counterproductive, she refused to move up closing time.

Thus, there he was, looking up at another cold night sky, his feet on the snow-covered pavement. He thought about the unfinished assignment resting on his desk, in his shoe box of an apartment, and the dirty clothes under his bed that he forgot to take to the laundromat this morning.

The freezing wind snapped him back to reality, flooding his brain with the sound of car horns in the distance. His tiny car was parked just a few meters away. He wrapped his scarf even more tightly around his neck and above his ears. A cold was definitely the last thing Newt needed, considering he would have to spend the whole weekend studying for the upcoming exams.

He hastily walked over to the beat-up car he got for barely a thousand dollars in some dubious garage. The only accessory he requested in a car was a workable CD player for his mixtapes. Newt got what he wanted, and so far the car hadn’t given up on him, so he wasn’t complaining.

Tossing his backpack on the passenger seat, he settled in front of the wheel. He reached for the glove box and picked a random CD in the pile. Cat Stevens’s voice started resonating in the enclosed space and Newt turned the volume up. As the chorus came closer, Newt was already singing his heart out.

What he didn’t expect was for the door to snap open on the passenger side, making him jump in surprise with a guttural scream scratching his throat.

-

Just a few minutes earlier, a brown-haired guy was speeding through streets, sirens blaring behind him. He slipped on the frost covering the ground more than once, taking sudden turns, hoping to lose the car following him. His breathing kept accelerating as he hurried past shops and apartment blocks, slaloming between the few passersby he crossed on his way.

He couldn’t help but laugh, adrenaline rushing through his veins. The feeling made him run even faster, duplicating his senses. His eyes were scanning everywhere, looking for a place to hide. The car couldn’t follow him in the narrow street which opened on a larger avenue, where he could see cars parked, illuminated by lampposts. It felt like the walls were closing in on him, so he sped up again.

Bursting out of the alley, he stopped dead in his tracks. The police had to get around a whole block to get where he was, so he took the opportunity to properly think of a hideout. He figured he wouldn’t be able to lose the cops by running. The rush he sensed earlier was already fading out, leaving room to the worry he had pushed to the back of his mind.

In the corner of his eye, he saw someone get in their car. The idea popped in his head out of nowhere. At least he wouldn’t be committing another crime by forcing his way into some shop or one of the buildings... Still considering the few options he had, he heard the sirens suddenly get closer. He didn’t ponder anymore on the question and ran towards the junker parked on the side of the road.

-

“WHAT THE HELL,” yelled Newt, almost out of breath after the scream of surprise escaped his mouth.

Some guy was sitting on the passenger seat of his car and the music was still playing loudly. Ooh, baby, baby, it’s a wild world. He looked like he had been run over with his hair pointing in every direction, his bruised face and dirty clothes.

“Get the hell out of my car, right now!” Newt said, pushing the guy towards the door. “And you’re crushing my backpack!”

Newt reached for his bag and threw it on the backseat. He stopped screaming for a minute, to take a proper look at the asshole who got into his car. The other guy kept looking out the window as sirens got closer, without saying anything. Hope you make a lot of nice friends out there, but just remember there's a lot of bad and beware. Newt saw a police car flash by and the boy shrank in his seat, hiding behind the glove box.

“Oh my god, they’re looking for you,” Newt muttered, eyes wide with realization. “Tell me you didn’t kill anyone.”

He wasn’t even looking at him.

“You broke into my bloody car, could you at least have the decency to answer me?” Newt was trying really hard to contain himself.

The runaway finally turned to Newt, taking deep breaths as if he had ran a marathon. Newt figured he probably just did, considering he was being chased by the cops.

“Technically, I did not break into anything, because it was already open.”

Newt couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.

“Mate, don’t tempt me. My phone is right there’” he said, pointing to his pocket. “And I won’t hesitate to call them on you.”

The brown-haired boy tensed at the threat and put his hands in the air. “Okay, okay, no more snarky remarks. Got it.” Newt started him down, still waiting for an answer, eyebrows raised expectantly. “And no, I am not convicted of murder.”

“Well, what a relief,” said the blond boy with a fake laugh. “Now get out of my car.”

Newt started the engine, looking at the guy impatiently. The song came close to an end when Newt realized it was still playing very loudly and turned it off.

“I really like that song,” said the escapee.

Newt sighed in annoyance, his hands griping the wheel tightly. “Okay, nice, I’m delighted to know that about you, guy who BROKE INTO MY CAR.” He was getting tired of this and just wanted to go home. “Now, I’m gonna say it one last-”

Wailing sirens cut him in the middle of his sentence as the bruised guy’s head snapped towards the sound. “Drive. Please drive.”

The police car was on the closest street, they were coming back on their tracks.

“There’s no way I’m gonna help you, so GET OUT,” Newt ordered.

Red and blue lights came into Newt’s field of vision. The police had just turned into their street, driving slowly, less than a kilometer away.

“You know they’re looking closely. I can’t get out because they’ll see your car. But we can’t wait for them to cross us, they will definitely come and question us. You just have to drive away, slowly and drop me off wherever you want. Even if it’s just on the next street. Please.”

Newt’s blood was starting to boil in his veins. He knew the guy was – mostly – right, but he also knew there were other possibilities… that he couldn’t even think of. His brain was blanking. And just to prove the arsehole’s point, the outside rear-view mirror reflected one of the officers getting out of the car to question a passerby. What did he even do for them to look this hard for him? For all he knew, the guy could be a complete sociopath.

Maybe it was his need to be home. Or maybe it was the pleading brown eyes.

But Newt gave in.

-

With sweaty hands on the wheel, Newt drove carefully. He got out of the parking spot, trying not to look suspicious. Can you even look suspicious while driving? He’d never felt this stressed in his entire life. For a second, Newt was really considering pushing the guy out of his car. But then again, he really didn’t want to end up in custody.

The officer was still talking to a woman on the sidewalk. Newt stopped at the sign, his eyes stuck on the rear-view mirror. He turned left, and after a few seconds the lights were out of sight. As they kept going through the avenue, they saw the police car turn right at the intersection.

Newt and the boy let out a deep sigh seeing the police drive further and further away from them. The sidewalks were empty except for one or two groups of friends heading to some club for the night. Each lamppost they drove past immersed the car in a halo of light. Outside, the snow started falling again from the starless night sky.

Pressing the play button, Newt hoped to drown out the silence. You got a fast car, I want a ticket to anywhere. He chuckled dryly to himself. The irony.

The other boy hadn’t muttered a single word since they left. Tracy Chapman’s voice filled the space, constricted by the uneasiness floating in the air. Newt was mentally listing every crime he knew. That was a very bad idea. Each add to the list seemed worse than the previous one. He didn’t feel in control of the situation. At all. Where would he drop him off? Should he contact the police anonymously after that? What if the boy never leaves him alone? You gotta make a decision, leave tonight or live and die this way.

“I really hope you didn’t kill or rape or kidnap anyone, criminal,” he let out, his eyes still on the road ahead.

The passenger gasped. “My name is Thomas,” he said, turning to Newt. “And I’m not a criminal.”

“You’re running away from the cops. I’m allowed to call you a criminal,” replied Newt, quickly glancing at the boy. “And an arsehole.”

“Fair enough. Bur what if I’m really not a criminal?”

“Then arsehole still works for me.”

-

Newt’s foot hit the breaks. “Don’t make me say it again this time: please, get out now.”

He had stopped the car a couple of blocks away from his building and was looking directly at Thomas for the first time. Newt’s face was closed and focused, his brain still in overdrive. Baby Driver was the next song on the mixtape. Newt’s fingers tapped along to the song on the wheel, trying to get away from the questions flooding his head.

Thomas still wasn’t moving, so Newt bent over the passenger seat and pushed the door open. The brown-haired boy snapped out of his reverie. As he was about to step out, one foot on the pavement, he said, with a grin, “Thank you for letting me break into your car.”

Newt pushed the hair falling on his forehead, shaking his head in disbelief. Thomas closed the door, stepped in front of the car to cross the street and bowed down. The blonde boy couldn’t help but chuckle and yelled “ARSEHOLE” through the windshield. Thomas laughed and walked away, making his way to the pavement on the opposite side of the road.

-

Stepping into his apartment, Newt tripped over a shirt. After taking off his shoes and jacket, he took his unfinished essay and jumped on his bed. ‘Brave New World’ by Aldous Huxley and the pursuit of happiness.

Reading it for the tenth time and Newt still couldn’t figure out how to end it. He didn’t know whether to blame his incapacity to properly think on the late night or on the boy who wrecked his usually boring routine.

He looked at the mess on the ugly carpeted floor and sighed. Newt figured he wouldn’t get anything done and he most certainly wouldn’t be able to sleep either. So he grabbed all of his dirty clothes, tossed them in a plastic bag and made his way to the laundromat.

-

Newt sat on the floor, his back to the wall as his eyes followed the never ending loop of the washing machine. He was listening to Hurricane by Bob Dylan, the wind outside was getting stronger and the snow hadn’t stopped falling. A freezing draft hit his face when the door opened. Newt held his arms close to his body in a failed attempt to warm himself up but he could feel the goosebumps on his arms. He really didn’t expect anyone to walk in. As soon as Newt looked up to see who else felt like washing their clothes on a late Friday night, he jumped to his feet.

“Bloody hell, were you following me?” Newt blurted out, leaning against the wall.

Thomas looked just as surprised to see him there, but Newt wasn’t gonna trust the other’s facial expression. He still hadn’t cross off “sociopath” from the list in his head.

“Can’t get rid of you, it seems.”

“Saying that really doesn’t help your case, arsehole,” said Newt. “Could’ve at least tried to fool me into believing you’re not a total creep.”

Thomas sucked in a laugh, rolling his eyes. “I wasn’t following you, I swear! Not my fault you happen to be in the only heated public space on this block.”

Newt frowned and slid against the wall to sit back down. “What are you even doing here anyway? What kind of criminal hangs in laundromats at this hour?”

“You got a lot of questions,” Thomas retorted, rubbing his hands together so his fingers don’t fall off because of the cold. “Already told you, this is the only open and heated place on the block.”

Newt didn’t say anything after that. He watched as Thomas sat down against on of the dryers, analyzing the cuts on his knuckles. The next song started. You don’t know nothing, just pretend you do. I need something, tell me something new. The blonde boy was lost in his train of thoughts once again but his interest had shifted from Huxley’s utopian dream to the profile of the bruised boy in front of him. He was so absorbed in his observation that he didn’t even hear Thomas.

“Hey? You listening?,” the brown-haired boy asked.

“Hm. What?”

“I said, I could ask you the same question. Why are you here so late?”

Newt blinked a few times, trying to shake off his daydream, before saying “Because my laundry is dirty.”

Thomas scoffed, “And can I ask what your name is?” He turned to look at Newt.

“Not yet. I’m still suspicious.”

“I don’t really get your logic there... but who am I to judge.”

And they went silent again. Newt had a hard time figuring that boy out. After several minutes of staring him down, he concluded that the boy really didn’t look that menacing, despite the cuts and bruises. What in the world did you do to get chased by the police?

“Can’t tell you yet. Still suspicious,” Thomas said before Newt even realized he had spoken out loud. The blonde boy kept a straight face while glaring at the other.

“What?,” snickered Thomas, “You had it coming.”

Newt reached into his jacket pocket to take one of his numerous copies of the book he was studying. Pages were covered in highlight with bits of paper stuck in the crease because there wasn’t enough room on the page to take notes. He read some of the passages he might have skipped while writing his essay, trying to get to the bottom of it.

Thomas rested his head against the dryer, closing his eyes. Since he probably wasn’t going home anytime soon, he could try to nap for a while.

It was when the sound of the machine abruptly stopped that Newt got out of his book. Thomas looked like he had fallen asleep. The blonde boy got up and put the clean clothes in the closest dryer, just above Thomas’ head. A pair of jeans slipped out of the pile and landed right on his face, the wetness waking him up right away.

“Whoops, sorry,” whispered Newt, still not knowing how to act around him.

“No worries.” Thomas stood up and helped him pack the dryer.

The machine wobbled as it started. Newt turned to the other boy, awkwardly standing there. They looked at each other before Thomas said, “Can I know your name now?”

Newt figured if Thomas was going to kill him, knowing his name wouldn’t make much of a difference. “Newt,” he answered.

The boy facing him smiled wildly as if he’d just completed an impossible task. “Nice to meet you then, Newt.”

“The feeling is not really mutual considering the circumstances in which we met, Thomas,” he replied dryly.

“Come on, I didn’t break into your car.”

“You kind of did but I don’t feel like having this argument again.”

“Thank god,” said Thomas, clasping his hand together to pray at the sky.

Newt chuckled and shook his head. The situation still felt very strange but Thomas wasn’t as weird as Newt first thought. They both sat down on the line of washing machines facing the dryers. Thomas picked up Newt’s book laying on the floor. The blonde boy let him. He flicked through the pages, looking at notes and reading the highlighted quotes.

“Literature major I’m guessing?,” he finally asked.

“Yes.”

Thomas nodded and handed him the pocket copy. He pointed to the earphone Newt still had plugged in his ear, “What are you listening to?”

Slightly laughing, Newt turned to him, “And I’m the one with too many questions?”

“We’re stuck here for another...” Thomas glanced at the timer on the dryer, “...Seventeen minutes. Might as well make them enjoyable.”

“Hey, you’re free to leave anytime, I am not holding you back.”

“Oh, you will be holding me back. You will be.”

Newt didn’t reply. He probably should have found some snarky remark to deny it. But maybe he didn’t want to.

“So…,” Thomas continued, pulling on the other earphone dangling on Newt’s shoulder, “What are you listening to?”

Newt smirked as Thomas put the device to his ear. “Telling Stories. Tracy Chapman.”

They listened in silence after the track came to an end. There is fiction in the space between, you and everybody. Give us all what we need, give us one more sad sordid story.

“Do you think that Sometimes a lie is the best thing?” Thomas asked absent-mindedly.

“Really?” Newt turned to him with raised eyebrows.

“Well, yeah. Still have thirteen minutes to fill.”

Newt shook his head. He pondered on the question for a few seconds and Thomas thought he wouldn’t answer.

“Lies can’t ever be the best thing. Sometimes – in fact, most of the time – it may seem like the easiest way out. But I deeply hate the idea that someone would lie to “protect”. That’s so bloody stupid. To me, it means you think they don’t deserve knowing the truth. That they’re some fragile being who couldn’t bear the weight of reality. The liar is the one afraid of reality, of what it could mean. So afraid that it seems legitimate to hide away the truth to someone who trusts you. Thinking lying is the best choice makes you a coward.” Newt paused, eyes glued to the seconds passing on the timer. “I just don’t understand in what world it would seem right, you know. Life in itself is already a great deal of shit, so there’s not point in lying to “make it easier” or whatever. It’s either tell the truth and face backlash or live outside of reality but constantly afraid.”

Thomas nodded slowly, contemplating the other boy from up close. Newt turned to him because he still hadn’t uttered a single word, “Don’t you have something to say?”

“I have to admit… your accent is really pleasing my ears.”

“Ugh, fuck off,” Newt said in disbelief. “Anything smart you might want to add?”

“I agree with you. Mostly. But don’t be so harsh on liars. Maybe sometimes it really is the only way out.”

Newt shrugged. “Maybe… but probably not.”

“Okay, okay, I beg to differ but okay,” Thomas raised his hands in defeat.

Minutes passed by as they listened to Newt’s playlist. They were both deep in their own heads, eyes wandering into nothingness. The atmosphere was calm, even seemed familiar, which was absurd, considering the fact they had just met a couple hours ago.

The dryer came to a stop. Newt stared at it for a second and then jumped off the washing machine he sat on. Thomas snapped out of his daydream when the earphone fell, drowning him in silence. He watched Newt pack his clean laundry. The blonde boy turned to Thomas and stood there, not knowing what to say. The uneasiness crept back between them; any content they might have felt mere seconds earlier had vanished into thin air.

“Um… Are you actually planning on staying here the whole night?” Newt finally asked.

Thomas shrugged, looking unbothered, “Yeah, I guess.”

“Don’t you have your own place to head back to?”

“Well, I don’t wanna risk going back there if the cops decide to hang around. I know I have to go back at some point but I think I’ve done enough running for the day.”

Newt didn’t know what to add. For a moment, he had almost forgot that the guy was a fugitive. “You’re not gonna tell me what you did?”

“Why do you want to know so badly?”

“Curiosity isn’t good enough of an answer?”

Thomas snickered. “It could be, depending on what you decide to do with the information.”

“You make it sound like you’re a third degree murderer. My common sense tells me this isn’t the case,” said Newt as he put all of his stuff in his jacket pockets. Thomas watched him closely.

“I’m a dealer,” Thomas blurted out.

Newt’s eyes were on him in a flash. “Well that wasn’t so hard,” he said with a small smile before tying his scarf around his neck and putting his hood on. Without a word he walked towards the door of the laundromat. He stepped outside and Thomas was still sitting on a machine, dumbstruck. A whirl of cold wind barged into the place.

Thomas saw through the store front the blonde boy about to walk away. Before he could do anything, Newt opened the door again, “What are you waiting for? Come on.”

“What?”

“Come on,” he repeated and dropped the door handle, making his way on the pavement.

-

With hurried steps, Newt arrived at the bottom of his building in just a few minutes, pushed by the biting wind on his back. He looked above his shoulder as he was typing the code to open the door. Thomas had followed him silently, just steps behind. He had his arms crossed tightly on his chest. His thin black hoodie barely protected him from the freezing weather. Newt noticed the bruises on the boy’s face started to turn yellowish, contrasting with the small red cuts all over his cheeks.

Newt lead the way to his apartment. He tossed his plastic bag full of laundry on the sofa of his small studio. On the left of the door was the small bathroom, and on the right a kitchen took up the corner of the room. The wall facing the front door held a large window, under which was Newt’s bed. A curtain served as separation with the small couch and table beside the kitchen. The main characteristic of the place was Newt’s messy piles of books, papers and CDs scattered everywhere. The walls where covered in photographs and movie posters. When Newt turned around, Thomas stood at the doorstep, still.

“You know you can step in, right?”

Thomas snickered and closed the door behind him. “Pardon me for being a bit disturbed at the fact that you went from calling me a criminal asshole, to taking me home on the first night.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. This is just my pure generosity acting out, not your good looks,” answered Newt as he passed in front of Thomas to get to his small bathroom.

“You do admit that, in other circumstances, you’d take me home.”

Newt turned a bright red as he hid behind the cupboard door he had just opened. He sighed and pulled out the first aid kit he was looking for. The bruised boy was wildly smiling at Newt when he handed him the kit. “Clean up your face. And please shut up.”

It took Thomas less than ten minutes to take care of the wounds on his face, Newt figured he was used to it. When he told him he was a dealer, Newt didn’t even bother questioning it. He just took pity of Thomas, which may have been a stupid idea. But then the other boy emptied his pockets in the sink, a couple of old cellphones and small stacks of money he must have collected through the day. Nice, so now you know he didn’t lie, maybe should’ve thought about it earlier before taking him to your place. He shook his head, scolding himself. What disturbed him most now was the fact that Thomas trusted him enough to tell the truth, without even hiding the money. Then he remembered how easily they acted around each other in the laundromat. All was a bit confusing.

Thomas was still in the bathroom and had taken off his hoodie and shirt. Newt tried not to stare, however he couldn’t help but notice the huge bruise on the boy’s side.

He finished cleaning up the mess on the small couch, forbidding his eyes to prey on the other boy’s body. He picked up a random CD and put it in the old player. A slow guitar riff opened Cherry by Moose Blood. The blonde boy sang along as he put the clean laundry in his closet when Thomas claimed, “You’re always listening to music.” Newt didn’t say anything, because it sounded like an affirmation, and it was true.

“So, do you lead some kind of war against silence?”, continued Thomas from the bathroom.

Newt stopped what he was doing to stand straight, eyes focused on the window above his bed. “Silence is for sleep. I’ve always had troubles with sleep,” is what he answered. He was starting to feel comfortable around Thomas, but definitely not enough to share lifelong issues he’s dealt with.

Turning on his feet, he faced the other boy who was leaning on the door frame of the bathroom. And his shirt was back on, thank God. They looked at each other for a second before Newt changed the subject, “do you want to eat anything?”

“No thank you, I don’t want to impose myself. I should probably go anyway.”
Newt frowned at the sudden change in his behavior. “You’re not imposing. I told you to come with me, so that means I don’t mind you staying here for the night if you don’t feel safe going home.”

“After contemplating I could be potential murderer, you don’t mind putting up a dealer?”

There he was, smirking again. Newt rolled his eyes “I’ve dealt with worse. And I’m too nice of a pal for you to hurt me anyway.”

Thomas’ eyebrows shot up. “Oh please, get off your high horse.”

“You wish.”

Chapter Text

After several minutes of Newt desperately trying to convince the boy, Thomas gave in. The fridge, as Newt said, held nothing worth eating. Thus, here they were, driving away to some random diner.

“I really don’t get why you so desperately want to eat waffles this late at night.”

“Come on, it’s only midnight. Have I turned you into some delinquent for staying out past your bed time?,” Newt said, snickering. “We can go back if mister really cannot alter his beauty sleep.”

Thomas shook his head, sighing as he didn’t even bother to argue with the boy. The thing he was scared of wasn’t the late night, but running into the cops. Newt had managed to convince him that he knew a place far from the busiest streets, where only truck drivers stopped to get a coffee. Thomas was just starting to realize how bad of an idea that was. At each turn, he was ready to dive under the glove box if needed. Newt noticed.

“Don’t worry. Do they even know what you look like?”

Thomas shrugged. “Not sure. It seemed like I was just at the wrong place wrong time. But maybe they were waiting for me. I really don’t know.”

“Uh, okay. But really though, don’t stress it too much. And if they were still looking for you, which is unlikely, a diner isn’t the first place they’d search.”

“And how would you know, little British boy?,” Thomas replied, miserably failing at imitating Newt’s accent.

“First of all, I don’t speak like that. And second of all, you know I’m right. So shut up and pick a CD in the glove box.”

Thomas obliged and searched through the pile. He randomly chose one and let it play. The drive was quiet, they were both listening to the music. The bumps on the road made Thomas’ head shake against the window. Newt’s fingers on the wheel tapped along to the drums as he mouthed the lyrics. The snow was falling again. Thomas turned to look at the boy ; he figured that the situation wasn’t as catastrophic as he feared it could become, when he ran through the streets fleeing from the police officers. Newt was fully invested in singing along to the song, head bopping to the rhythm. Yeah, Thomas said to himself, he really isn’t the enemy here. His blonde hair was a mess after all the moving, mouth wide open as he pretended to hit the high note. Shaking his head and laughing, Thomas turned to the road ahead of them. The flickering red sign was the only sign of life on the empty lane.

A bell above the door tingled when Newt pushed it open. A man was leaning on the counter, drinking his coffee as he watched a football game playing on the TV. His tiny sips and the quiet music coming from a speaker were the only sounds in the place. Thomas and Newt sat at the booth in the corner of the room. An old lady got out of a door behind the counter and slowly went over to them, each step seemed to be too tiring. They ordered, and the (almost) complete silence fell back.

Newt’s head rested on the window, he looked at the snow, which had started falling again, and then he looked at Thomas.

“Why are you so bruised ? Who hit you ?” he asked, his voice just above the volume of a whisper, as if speaking louder would blow the tiny bubble they had just walked in.

Thomas rested his chin on his palm before whispering back. “Now that’s a funny story. I was kicking ass while getting my ass kicked before the cops showed up.”

Newt raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “We definitely have a different understanding of the word fun, but that’s all the background info you can give me ?”

“Well, I think that summed up the situation accurately. To add some spice I could tell you that they were two, big bulky guys, that felt like I was on their territory. I was very close to getting my neck snapped when I heard the sirens.”

“For some reason, I’m not sure I believe all of this.”

“Too bad for you, ‘cause it’s true,” Thomas smirked as Newt rolled his eyes. The waitress came back with waffles and drinks, her slow steps echoing on the tile floor of the diner.

They ate in silence, only exchanging quick glances, because the whole thing still felt weird. But also because Newt was eating his waffles so fast he wouldn’t have been able to say a word in between each bite. Halfway through his plate, he laid back in his seat and looked directly at the other boy.

“So, considering that was true, do these kind of fights happen a lot ?”

Thomas took a few sips of his coffee before saying “Oh yeah, at least twice a day.”

Newt snorted. “Right. Worst of all : it’s not even funny, mate.”

“Did you just mate me ? That hurt.”

Newt opened his mouth to reply but gave up, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

The next twenty minutes consisted in Thomas trying to get the conversation back on track while Newt refused to even acknowledge the existence of this “condescending arsehole.” Thomas gave up mocking the other’s stubbornness after some time. They both fell back in their own heads. Newt was trying to figure out how to finish his essay while the biggest part of his brain was just distracted by the boy in front of him.

The sound of the door closing snapped them out of their reveries. The man at the counter had just left. A game was still playing on the small TV ; no sound came out, no excited screams or roaring crowds. The music coming from the radio flooded Newt’s ears. Deep in its thinking his brain had cut out any sound that wasn’t the little voice in his mind. Marvin Gaye was singing about a girl and funky space as Newt studied Thomas’ face again. He couldn’t help but wonder at how they just got along right away. Well, maybe not the first ten minutes of their encounter. But it didn’t take long for Newt to tolerate the another boy’s presence in the laundromat, just like it didn’t take long for Thomas to accept Newt’s help.

The blonde boy didn’t realize he was staring until Thomas smirked and said :

“Knew you weren’t lying about my good looks.”

Newt rolled his eyes at Thomas for the hundredth time of the evening, without bothering to answer.

They were at the counter, waiting for the lady to come back so they could pay the check. She wasn’t giving any sign of life, but the two boys didn’t seem to mind. Newt’s shoulder bumped into Thomas’ when a new song started playing. “Oh, I love this one,” the blonde boy said under his breath as he pivoted towards the source of the sound.

“Billy Joel ? How classic you are,” chuckled Thomas.

Newt turned back to him, a small smile on his lips. He held out his hand.

“Would you offer me a dance?”

Eyes wide open, Thomas didn’t answer right away. That was not expected. Then he nodded, “I can do classic.”

Newt took one of Thomas’ hand in his and put the other on his shoulder. “But I don’t want some pretty face to tell me pretty lies,” he spun them around to the slow rhythm. Thomas smiled and snorted as Newt sang along to the lyrics, a little off key, “All I want is someone to believe,” but Thomas felt that it made the instant even better.

It was probably Newt’s singing that brought the lady back. They were still dancing to the music when she said “Dear boy, I believe you have a career to pursue in music.”

Newt smiled at her while he made Thomas spun around himself, as a final move to their dance. “Not too sure about that. Even if he’s still very much alive, I think Billy Joel already turned over in his grave.”

Under the light snowflakes, Newt was still singing as they walked over to his car. The thin layer of snow lightly creaked under their feet. Thomas’ nose was turning red with the cold wind blowing in his face. As soon as the car doors were closed, Newt turned up the heating system.

Another song Thomas didn’t know was playing when he asked :

“So, what made you leave the wonderful place that is England ?”

Newt smirked, “Funny you should ask ; the Queen herself evicted me out of the country after I tried to blow up Buckingham Palace.”

There was a pause ; Thomas scoffed, “Okay, I guess I had it coming.”

“You did,” added Newt as he threw a glance at the boy on the passenger seat.

-

Newt and Thomas walked the stairs up to the apartment. The cold had reddened their cheeks and the tip of their noses ; but the five flights to get to Newt’s floor were more than enough to warm them up.

Newt crashed on his couch, kicking off his shoes. When he looked up, Thomas was once again stalling by the door. Newt smirked and got up again.

“Do you want tea ?,” he asked, already rummaging through the cupboards of his small kitchen. But he sensed a bad joke coming up, “And keep your little British boy jokes to yourself, please.”

Thomas smiled, “You know me too well.”

And just like that he was comfortable again around the apartment. The kettle whistled on the counter. Newt took his mug to Thomas, and he sat next to him on the couch. It was silent for a moment. Actually silent. No music. No sirens outside. Just the wind hitting the window.

“Well, that was a strange evening,” Thomas said.

“Oh, don’t tell me.”

Thomas turned to him as he sipped his tea. “What would you usually be doing ?”

“Writing essays. Or just just procrastinating in front of a movie.”

Saying this, he remembered his paper still wasn’t finished. He found it peaking out of his jacket pocket, which was sprawling on the floor. He pointed a finger at it. “Here is what I should have been doing. But you being here didn’t change much since I probably would’ve given up on it at some point. I feel like there’s something missing but I can’t figure out what just yet.”

Thomas nodded slowly. “You like your studies ?”

“Yeah, I truly love it. But, obviously, it takes up a lot of my time and sometimes I just don’t know how to take a break,” Newt turned his head to a grinning Thomas.

“Thank God I came around then.”

-

It was four in the morning when Newt figured he should sleep if he planned on getting any work done the following day. When he said so, Thomas got up from the couch they were slouched into, picked up the stuff he’d left laying around and proceeded to walk to the door. There was a silence as Newt followed him with his gaze, eyebrows slowly furrowing.

“Thanks. Honestly, for...” Thomas’ arms swung around him as to embrace the whole space, “all this.”

Newt didn’t know what to say. Silence again. Why is it getting awkward now ?

“It’s no problem,” the blonde boy said with a low voice and a smirk on his face.

Thomas was standing next to the door, staring at Newt. They didn’t move. After a moment, Thomas snapped out of it and turned to the door. “I’m gonna go, then.”

He opened the door and Newt finally got up as he stepped out. “Is it safe for you to go back?”

It kind of escaped his mouth before he could think properly of what to say. The whole Thomas-being-a-dealer thing hadn’t bothered him, because he knew better than fearing someone just trying to get by. The subject was just left out of the conversation on a common agreement. But he realized how his question sounded. Whatever the reason for the beat-up Thomas had endured was, maybe the cops weren’t, for once, the biggest enemy here.

“Yeah, I guess so,” answered Thomas.

Newt slightly frowned again. “You don’t sound so sure.”

Thomas was on the doorstep, his arms extended in a shrug. “What do you want me to say?”

This conversation was taking a strange turn. Maybe it wasn’t Newt’s place to care. It probably wasn’t. He still did, though. Newt pinched the bridge of his nose. “I guess what I’m trying to say is… I don’t want you to feel like you have to leave because of good manners. You don’t have to tell me anything about what the hell is going on, but I have a couch you can crash on.”

There was a small silence again. Then flirty Thomas came back. Newt still didn’t understand how he swapped attitudes that fast. Mere seconds earlier he even seemed annoyed, but that was all over in a blink. “So, you are holding me back.”

Newt looked at him blankly. “Jesus Christ. You know what? Leave, I don’t even care.”

Thomas leaned on the door frame and Newt pretended to slam the door in his face. They were both laughing when Thomas slowly pushed it open.

“Thank you,” he said, again.

“Stop thanking me and come back in.”

Chapter Text

Newt woke up in a jump. His head fell back on his pillow with a thud. Eyes still closed, he breathed in and out, deeply.

“Sorry if I woke you up.”

Newt startled again, his eyes shot open. Thomas was sitting on the windowsill, his feet on the side of Newt’s bed. The white glow of the moon and yellow lights of the city were illuminating Thomas’s face. The window was lightly pushed open so Thomas could let out the smoke of his cigarette. Newt laid down again, rubbing his face as if it would erase the images in his brain, leftovers from his nightmare.

“You didn’t.”

The blonde boy curled up in his sheets so he could look at Thomas. “I see you’re making yourself at home.”

Thomas furrowed his eyebrows. “Oh, um… I just- I saw the ashtray on the- so I figured you wouldn’t mind. But I can go downstairs if-”

“Hey, hey, slow down,” Newt laughed. “I’m just messing with you, you can smoke here, I don’t care.”

Thomas laid back against the frame. “Okay.”

Newt saw the boy’s face relax again, slowly getting used to his outbursts of worry. They didn’t talk for a while and just looked at each other. It was calm. Newt usually had to put on some music to be able to go back to sleep. But waking up to someone in the room, he realized the silence wasn’t too overwhelming. He had forgotten what that felt like. The honking in the streets resonated in an echo, someone shouted, feet ran; but it all felt so far away from the little bubble they built around themselves.

Thomas gazed out the window, taking in the view while sucking in the smoke. He felt comfortable. Maybe too comfortable. He was torn between the thought of imposing himself into a stranger’s home and the appealing feeling of not wanting to leave. He faced Newt again, hearing him chuckle.

“What?,” asked Thomas with a smile as he raised the cigarette to his lips.

“You’re wearing my ex’s hoodie.”

Thomas looked at what he wore, barely blushing but just enough for Newt to see it. “I just picked a random one in your closet like you told me to.”

“I know.”

Thomas took a couple puffs of his cigarette. “So… Are you the kind of annoying ex who keeps clothing? Because I know I hate it when I lose my stuff to a breakup.”

Newt scoffed. “First of all, he’s the annoying one of the story. There was no way I was seeing him again, so my choices were limited; I either had to keep his shit or set it on fire.”

“Why didn’t you burn it all?” Thomas shrugged, “I know I wouldn’t hesitate.”

“I don’t know.”

“Emotional attachment maybe?”

Newt faked a gag and said, “Hell no! Figured I could use some free clothes, I guess. Funny thing is, I haven’t seen this hoodie in months.” He sat up, his back to the wall, head resting on the windowsill.

The blonde boy reached for the cigarette resting between Thomas’s fingers. He inhaled deeply, taking in the smoke, before handing it back.

“Anyways, I don’t really want to talk about that guy. D’you know what time it is?”

His head resting against the glass of the half-open window, Thomas’ gaze flicked by to Newt’s face, “6AM or so, the sun still isn’t rising.”

Newt closed his eyes and rubbed them again, sighing. Thomas finished his cigarette and moved from the windowsill to sit down by Newt’s side on the bed. Both their heads rested on the wall, just beneath the window.

“Everything okay?”

Newt’s face turned to the boy next to him, his eyelids still shut. He hummed in response, already feeling the exhaustion pulling him back into sleeping mode. “I’m gonna go back to bed, I’ve got to study tomorrow… Well, this afternoon.”

Thomas’ lips slightly curled up. “Okay,” he mouthed when Newt partially opened his eyes. He really liked this. As Newt laid back down on his bed and he felt the mattress shifting, Thomas realized how calm he felt, how calm everything felt. He liked how they talked. He liked that he felt comfortable. He liked that it only took him a few hours to feel that way. He liked that he didn’t want to leave. And he liked how much he hoped Newt felt the same.

Thomas reached up to close the window before heading back to the couch he had claimed his own.

-

Newt’s tiny studio was lit up by the bright winter sun when he opened his eyes. He tossed and turned for a while before dragging himself out of bed. Thomas was still asleep on the couch, his light snores creating a low rhythm. Newt smiled to himself walking by, Of course he snores when he sleeps.

The blonde boy splashed water on his face, in his little bathroom. Then he analyzed the bags under his eyes in the mirror, as he did every morning.

He made sure to turn off the kettle before it started boiling like crazy as to avoid waking up Thomas. He sipped his tea, the small of his back leaning against the counter, his mind on the events of the past night. But before he could dive deep into his own thoughts, his eyes landed on his pile of lessons. Newt walked to his desk, which was swamped with books scattered around his laptop. He examined the pile, his hands still curled around his mug. After a few seconds of staring at the work ahead of him, he put down his tea to stretch his back. Then he slumped on his desk chair and picked a random book, along with the file corresponding to it, and put himself to work.

Time passed without him noticing as he read the same pages over and over, got up to pick another novel from his bookshelf, sometimes sat in front of it for minutes because he couldn’t remember where the hell was his copy of Mrs. Dalloway? And why was Naked Lunch in the bathroom closet?

Newt was eleven pages into his lesson on the Beat generation when Thomas woke up. All the brown-haired boy could see was Newt’s back hunched over his desk. He stretched on the couch but quickly regretted it when the bruise on his ribcage shot a throbbing pain through the right side of his body. Thomas mumbled under his breath, he certainly did not miss the sore muscles after a fight.

Sitting up on the couch, Thomas studied Newt’s arched figure. It seemed the boy hadn’t noticed Thomas’ groans of pain, his head buried in some book.

Thomas took that as an opportunity. He couldn’t resist it. He made small steps to reach the back of Newt’s chair. Still no sign of awareness from the blonde boy. Thomas bent down and whispered “Hi” right next to Newt’s ear.

There was a scream. Almost as loud as the one that escaped Newt’s mouth when Thomas climbed in his car – he did not break into it – but not quite there yet.

A book flew to the couch, missing Thomas’ side by just an inch, as Newt turned around in panic, arms outstretched as if he were trying to use the air as a support to stabilize himself.

The whole time Thomas stood there with his hands in his pants’ pockets, trying hard not to burst out laughing. Tears were threatening to spill out from his poor attempt at holding back his laughter.

“You fucker,” groaned Newt before turning back to his desk, his hands balled into fists. Thomas was still standing with this sneaky grin of his on his face.

Newt stood up. Unable to keep the angry look on for more than a few seconds, he sighed, trying to mask the small upward tug of his lips. Smiling in triumph, Thomas faked a gasp when Newt lightly shoved him by the shoulder as he passed by to get to his kitchen.

“Since I’m a better host than you are a guest : do you want something to drink?”

“I’ll take a tea, please,” and Newt could hear the smile in his words. Shaking his head, he busied himself with preparing tea. They fell back in a comfortable silence, movements synchronized as if Thomas had always lived there. Sipping on his cup as he sat on the couch, Thomas watched Newt walk around the room from his bookshelf, to his beat-up Hi-Fi that looked like it could fall apart at any moment, and back to his desk. Minutes passed, maybe even an hour. Thomas listened to the music, his eyes almost never leaving the other boy even if he was only staring at his back. He felt as if he had entered a bubble, just like the one in the diner, only this time it was the size of the flat and not just a small booth in the corner of a room. He snapped out of his fixation when a song he actually knew started playing. A huff escaped his lips when he realized what it was.

“Of course you had an emo phase,” Thomas said, already bopping his head to the rhythm.

Newt dropped whatever book he was flipping through and turned on his chair to look at him. “If you were in middle school when this album came out, then not having an emo phase is just a display of bad taste.”

“Hey, I never said I didn’t have one.”

Newt walked to his stereo to turn up the volume, and the chorus of Misery Business blasted in the small space. They were both screaming the lyrics before they could stop themselves, standing in the middle of the room and shouting in each other’s faces as to properly appreciate the moment.

Newt’s head was shaking from left to right, arms swaying, and Thomas was desperately trying to play the guitar riff on the spatula he found lying on the coffee table. When the song ended, they were out of breath and sweating way too much for a Saturday morning.

“I hadn’t listened to that song in so long,” Thomas breathed out.

Trying to catch his breath, Newt answered “You see, that’s the upside of playing music all the time : occasionally, a forgotten one will pop up and it’s the best feeling in the world.”

“It really is.”

Thomas couldn’t help but snort when the next song started. “That’s the emo-est song association ever. Misery Business, and then Everybody Hurts?”

Newt scoffed at the comment. “I think I was in high school when I made that mix.”

The brown-haired boy raised his eyebrows at Newt. “Damn, who hurt you?”

Newt laughed, frankly, before replying : “That’s a story for another time.” He made a step towards the Hi-Fi to skip the song but Thomas caught him by the arm before Newt could reach the beat-up stereo. “Oh, you’re so not turning it off,” Thomas said, as he tugged Newt’s arm to put it on his shoulder.

“Come on, don’t,” Newt threw his head back, partly laughing, but mostly blushing, again.

“Well, where did last night’s confidence go, buddy?” The sarcasm was dripping from Thomas’ words. He intertwined his fingers behind Newt’s back, purposely locking him in between his arms. The other boy still wasn’t looking at him, Thomas’ tone changed, “Is this okay?” His voice was low, almost careful. And Newt just couldn’t resist it.

“Yeah,” Newt replied. He faced Thomas again. His right hand moved to Thomas’ neck, resting on its nape, as his left one took a hold of the boy’s shoulder. They swayed ; the sad lyrics allied with their shared state of almost happiness created a strange atmosphere around them. Inching closer and closer to one another with each step, the sentiment was different from the ridicule waltz they danced to Billy Joel the night before. This was something else. Or, actually, maybe it was exactly the same thing.

Because he was just a bit shorter than Newt, Thomas’ nose ended up grazing the other boy’s jaw. He smiled to himself when he realized that he didn’t even notice how he was leaning into Newt. The blonde boy mirrored his expression when he caught his smile. Moving back his head just enough to attempt locking eyes with Thomas, Newt said, “You look like a love sick teenager with that face.” The comfortable tension that had built up around them floated away, letting room to their usual bickering. Thomas finally looked up, figuring there was no point in pretending that Newt’s words didn’t hold some sort of truth.

“You’re one to talk,” Thomas said, whispering to the other boy’s face with a smile still on.

“Oh, shut up.”

“You really need to get better at comebacks, this is catastrophic.”

Newt let out the most ludicrous giggle, mentally slapping himself for letting that slip out. Thomas’ smile just got broader at the sound of it. And so, Newt also gave up on hiding anything.

-

The late afternoon came around and Newt was getting tired of reading over and over his notes. Somehow, Thomas never got bored, never asked when he would be done, but at the same time, Newt let him stay, let him – a guy he had met the night before – hang around his tiny flat as he studied for exams.

Luckily, Thomas had let him walk free out of his arms shortly after the song ended. But Newt would be lying if he said it didn’t take quite some time for his face to cool down. The other boy kept looking towards him with that sly grin of his, and Newt had a hard time not smiling back stupidly every time.

At around five, Thomas said, “I’m gonna have to go.” He sounded almost apologetic saying this sentence.

Newt turned to him and replied an “Okay,” with the sweetest smile Thomas thought he’d ever seen.

“Okay,” Thomas echoed, standing in the middle of the room. He started picking up the stuff he had left lying around and walked to the door. Newt followed him and when the other boy stepped out he handed him a book.

“What’s that?”

“A book.”

Thomas stared him down. “I can see that. Why are you giving me this is the question I was asking.”

“Should’ve said so right away.”

A snort from Thomas, and then “Your sarcasm might just be the most annoying thing ever.”

“Don’t bother, I know you don’t mean it.”

Thomas shook his head to that answer. Newt was leaning on his door frame, with his head slightly tilted to the side, which was a pose Thomas noticed more than once. As he was studying the man in front of him, Thomas searched for something to say, other than a basic and overused ‘thank you’. Nothing came to his head, or too many things came at the same time, so he just stared.

“Read it and tell me what you think, is the point of me giving you a book.”

Thomas smiled and looked down at the copy in his hands, gripping it tightly. “Okay,” was all he replied. He knew that this was just an excuse for them to have a reason to meet up again. But he wasn’t going to say anything to that. Because he also knew that the reason behind him staying there almost the whole day was that he didn’t want to leave in case he would never see Newt again. Which was stupid reasoning because phone numbers are a thing, and he knows his address. That sounded creepy.

“I’ll see you again then?” Thomas said, just to make sure.

Newt shrugged with a playful pout on his face, “I guess you will.”

-

“This is great, Newt.”

“You’re just saying that,” replied Newt, slouching back in his chair.

The library was almost empty as the sun was setting. Only a few students were scattered around, sitting at tables made of dark brown wood, their books and notes illuminated by the old school green glass lamps that have these little cords dangling in the air.

“No, really, it’s good.”

Newt mumbled, his arms crossed as he studied the veins in the wooden table.

“You stubborn fucker,” his friend said as she tossed his essay on the table.

Newt’s eyebrows shot up in surprise – not that he wasn’t used to her insults – because those bursts of annoyance actually tended to make him feel better. A small smile danced on his lips as he looked at Harriet.

“Don’t look at me like that, you’re a pain in the ass and you know it.”

“Okay, maybe I am.”

Harriet sighed as she shook her head. She leaned over the table on her elbows, tangling her fingers in a very ironically assertive demeanor. “This is good. Maybe work a little on your last argument so it really feels like the last stone to your critical commentary, but besides that I really think it’s great.”

Newt nodded in answer, untangling his arms to release the tension in his shoulders. “Okay, thanks. Sorry I’m annoying.”

“No worries,” Harriet replied with a laugh. “And you should really consider sci-fi as your thesis subject.”

“Yeah, I’ve actually been thinking about it. But anyways, thanks again.”

She shrugged him off. “Go back home now, have cute dreams about your little criminal boyfriend, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And with that, Harriet got up and grabbed her bag, making her way towards the door.

Newt threw a “fuck you” at her just for good measure but unable to refrain himself from snickering. He really shouldn’t have told her about all that had happened the past weekend.

Newt gathered his books and papers, messily stuffing them in his own bag. He slalomed between the tables to reach the door. When he stepped down the stairs to the street, the cold air blew right in his face. Newt put on his earphones before pulling the hood of his jacket on his head.

As he walked towards the closest subway station he crossed tired business women and joyful teenagers on their way to a random club in the Lower East Side. The music playing in his ears blocked out any sound coming from the street, and so he walked along the busy sidewalks in a sort of peaceful state despite the agitation all around him.

The subway was as crowded as the streets. But as the train moved further and further away from the busiest parts of the city, fewer people got in. Newt wasn’t the biggest fan of public transportation, but he didn’t really have a choice to get to college. He only used his car to get to work and out of the city, where there wasn’t too much traffic. However at night, and when he was in a decent mood, everything felt a lot calmer in the subway – if you ignore the occasional drunk forty-year-old man insulting every single passerby. With a forty-minute-long ride to get home, Newt could only get used to it, and at least try to appreciate the journey.

He stared out the window, the stations passing in an illuminated blur. He refrained himself from trying to finish up his essay in his head, knowing perfectly well that after a long day of classes and two hours of studying with Harriet it would only lead to an awful headache. Instead he focused on the music playing in his ears. There was nothing like being so involved in each note and lyric that the song seemed to last a lifetime ; with each sound a new image popped up in his mind and little stories unfolded. Occasionally he would sit at his desk and attempt to write them down on paper, but most of the time they remained only that : little stories unfolding in his mind for the duration of a song, and for a moment he felt like he could do anything, be anyone.

The feeling lingered as he walked up the stairs of the station, through the familiar streets around the building he lived in, up to his apartment. As he settled in his small bed to start a new book he just picked up from the pile by his bed side table, Newt thought about how peaceful he felt, which didn’t happen much these days.

The peacefulness left his body as soon as he heard a knock on his window and a little shriek escaped his mouth. Jesus Christ, he thought when Thomas’ face showed itself on the other side of the glass.

“You know I have a perfectly functioning door, right?” The blonde boy said as he slid up the window and cold air rushed in, letting Thomas step in. “And those fire stairs are so old and rusty they could crumble down any day.”

Thomas just smiled and answered with a shrug, “I was feeling a little chivalrous.”

“There was absolutely nothing chivalrous about that,” Newt said, closing the window as soon as the other boy had landed on his bed.

Thomas didn’t say anything after that because, well, it was true. They looked at each other for a while, a small smile tugging at Thomas’ lips. Newt waited, for what he didn’t know, with a raised eyebrow and a tilted head.

“About that collection,” Thomas started, as he teared his eyes from Newt’s face and shuffled through his backpack. “I liked it... I think?”

“Why does that sound like a question?” asked Newt with a smile, grabbing the slim copy of Howl and Other Poems Thomas handed him.

“Some I truly loved, but others I didn’t get as much.”

Newt nodded, skimming through the pages. “I’m glad you read it.”

Thomas laughed. “You though I wouldn’t?”

“You just didn’t strike me as the reading type.”

Thomas’ mouth opened slightly, pretending to be shocked. “How could you!”

The blonde boy hit him on the knee with the book, shaking his head. “I just gave it to you so you’d have an excuse to come back.”

“Yeah, I figured that,” replied Thomas, with the same smile lingering on his lips. “And here I am,” he added, extending his arms to the sides.

Newt stared out the window for a second, just to take his eyes off Thomas. But then he thought, fuck it. Thomas was sitting on his bed, his back to the wall, his gaze never leaving the blonde. Newt grabbed the back of the boy’s neck. He was about to kiss him when the boy gripped his hips to pull Newt towards him. He climbed over Thomas, one knee on each side.

They smiled at each other, Newt’s other hand went to Thomas’ hair and none of them moved as their noses bumped against each other. Thomas’ arms slipped around Newt, pulling him closer.

All of a sudden, Thomas said in the most serious tone he could pull off : “Want me to tell you which poem I liked most?”

Newt laughed at that and leaned in even closer. “Go on, I’m listening,” he whispered as he kissed the corner of Thomas’ mouth.

“Nah, I think it can wait.”

“You sure? I’m all ears,” Newt said even lower in between the pecks he left all over Thomas’ jaw and neck.

Thomas grabbed the blonde’s chin to bring them face to face again. “I’m sure,” he smiled before kissing Newt like it was the only thing he’d ever wanted to do for the past week, because it was.