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Thomas is terrible at gift giving - no matter how well he knows the person, he never knows what to get them. Not his family, nor friends - not even his boyfriend.
But he's going to think of something, eventually. Last minute decisions are the way to go, even though they're horrendously stressful.
But it's fine. It will all be fine in the end, and he won't end up being the worst person to ever walk the Earth.
These worries, however, vanish into thin air as soon as he attempts to step onto the ice rink and almost immediately falls flat onto his ass. Almost, because Newt yanks him forward by the hand, somehow without ending up sprawled on the ice himself, and Thomas clenches his gloved hands for dear life, instantly going rigid in the legs.
"It's so slippery , what the hell. How am I even supposed to move with these?"
Newt has already gotten the winter blush - red nose and red cheeks - and he laughs silently, brief fog ghosting his lips. Thomas wants to kiss him instantly, but is afraid he'd end up kissing the ice instead.
"Wow, Tommy. Ice is slippery? What a shocker."
"Oh shut up, you know what I mean."
Newt's smile grows, and he slides Thomas a little closer and kisses the top of his head.
"You'll catch on pretty quickly, don't worry. Just do what I do."
And okay, that does give him a little confidence that he won't end the day with a broken nose after all. The thing is, ice skating looks so easy when you watch it on YouTube, or look at those kids that can't be more than 4 years old zoom across the rink like they were born with skates on their feet. Standing there in one place, barely able to hold balance, makes him feel just a teeny tiny bit (read: a lot) incompetent.
"Tommy, are you okay? Is this stressing you out?"
He turns his attention back to Newt, whose face has fallen in concern, and it breaks his heart that he's the reason behind that change of mood. It's the last emotion he wanted to see him go through today. Even as Newt continues to talk, he shakes his head.
"You can leave the rink right this second if you're overwhelmed or just not feeling it, I promise it's fine, you don't have to do this if it's just for me, I'll do a couple of -"
"No, Newt, stop. I'm fine, honestly. I was just busy being jealous of those kids' skating skills."
The frown is still there - he's obviously not convinced - so Thomas expertly repeats, I'm fine, which truthfully isn't far from reality. What makes him anxious is only the fact that he's not perfect at something from the first try. And that there are actual children right there who are better at it than him.
Oh, the inherent embarrassment of being a beginner.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Alright. Okay. You'll tell me if you change your mind?"
"Yes, I promise."
Newt sighs and, finally, smiles again, and the world resumes making its merry way around the Sun.
"Okay, well, we're going to test that real soon because I'm gonna let go of this hand," he says, raising his left and Thomas's right hands, joined, and before Thomas can protest, guides them to the wooden ramp, battered from having been clutched on by many generations before, "and you can grab onto this instead while I move to the side so I can show you how to skate. I'll still be holding your other hand. Okay?"
Newt searches his face for approval, and Thomas's heart swells with gratitude and love. Feeling a bit childish, he nods, and in the split second as his hand slides out of Newt's and lands on the ramp, he doesn't fall.
Is it stupid to feel proud of such a small accomplishment?
Maybe. He doesn't care.
"Alright," Newt cheers, "the worst is behind us. You doing okay so far?"
This earns him an eye roll and a laugh. "God, Newt, I haven't even done anything yet. Yes, I'm okay."
Before he knows it, Newt has tipped his head up and planted a kiss on his lips, his heart fluttering like a restless bird.
"Not true," Newt says, straightening up and running a hand briefly through Thomas's hair, resting it on his cheek and stroking it tenderly with a thumb as he adds, "you came to the rink with me."
Would it be socially acceptable if he grabbed the speakers real quick and yelled at the top of his lungs, Yes, I would do anything to make you happy ?
"Of course," he says instead.
Newt tips his head up for one more kiss, his long hair falling like curtains around their faces, before smoothly sliding to Thomas's side.
God, he makes it look so effortless.
A bright, broad smile and an encouraging tightening of the grip on his hand.
"Ready?"
"I was born ready."
And thus began the ice skating beginner crash course, where Thomas learned never to underestimate a sport just because it looks easy.
(He sent out a mental apology to all hockey players. Let it also be known that he was never naive enough to underestimate figure skaters. Seriously, gymnastics on ice? None of them are afraid of death.)
However, he has to admit Newt was in no way obliged to be as patient with him while he struggled with relaxing his knees, of all things, so as not to look like a stick man stabbing his feet into the ice - which would also largely help him, in Newt's words, sail smoothly over the ice.
But he was patient, and he never left him alone on the ice, which he noticed in horror some other groups and couples put their ice skating newbies through.
Could not be his boyfriend.
After some time spent circling the edges of the rink, Thomas decided he was ready to let go of the safety promised by the close proximity of the ramp and delve into the formidable inner parts of the rink, tethered only to Newt.
(He absolutely wasn't ready, but when are we ever truly ready to start something new?)
So a few clumsy circles ("How do I turn the corner? Newt how the fuck do I turn the corner. ") and close collisions with a couple of people later, he decided it was time for him to take a break, so Newt helped him step onto a platform with benches, a few resting skaters scattered about.
You won't be climbing up with me?
Not yet , Newt said, but I'll join you a bit later .
With the platform giving him enough height to be eye-to-eye with Newt, he didn't miss the opportunity to kiss his temple, right where his beanie gives way to his hair, before saying,
Off you go, then .
And now, as he watches him glide across the rink as if he's one with the ice and his heart grows so big with fondness he doesn't know where to place it anymore, he can't help but think of the conversation they'd had a couple of days ago. Looking at Newt now, who would've thought he was ever forced to leave a figure skating career behind a decade ago because of a moment of inattention that resulted in a broken ankle? He's obviously able to skate again, but he can't put too much pressure on the leg, which means no jumps, no twirls, no complicated footwork - in other words, no more figure skating, ever. Which shatters his heart, over and over, like a stubborn piece of china that crumbles as soon as it's mended.
I tried, of course, he remembers Newt saying as he rested his head in Thomas's lap, closing his eyes as Thomas stroked his hair, but I couldn't do a thing without crying out as soon as I landed on the leg. So I had no choice but to quit.
A moment passed before Thomas spoke.
Have you been on ice ever since?
A couple of times, yeah, he said, the kind of sorrow that Thomas couldn't comprehend twisting his lips into a smile. Thomas's heart twisted with it.
I loved it, though. I really did. I still love being on ice, even if it's just to hear it as I put one foot in front of the other. But I hated going alone, because I'd focus on what I can't do anymore, so you can imagine how fast it would stop being fun.
Thomas didn't even think twice when he suggested they go ice skating together, despite the fact that he's never even put wheels onto his feet, let alone blades.
Newt flashes him a smile as he rounds a corner, arms outstretched in that way that figure skaters do, hair flying around as he moves, and Thomas smiles back. He can't heal his ankle or turn the time back, but he can give him this.
Wait a minute. He has an idea.
Just then, Newt halts abruptly in front of the platform, jostling Thomas out of his thoughts. He climbs up, momentarily wincing as he puts all of his weight onto the leg, and flops down next to Thomas, a wide grin returning immediately.
"Oh, I missed this," he sighs, "but this son of a bitch," a nod to his ankle, "has its limits."
"You looked like you were enjoying yourself."
"I was. And I am." He circles an arm around his shoulders then, presses his lips above Thomas's ear and whispers,
"Thank you."
Thomas smiles warmly and turns to face Newt, cupping his face with a hand, but before he has a chance to say a thing, Newt gasps and puts Thomas's hand between both of his.
"Tommy, what in the fuck. Your hand is colder than ice, I swear."
When Thomas recovers from the sudden change of atmosphere, he says,
"Uh. Yeah, I don't like gloves."
"Wear mine."
A confused blink. "But what about your hands then? I'm not taking your gloves."
"No, put your hands in with mine. So we'll both wear them."
"Oh."
One hand was easy to fit in, but the other threw them into giggles as they tried to coordinate their already gloved hands to hold the other one open, long enough for Thomas to wiggle his other hand in.
A comfortable silence falls as Thomas nests his head on Newt's shoulder, enjoying the warmth seeping into his fingers and watching nameless children and adults chase each other across the rink, expertly weaving their ways between the rest of the skaters who are just minding their own business. After a while, Newt asks,
"Did you have fun too?"
"God, yeah. Obviously I'm still shit at it," Newt laughs, whining a noo that's not true, "but I really had fun. And we can come back here again whenever you want."
"You don't have to do that."
"But I want to. Seriously."
A sigh. "If you say so."
A mischievous grin. "We're coming back until I'm as good at ice skating as you are."
This prompts a laugh from Newt, and it always feels like a win. It's Thomas's favorite sound.
"Well, that's certainly going to be at least two more times."
"I mean, you're not wrong."
The bell rings, signaling their time on the rink is over for today. As gracefully as possible, they stumble off the platform and make their way right across the rink to the exit, and Thomas's head spins as they pass right over the smooth, barely disturbed center.
The first thing he does when they come home is get his hands on his laptop, and orders Newt's Christmas gift to Teresa's address (He doesn't want Newt receiving the gift too soon, now, does he?) and yells about it over text to her, Minho and Aris. And Frypan. And- okay, every friend of his who's willing to listen.
It’s going to make Newt so unbelievably happy. He can't wait.
The smell of freshly baked cookies is what greets him as he wakes, a Newt-shaped mess of sheets next to him gone cold. Thomas rolls over to his side, stretches, and yawns. Their fairy lights blink down on him enthusiastically, and suddenly he remembers - it's Christmas. He flops out of their bed and wraps himself in a blanket, stumbling out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. He spots Newt next to the counter, doing a little dance as he licks his fingers and greets Thomas with a smile. He inches closer and wraps himself around Newt, blanket and all, resting his head over his heart, and mumbles a Merry Christmas, love as he closes his eyes. Newt kisses a Merry Christmas to you too, Tommy into his hair and wraps his arms around him too, and Thomas feels so warm he could easily fall asleep again. However, he reluctantly leaves Newt's embrace and hops into the shower, his coffee waiting for him when he returns.
After a very healthy breakfast consisting of milk and cookies only, they move to their Christmas tree where the gifts they left last night wait to be opened.
Thomas opens his first, guessing it would be a book since it is book-shaped after all, but under the neatly wrapped paper he finds a scrapbook full of their pictures, receipts, pressed flowers and miscellaneous stickers and tokens from all of their dates and relationship milestones, annotated by Newt. He leafs through it first, stunned, and finds that there are many blank pages left; on the first one, Newt has written: these are for you to fill in with everything that comes next . Then, he flips back to the first page - the day they met - and doesn't even finish reading it - he simply bursts into tears. Newt scoops him into a hug immediately, and he sobs into his chest like a fucking baby because he can't believe someone put so much time and effort into making a gift as touching and beautiful and personal as Newt just did for him.
"Holy fuck," he croaks as he regains his ability to speak, sitting up so he can look at Newt directly, "Newt, that's - there are no words - what the fuck. I love you so much."
"I love you, too," Newt says, wiping Thomas's tears away with a soft stroke of a palm, and Thomas tastes his own tears as he leans in and kisses Newt, again and again, until he's out of breath.
"So I guess you like the gift?" Newt asks, smiling into his lips, and Thomas pushes him away, laughing.
"Asshole. Where do you get the idea from? Jesus…"
It draws a laugh out of Newt as well, and Thomas shakes his head, feigning disbelief, but continues laughing too. Eventually, he promises to take a more detailed look into the scrapbook in the evening after they return from family visits, the reason being that he can't let himself cry more or he might end up looking like he smoked crack for breakfast. Very festive, but not his style.
And so, finally, comes Newt's turn to open his present. At first, Thomas feels the familiar tension creep into his muscles, putting his lungs into chokehold, because what if his gift is just too simple?
Feeling like he's sitting on eggshells, he watches Newt read a little note he attached to it. A smile lights up his face, and he steals a glance at Thomas as he raises an eyebrow and puts it aside, not commenting on it yet. Careful not to rip the paper, he unfolds the wrapping and gasps as soon as he glimpses the box hidden within.
"Tommy? Is this… ? No way…"
Little did he know that, indeed, a pair of ice skates would slide out of the wrapping. A soft Oh… escapes him and a hand flies to his mouth as he stares at the box in his lap. When he looks up at Thomas with glassy eyes, Thomas doesn't wait to be asked - he scoots over and holds him tight as he lets the tears fall onto his shoulder. As the sniffs turn into deep breaths, Thomas asks, a smile tugging at his mouth,
"So I guess you like the gift?"
As Newt shakes with laughter, a weight falls off his chest.
Maybe he's not so bad at gift giving after all.