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The week before, there’d been hand holding. Not for the first time -- not by any means -- but the first time here . After a day of school, Thomas was dropping Newt off at his house, like always, despite it being in completely the other direction from his own house.
As they reached the mailbox at the bottom of Newt’s drive, he turned to Thomas.
“Are you coming in?” Newt had asked.
Thomas had shaken his head. “Not today. My mom’s birthday, remember?”
The way Thomas’ eyes had trailed down to Newt’s lips had not gone unnoticed and, after three months together, Newt still felt that happy little hum of butterflies in his stomach, making him feel so alive.
“Right,” Newt nodded, unable to stop his growing smirk. “Another time.”
Then, swiftly, he’d pulled Thomas up the hedged driveway where nobody could see them and kissed him longingly on the lips, pulling him in tight for a moment, letting himself be entirely present in the moment, with Thomas wrapping his arms around Newt’s neck while Newt held his waist tightly with both hands.
They lingered there and Newt had felt as if he could stay there all day and all night just kissing Thomas. Being with him.
But, the fear of pushing things too far had come creeping back in and he forced himself, with every inch of strength he could muster, to pull away.
It was enough. They’d both known that.
And they couldn’t risk any more..
Newt’s group of friends is sitting by the river in their usual spot the next Saturday afternoon. Minho, Fry, Thomas, Gally, Brenda, Teresa, Ben. They’re all there. All except Newt, who, much to everybody’s surprise, is running late.
The others have all been friends since they were in pre-school together, learning to colour between the lines and recite the alphabet. Newt had joined them a couple of years later when he moved to town directly from London, knowing absolutely nobody. Minho was instructed on Newt’s first day of school to ‘show him around’ and had been so excited to make a new friend that he’d immediately ditched him to go and tell his other friends and had to make the long journey back across the playground to retrieve Newt and present him to the group. Newt had slotted right in with ease and been just as much a member of the group as any of them, ever since.
Time has passed. Gally grew to be a six-foot giant who ruled the football field. Newt only grew upwards and not outwards, like a bamboo shoot. Frypan learned to cook and earned his nickname. Some of them learned to drive. Others crashed on the first attempt. They got older.
In that time, they’d gotten to know each other well. They knew each other’s favourite songs, worst fears, best memories and favourite flavour of jellybean. They knew each other’s siblings, pets, parents and extended families. Of course, despite knowing each other inside and out, they all still had secrets.
Newt and Thomas had been a well-kept secret for about three days before they decided to tell the group. It hadn’t come as much of a surprise; in fact, Minho had actually screamed “FINALLY!” within the same second they’d announced it and Frypan had handed Gally a $20 note.
It hadn’t changed the group dynamic too much, because Newt was strictly against any public displays of affection and would quite literally cover Thomas’ mouth to block any incoming public kisses.
Thomas, at this moment, is about ten seconds away from calling Newt, who hasn’t answered a single one of his messages, either directly to him or to the group chat.
“He probably forgot,” Teresa suggests, after half an hour without him.
“Newt doesn’t forget,” Thomas snaps back. He pulls out his phone.
“He’ll be here, Thomas. He can run late; he’s human.” Minho rolls his eyes and is about to take a sip from his beer when someone snatches it from behind him.
“Hey!” he yells and turns to catch a glimpse of a blonde mop of hair, raising the bottle to his lips. Faster than anyone can stop him, Newt starts hastily gulping beer from the bottle, making no effort to slow down anytime soon.
“Newt! What the hell?” Thomas asks.
At that, Newt finishes the beer and swallows hard. He stares into the river, but his eyes are glassed over, not focussing and he’s breathing hard. A trembling hand reaches out to give the empty bottle back to Minho as Newt begins pacing. Minho tips the bottle to see if there’s even a drop of beer left.
Nothing.
“Newt, what’s going on?” Thomas demands. He’s set his own beer aside and is on the verge of getting up.
But Newt’s still pacing, walking back and forth, parallel to the river, nearly oblivious to the others and their concern. At Thomas’ question, he just shakes his head and runs his hand over his mouth, too caught up in his head to form a reply.
Newt’s brain is a beehive of thoughts. How can he talk when his mind is running at a million miles an hour? How do they expect him to get a single sensical word out when his head is in utter chaos, unable to focus on a single thought, let alone word? What the hell is going on? Why can’t he just slow down? This is crazy.
Suddenly he reaches out and plucks the cigarette from Brenda’s hand. “Give me that.”
“Hey!” Brenda’s the first to stand up and snatches the cigarette back before Newt can smoke it. “You’re not having that! You’re not a smoker; I’m not letting you smoke, you idiot. Just tell us what’s going on!”
The others watch on, too stunned and trying to catch up with Newt’s erratic and entirely out-of-character behaviour to offer any sort of support.
Something Brenda said must’ve got through to Newt, because he stops pacing and scrunches up his brow. He takes a long breath, facing the river.
“They found out,” he says.
His statement leaves everyone confused.
“What?” Thomas, always the one with the questions. “Who found out? Found out what? What are you talking about?”
Newt doesn’t understand how they couldn’t possibly catch on from what he’s said. When he turns to face Thomas, his face is red and his eyes are bloodshot. He speaks to him through gritted teeth. “My family. My bloody parents. They know I’m gay.”
This time, they understand.
“Oh, shit,” Minho mutters. “Oh, fuck.”
Newt runs a hand through his hair, blinking away his tears. “What am I gonna do?” His pacing begins again, a subconscious nervous habit he’s had since they’ve known him. “What do I do?”
“Well, what did they say?” Gally asks, leaning his forearms on his knees.
Newt looks up at Gally and shakes his head, still pacing. “Not much. They said we’d talk about it later.”
“Well, that’s good, right? They probably just want to talk about what that means for you… to get to know you better.”
Newt stops pacing and shoots Thomas a look that has him feeling as though he should never open his mouth to speak ever again.
“How’d they find out?” Teresa asks quietly.
Newt rolls his eyes. “You know Arnie? The guy next door with the stupid kids who are all builders or plumbers or whatever? His oldest son worked on our kitchen?” His voice is shaking. “Yeah, well, the dumb baseball cap-wearing asshole saw me and Tommy holding hands the other day. Decided not to mind his own goddamn, nosy-neighbourly, good citizen, God-bless-American business and told my dad.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah. Fuck . Big fuck. Immensely gigantic, record-breaking fuck.”
“That’s one big fuck.”
“Gally, shut up.”
Newt finally throws himself down on the grass and rests his head in his hands. “This is it,” he mutters. “This is where it all falls apart. It’s all downhill from here.”
“You don’t know that-”
“Yes, I do!” Newt interrupts Brenda’s attempt to reassure him.
Thomas has been quiet since Newt mentioned the neighbour spotting them. This is his fault. If they’d only been a little more careful none of this would be happening. How could he be so stupid? Taking Newt’s hand like that, right outside his own house. Sure, Newt’s family hadn’t been home, but why hadn’t he considered anyone else seeing?
Thomas knew the answer; he hadn’t cared who saw. It had been an act of selfishness.
There’s a long, exaggerated groan from Newt’s direction and Thomas looks up.
“Don’t you dare blame yourself, Tommy. This isn’t your fault. I can hear your overactive brain ticking away from all the way over here. I knew the risks and the last thing I want to do is regret the one thing that’s made me happy this year!”
His statement stuns them all into silence.
All except Thomas.
“But-”
“Tommy, just shut up, would you? It’s not my fault. It’s not your fault. Nobody’s hurt. Nobody’s dying. I just have to get through some very tough conversations, is all. Once that’s over, it’ll get easier.”
Thomas doesn’t quite believe Newt, but he nods, not wanting to upset him any further.
“You can stay with me,” Frypan offers. “You know, if shit hits the fan and it all gets too much. Even if you just don’t feel like being home. You’re always welcome at my place.”
“And mine,” says Minho.
“Mine too,” agrees Brenda.
Thomas, Teresa and Ben all nod, showing their support too.
“You probably can’t stay at mine,” Gally says. “My sisters are feral; you wouldn’t survive.”
Newt laughs and the sight of it gives them all some relief. “Thank you,” he wipes his eyes. “All of you. But I’m… I’ll be alright. If that changes, I know I’ve got you.”
But at 3am that night, Newt limps barefoot down his road, squinting to see past his swollen eye and through the drenching rain. His stupid sweatpants are sticking to his legs and his hoodie’s dripping water from the sleeves. He clutches the strap of his backpack, slung over his right shoulder.
Each step has him gritting his teeth to stop himself from crying out from the pain in his ankle, so he reminds himself that each one takes him further away from what just happened. He's making progress. Each and every step matters.
His messed up mind provides him with the cheery advice to ‘just keep swimming’ and he’s compelled to only eat fish for the rest of his life as some kind of act of revenge against Finding Nemo.
Just to the park , he tells himself. He just needs to get to the park and then he’ll make a plan. Then he can message the group chat or stop his nose from bleeding or just go to sleep and forget this ever happened. He just needs to get to the park.
Why did he jump out the fucking window? Who did he think he was? Spiderman? An actual spider?
One step. Another. And another. Each one is agonisingly slow and, for a long moment, he considers lying down on the side of the road and waiting for someone to find him like a sad little heap of teenage roadkill.
But it was too close to home. He had to get further away.
Only then does it occur to him that he’s doing this. He’s really doing this.
Newt’s running away.
He’s packed his bags, put on his jacket and escaped the only way he could. As another thought flickers through his mind, he wonders if shoes would really have helped that much; they were by the front door and there was no way he was going back down there to get them. No way in hell. The only way out was through his stupid window.
Here’s your meal. Drive on through.
The park is just ahead now, across the road. He can sit under that big tree they used to run around as kids. He can get out of the streetlight and hide away until he feels safe to be seen.
Maybe he should text them now so that they come faster. If they even come at all. What if his friends are busy? Or tired? What if they can’t make it? What if they don’t see his message until the morning? Would he wait out there all night?
Should he call them?
No. No, it's not worth that. It's not that urgent.
Is it that urgent?
His ankle is throbbing more and more and it makes him limp along, tilting like a see-saw.
How does adrenaline work? Does he have it? Has it worn off already? If so, he can probably wait until morning. This isn’t too bad. It’s not worth waking anyone up for. Right?
He reaches the tree and lowers himself to the ground, inch by inch until he’s sitting facing away from the road he’s come from. Then, he takes a minute to breathe -- a chance he hasn’t had since before this all started.
He checks himself over quickly. It’s mostly minor bumps and bruises, with his ankle as the main exception, considering how it’s ballooned in size and darkened in colour already.
“That’s really fucking inconvenient, thank you,” he mutters to it, sarcastically, propping it up on a small rock, as if that might actually do something. “You couldn’t have just stuck the landing like the rest of my body? No? Asshole.”
Now was the tricky part. Who was awake?
He opens the group chat, smiling a little at the name, despite his current situation, before sending his message.
Newt Kid in Town to Octopus Legs: hey. is anyone awake? i need somewhere to stay. it’s kinda urgent. (sent 03:27am)
Twenty seconds later, he gets an abrupt reply.
Mother Teresa (but not a nun) to Octopus Legs: calling you (sent 03:27am)
As he’s reading it, Newt’s phone rings.
“Hello?” he answers.
“Newt, are you okay? Where are you? I’m coming to get you now,” Teresa speaks quickly, her voice a whisper as she creeps through her house. Newt hears the sound of her front door closing in the background.
At this moment in time, Newt realises he hasn’t planned this far ahead. He was going to ask for somewhere to say, yes, but how does he explain why? How does he explain all of this? How can he possibly cover up what just happened?
“Newt?”
And, in lieu of knowing what to do, Newt just bursts into tears.
“Oh, shit. Um… Newt?” Newt can hear Teresa’s shock in her voice. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m coming. You just need to tell me where you are. Are you at home?”
“No!” he yells, before he can stop himself. Then again, more controlled. “No. No, I’m not. I’m at… at the park near my house. Under the big tree.”
“Okay. Okay, I’m coming. Are you alone?”
“Yeah.”
“And are you hurt?”
“Not really.”
“Not really? So, yes?”
She’s such a mom.
“A little.”
“Newt, do I need to call an ambulance?”
Newt sighs. “No. Calm down. I’m okay.”
There’s a pause on the other end. “You always say that when you want it to be true.”
Newt doesn’t reply to that.
Ten minutes later, Teresa’s car pulls up at the edge of the park. She’s still on the phone to him, making him answer short (and stupid) questions, as she jumps out, turns her flashlight on and jogs over to the tree where Newt’s sitting.
“Newt,” she says, finally hanging up the phone as she walks around the tree.
Newt hopes the call didn’t cost her too much. He makes a mental note to ask her later. “Hey,” he says as she reaches him.
Teresa doesn’t say anything as her light reaches him. She crouches down, staring at his face.
Newt looks away.
“Who did this to you?” she asks in a whisper.
Newt just shakes his head.
At that moment they hear another car pull up and someone running over. Newt’s heart starts pounding and he shrinks in on himself, dreading who it could be. Teresa, oblivious to Newt’s fear, peers around the tree to check.
She waves at the newcomer. “It’s Gally.”
"How did he-"
"He saw your message.”
Newt looks down at his phone and opens the messenger app. Sure enough, there are more replies.
Gally from the Valley to Octopus Legs: do u need help (sent 03:33am)
Mother Teresa (but not a nun) to Octopus Legs: on the phone. will text you. (sent 03:39am)
Gally from the Valley to Octopus Legs: thx (sent 03:40am)
Newt looks up at Teresa, who’s staring at his ankle now.
“It’s fine,” he says, before she can say anything.
“It’s not fine,” she counters. “It’s bigger than Gally’s giant birthday balloon.” She crouches down to look at it.
“Okay, now that is true. The balloon deflated years ago.”
“You’re in denial.”
“I’m telling the truth. It's fine.”
“Is he here?” Gally asks, rounding the corner. He stops when he sees Newt. “Jeez, man, you look like half a cabbage patch kid. What happened to your cheek?”
“I’m fine.”
“Gally, look,” Teresa points out Newt’s ankle. “Tell me that’s not ‘ fine’ .”
“Holy shit!” Gally is anything but quiet. “Your leg’s more inflated than my giant birthday balloon!”
He crouches beside Teresa. Newt looks away from them both, crossing his arms and heaving a deep sigh as Teresa sends him a pointed look.
“You’re getting that checked out,” she says.
“It’s fine,” he repeats, still not looking.
“Does this hurt?” Gally asks, pressing right into the swelling.
It's as if Gally's struck him with a hammer. Newt pulls away and tucks his leg up to his chest, covering his mouth to muffle the cry that escapes his lips.
He sucks a breath in and as he lets it out, he shouts. “Fuck!” Newt yells, the colour draining from his face. “Don’t… do that."
“I think that’s a yes,” Gally turns to Teresa.
She carefully pries Newt's leg from his grasp, placing it back on the pitifully small rock, eyeballing him the whole time. He’s eyeballing her back, as if she might try Gally’s little ‘does this hurt?’ manoeuvre again.
“Like I said,” Teresa repeats. “You’re getting it checked out.”
Newt shakes his head to himself, breathing deeply. “Whatever," he says, once he's calm enough to speak. "Let’s just get to yours. I need sleep.”
Teresa frowns at him. “No, Newt, we’re getting it checked out now,” she urges. “Come on, let’s go.”
But as she reaches out to help him up, Newt slaps her hand away.
"No!" he shouts. "Stop that! We're not going anywhere but your place, so I can sleep for a century, wake up and head back home. Everything will be fine, Teresa!"
His outburst shocks Teresa, so she sits back on her heels, struggling to find the words she wants to say.
So instead, Gally speaks.
"Newt, man. You're in shock. Look at your hands."
Following his confusing advice, Newt looks down at his hands, which are tremoring enormously.
"I'm just angry," he lies.
"Newt…"
"No! Stop trying to convince me! This is the decision I'm making and if you don't agree with me you can bugger off right now!" He glares at the two of them, feeling lightheaded from all the shouting he's endured tonight. All he needs to do is convince them to let him sleep at Teresa's house tonight. After that, everything will go back to the way it was.
But when Teresa leans back in and cups his cheek with her hand, he doesn't push her away.
"Newt, you need help and this time you need to accept it. Let us do that for you. We're your friends. We love you and this is too much for you. Please, just let us help you."
Newt stares down at his lap, not wanting her to see how conflicting that is to hear. He feels the warmth of tears trickling down his cheeks and wipes them away quickly, hoping nobody noticed. To be liked and tolerated is one thing, but to be loved? To be cared for? That’s something else entirely, especially in the face of hate.
But he can’t.
He shakes his head. “Nobody can know,” he mutters, fiddling with his hands.
Teresa sighs. “Someone hurt you, Newt. You don’t deserve that. It shouldn’t have happened but it did. Staying away from them is one thing but you need to make sure this person doesn’t hurt anyone else.”
Something inside Newt seems to switch with that thought. The possibility of others being hurt hadn’t even occurred to him; it had all seemed so targeted towards himself. Come to think of it, there are others that could be hurt. Others he cares about.
With the reality of that setting in, it’s as though his ability to resist is gone. His energy has been sapped. He wants to give in. It’s either that the pain in his ankle finally starting to reach him or the fact that he knows, deep down, that Teresa is right.
Before he can think it through any longer, Newt nods, still staring into his lap.
“Thank you.” Teresa squeezes his hand.
Gally’s at Newt’s side now. “Ready?” he asks.
Again, Newt nods.
He’s expecting to be helped to his feet, so when Newt is scooped up into Gally’s arms, it takes him by surprise. Gally adjusts his grip a little and Newt winces with the movement.
“Sorry, man.”
“S’fine. Just never been swept off my feet before.”
It’s then that Newt realises he no longer cares if they pity him, or if they worry, or they judge him. He just wants this night to be over in the fastest way possible and the best way to do that is by trusting them.
So, they make it to Teresa’s car and Gally sits Newt across the back seat before climbing in and propping his bad leg up on his lap.
On the way to the hospital, Newt answers one of his own questions about adrenaline: it hadn’t worn off then, because it’s definitely wearing off now and he feels every bump in the road as if they’re driving through a skate park.
He groans for the nineteenth time as they pull into the hospital carpark and Teresa stops the car. Gally runs off to find a wheelchair as Teresa rummages through Newt’s bag for something she mentions but Newt doesn’t hear.
A minute later, he’s loaded into the chair, wheeled through the front doors and met the woman at the reception. After that, the night becomes a blur of examinations, questions, x-rays, needles, plaster, beds, and drugs.
Through it all, Newt has Gally and Teresa by his side and, to his own surprise, he’s grateful for that. Teresa was right; he needed them, more than he knew. Having them there feels right, which is why he doesn’t question any part of it until 7:24am, when he’s settled in his new room, leg in a cast, staring up at the ceiling, feeling the full effect of whatever drugs he’s been given.
He groans and Gally’s face appears next to him.
“Does it hurt? I can go get a nurse?”
Newt snickers to himself. “God, no.” He’s pretty sure he’s floating above the bed. “No. It’s not that. I’m fine.”
He’s interrupted with a sharp warning glare from Teresa.
“Well, not fine, but I’m okay."
At some point in the blur of the night, Newt had asked Teresa or Gally -- he can't remember who -- to message the group chat with an update. He wants them to know what's going on, so that nobody has a chance to find out in some weird, unrelated way.
But only now does he think about what the others knowing will mean for him.
He sighs. "I just realised the others are going to have to find out about this when they wake up. How the hell do I face them? How do I face Tommy?!”
Teresa and Gally share a look that makes Newt feel very, very uneasy.
“Well, actually-”
Teresa’s interrupted by a knock at the door and the appearance of a nurse who definitely has a name, but Newt can’t remember it. “Hi, Newt. You have visitors. Do you want me to let them in?”
Newt looks over to Teresa.
“I assume they’re about our age?” she asks.
The nurse nods. “Five of them. A girl and four boys.”
Newt lets his head fall back on the pillow before lifting it again. “They have permission to enter the premises,” he says, in the poshest accent he can manage.
“Then I shall send them in right away, sire,” the nurse with the forgotten name tells him, continuing the facade with a matching accent, surprising Newt. She winks before leaving.
Newt waves her out royally and lets his hand fall back to the bed.
Gally snorts. “How high are you?”
Newt just closes his eyes and smiles. “The top level. Gold star high.”
“Jesus,” Teresa mutters, just as the door creaks open to reveal five anxious faces.
“Newt.” Brenda walks in first. “You look like shit.”
Newt huffs out a laugh. “You say that every morning.”
“You look like shit every morning. You haven’t even done your hair today.”
As if to prove her point, Ben walks over and ruffles Newt’s hair. “How're you feeling?” he asks.
Newt had still been playfully glaring at Brenda and rolls his head towards Ben, with a shrug and smile. “Like a pharmacy. So many drugs are in me.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Teresa place her head in her hands.
Somehow, Frypan’s already snuck into the room and is standing beside Gally. He hands Newt a basket. “Nothing’s open at this time in the morning, so we brought you snacks from our houses.”
Sure enough, when Newt peers into the basket he sees oreos, Doritos, a pack of granola bars, a barbie, two apples and a six-pack of juice boxes.
He smiles. “Thank you, guys. That’s… it’s perfect. Although you could have at least put some clothes on the barbie.”
“What’s up with her hair?” Teresa asks, following Newt’s gaze.
“She was in a rush to get here on time. She only had time to cut half her hair before she left and definitely didn’t have time for any clothes,” Brenda retorts. “Be grateful.”
Newt laughs.
“We’ll get you better shit later. This is just so we don’t look rude.” Brenda grins.
Minho’s just walked in and is quiet, his eyes not leaving Newt’s bed. The mood of the room changes abruptly as Newt immediately recognises Minho’s silence as a bad sign.
“I live one block away and you didn’t call me?” He finally says.
Newt gulps. “I didn’t want to wake anyone.”
“You didn’t want to wake anyone?! What were you planning to do?! Freeze in the park?!”
“Minho.” Frypan warns. “Not now. Yell at him later.”
Minho responds by folding his arms and leaning against the wall at the foot of Newt’s bed. “Whatever. He huffs, then gathers himself before speaking genuinely. “I’m sorry, Newt. I’m…I’m glad you’re alive.”
And Newt is alive. He knows this because his heart is pounding so hard and so quickly that it’s impossible to ignore. Minho’s right; he only lives a block away. Newt could have called him.
The reality is, Newt could have done a lot of things. He could have made things a lot easier for himself, right from the beginning. He could have said goodbye to Tommy in the car instead of the driveway. He could have left his hand empty.
But, looking at Thomas now, as he stands in the doorway, red-eyed and puffy-faced, Newt knows that was never an option.
“So you jumped out a window to get away?” Thomas asks, looking at the ground.
When Newt told Teresa and Gally to tell the others everything he hadn’t exactly thought through what everything involved. Hearing Thomas speak about it so candidly comes as a shock to Newt and he waits for Thomas to continue.
“You broke your ankle jumping out a fucking window because of-”
Thomas cuts himself off, not willing to finish his sentence. It doesn’t matter; they all know the gist of what he was going to say.
The thing about Thomas is that he cares. He wants to help people, to save them, to make them feel better. He would sacrifice every piece of himself for the good of his friends and when he can’t do that, he feels something akin to heartbreak.
“Tommy…” Newt takes a shaky breath, unsure of what to say to help Thomas right now.
Thomas has his arms folding tightly across his chest as if to hold himself together and is looking anywhere but at Newt-- the floor, the ceiling, the walls, behind him. Finally, he closes his eyes, the dam breaks all at once and Thomas bursts into tears.
“Shit,” Newt mutters.
“I’m sorry, Newt,” Thomas sobs. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I never should’ve let that… you could’ve come to my…I let you down. I really let you down. I’m so sorry.”
At some point in the last few seconds, Newt’s jaw has dropped, so he quickly closes it before holding his arms out.
“Tommy, come here. Come here.”
Hesitantly, Thomas steps forward until he’s within an arm’s length of Newt, who grabs him by the shirt and pulls him in for a tight hug.
“That’s not true,” he says, rubbing Thomas’ back. “It’s not true and I don’t want you to believe it for a second longer. I held your hand and kissed you because you are my boyfriend and I love you. I don’t regret that. I don’t want to take it back. What it led to… well, they would’ve found out eventually. At least now I really know where we stand. I know who cares about me and it’s not the family I was born into.”
“That’s right,” Frypan agrees. “You’ve got us. We’re your family. I mean, we’ve already got Mother Teresa here. We care about you, man.”
“You’re safe with us,” Gally reminds him.
Newt keeps Thomas in his arms and is quietly rubbing his back, calming himself as much as Thomas, nodding to himself as his friends speak, holding back tears for Thomas’ sake.
“Thank you,” he mutters. “I don’t know if I heard all of what you just said… or what I said… I hope I said what I meant to say. Whatever medication this is, it’s good .”
“Cocaine?” Minho suggests.
Newt laughs. “Maybe. All I know is that Thomas feels like a cloud or a giant marshmallow right now.”
“Don’t eat me,” comes a muffled voice from Newt’s chest.
The others laugh and fall into conversation about gifts to bring Newt. Thomas pulls back and sits up on the bed beside Newt. He squeezes his hand but Newt’s too distracted by his own thoughts to pay a huge amount of attention. Somewhat delayed, Gally’s words are settling in Newt’s mind.
You’re safe with us.
He feels it. It’s weird, after such a terrible night, to feel so at ease. He thinks about that song Brenda always plays on long roadtrips home from the coast. There’s a lyric that stands out now.
Home is wherever I’m with you.
Newt feels at home. That’s what this is. And it’s not this place -- that’s for sure; it’s the people. It’s Teresa, Brenda, Ben, Frypan, Gally, Minho and Thomas. They’re his family and they’re his home. They’re the only people he’s ever felt he can truly be himself around.
By some weird turn of events, Newt feels as though he’s stumbled upon some fortune.
Sitting in a hospital bed, spaced out on painkillers after the worst night of his life, with no idea of what the future holds, Newt has never felt so loved.
When he’s discharged from hospital, wobbly on his crutches and with a prescription tucked into the front pocket of his backpack, Newt doesn’t leave with Teresa. Instead, he’s going to stay with Frypan.
Frypan’s older brother has just moved out, so there’s a whole spare room for Newt to stay in. Not to mention, when his mom heard about ‘the situation’ she ran to the kitchen and started baking.
“She likes to take care of people,” Frypan explains on the drive home, looking into the rearview mirror to meet Newt’s eyes in the back seat. “She should’ve been a nurse.”
Newt knows this already after so many sleepovers at Frypan’s house. The place always smelled of fresh baking and his mom insisted on providing freshly-washed bedding for every kid staying the night, even when it was all eight of them. Newt had never felt anything but welcome at Frypan’s house.
There was another minor detail that helped to convince Newt to stay there. Frypan lived on the opposite side of town to Brenda, Newt and Minho.
And, coincidentally, on the same road as one Mr Thomas Murphy.
“Are you sure it’s okay?” Thomas asks Frypan, for the twentieth time, as Frypan drops him off at his house.
“Yes, Thomas! My mom will literally be disappointed if you don’t show up for dinner tonight. Please come over!”
“But are you sure?” Twenty-one . “Newt’s already going to be there and he’ll be settling in and you’ll all be adjusting and I don’t want to over-”
“Tommy!” Newt pipes up from the back seat. “Quit your worrying and turn up for this bloody dinner or I’ll have to say you stood me up for a date on the same day I broke my leg.”
That seems to work.
“Five-thirty, did you say?”
“You can come earlier if you want…”
“I’ll be there at five.”
Months later, Newt’s staring at the tree in the park again. It’s changed a lot, lost its leaves and greyed in colour. To many, it might look sad or cold, but Newt’s seen it on worse days and, to watch it change as time goes on, that brings him more comfort than he expects.
It’s little more than a glimpse, really, as they drive past it. Fry’s car, as usual, with Minho in the front and Thomas and Newt in the back as they head to Minho’s place after school. Newt doesn’t dare look down his old road, for fear of remembering too much, so his attention is on the tree and only the tree.
“Newt?”
“Newt, you in there?”
“Earth to Newt, do you copy?”
He snaps his head back to Thomas, who’s waving his hand in front of Newt’s face. “Oh,” he says. “Yeah?”
“You alright? We kinda lost you there.”
Newt thinks about it. He’s safe. He’s happy. Things are getting better every day. So, yes, he decides. He is alright.
“I’m okay,” he smiles. “Just enjoying the drive.”
“Were you pretending you were in a music video?” Minho asks from the front seat. “I do that all the time.”
“Oh yeah, especially when it’s raining,” Thomas agrees. “You play some Kelly Clarkson song and stare out the window like you just lost the best thing you ever had.”
“Gold.”
Thomas turns back to Newt, laughing. “Okay, Mr Music Video. What kind of pizza do you want?”
Newt leans his head back against the headrest. “Hawaiian.”
“Uh, no you don’t.” Minho’s objection comes sharply.
“What?”
“Nobody’s getting fucking pineapple on their pizzas. That’s disgusting.”
“Here we go again,” sighs Frypan, and Newt knows from his tone that he’s rolling his eyes.
“Pineapple is a fruit. It doesn’t belong on pizza.”
“Minho, this-”
“Would you have a strawberry pizza? Or an apple pizza?”
“Minho, I don’t-”
“Would you eat a watermelon pizza, Newt? Would you?”
“You know tomato’s a fruit, right?” Thomas jumps to Newt’s rescue. “And apricot. And cranberry. They go on pizza too.”
“Don’t tell me you like pineapple on pizza too, Thomas.”
Thomas laughs and glances over at Newt. “No, I hate it,” he chuckles. “But I love Newt.”
“Gross. Let me out of the car.”
“We’re here!” Frypan announces, as they pull into the driveway.
Thomas takes Newt’s hand and leans over to peck him on the cheek before reaching over Newt’s lap and opening his door for him. “I actually love pineapple on pizza,” he says, holding the door so it doesn’t swing back. “I just wanted the chance to say I love you and shut him up.”
Those butterflies in Newt’s stomach always seem to come back when Thomas is around. He’d wondered if that would change over time but, so far, they seem to like Thomas’ presence just as much as Newt does.
Newt huffs out a laugh and, since Thomas’ face is right there in front of him, his smile so warm and inviting, Newt returns the kiss, this time on the lips. “I love you too,” he says and he loves how simple that is.
His life isn’t perfect -- it’s far from it -- but there’s a lot of good settled amongst the bad, stabilising him, grounding him when things get rough. That night, months earlier, Newt’s life had changed. He could see everything much clearer. He had seen his life for what it was and he’d run away to change it.
Though a little disjointed, it feels like progress. It feels right. Newt feels like he’s restoring himself, piece by piece.
And maybe he is. Maybe he’s slowly giving himself what he deserves. A work in progress, restoring his life to the way it should be.