Chapter Text
It’s when his third year starts that Thomas realizes that up till now, his university life was a disaster. Or non-existent, to be precise.
It hits him straight in the face, slaps him hard, actually, makes him stop in his tracks in the empty hallway, even though he’s already late.
The first year is a blur – Thomas is not sure how he even managed to live through it. The first semester was pretty much him walking around as if he were hypnotized or blindfolded – sleepwalking, really - trying to figure out how university works, trying to find his way in the new city, trying to make new friends. The second year was easier, though not much better – he has made some friends, got to know the city and uni rules, but the load of work and studying he had to do was unbelievable, robbing him off of any social life he could possibly have.
And that was it – pathetic, Thomas thinks with dread, plopping down on the nearest bench. He hasn’t been to any of those infamous parties with pot and barrels of beers, alcohol in red plastic cups, loud music and crowds and crowds of people, he hadn’t had one-night stands, he didn’t kiss with strangers, he didn’t have to run from police. He didn’t live off of caffeine, he didn’t pull all-nighters (those because of not studying at all, not those when he got paranoid he wouldn’t pass even though he had been studying for a month prior), he didn’t go clubbing. He didn’t do anything a typical, cliché uni student was destined to do (except for having a roommate whom he didn’t like, but they sorted it out after the first half of the first semester). And even if those weren’t exactly ambitious goals, even if Thomas is not a partying or drinking type, he muses he would like to try it. Once, at least, before he gets his Bachelor’s degree.
“I’m boring,” he mutters under his nose with resignation, gathers his things and makes his way back to his dorm, the lecture he was supposed to attend long forgotten.
*
“And how exactly are you gonna do this, Thomas?” Gally doesn’t even lift his head up when Thomas bursts into their room and tells him everything, words shooting out of his mouth so fast that he stutters a few times, and by the time he’s finished he’s out of breath.
Gally doesn’t seem fazed, though.
“I’m gonna be a party animal from now on, that’s how I’m gonna do it,” Thomas replies definitely, mind set. A checklist has already appeared in his head and he’s going to cross every single thing he wants to try doing out of it before the year ends. There’s no going back – he will live to the fullest and he will do however he pleases. He will rock the whole campus.
“Thomas,” there’s a moment of tense silence before Gally exhales deeply, sets The Most Sublime Hysteric he’s been reading aside and shifts on his bed so he can face Thomas on the other side of the room. “You don’t go to parties. You don’t smoke, you don’t drink much. You don’t know people who would invite you to parties. That won’t be easy, man.”
Thomas would be stupid if he didn’t think about it beforehand. But he’s not and so he did, and the counter-argument is on the tip of his tongue before Gally even finishes speaking.
“But I know you,” he says, pointing a finger threateningly at his friend. “And you attend the same classes Brenda does, that should be enough, no?”
They’re silent for a few minutes, during which Thomas imagines the tribes in Gally’s brain going on overdrive (to the point he’s quite surprised there’s no steam coming out of his roommate’s ears), when the man finally speaks, voice visibly strained.
“Thomas. I’m not going to make Brenda invite you to her parties. You barely know each other. I barely speak to her myself, damn it.”
“Why not?” Thomas throws his hands in the air abruptly. He knew convincing Gally wouldn’t be easy, but it was his best shot. And, Thomas’s well aware of the fact that even Gally – or, especially Gally – can’t resist his bambi eyes if Thomas is persistent enough (that’s how they stopped fighting in the first place after they had been assigned as roommates; Gally was a tough guy who was getting incredibly annoyed with everything Thomas did, until Thomas got fed up with the silent, cold treatment with occasional huge arguments, so he confronted him, saying he wanted to be friends, pulling his best puppy-eyed look at the bigger man – he was so stubborn Gally eventually gave in and soon enough they’ve become best friends. And Thomas hasn’t given up on the efficient technique since.). “Gally. Gallyyyy, come on. We could go together, that wouldn’t look so weird. Please?”
There’s an internal battle going on inside of Gally before he shakes his head, slaps his forehead in resignation, then sighs – twice – and finally replies, “God, Jesus Christ, fine. I’ll see what I can do, good that?”
“You’re the best,” Thomas smiles, trying not to look too sly, for his own good. “Thanks, man. ‘S gonna be awesome, I’m telling you.”
“Slim it before I change my mind,” Gally mumbles with no actual menace tinting his tone and picks up the book, ready to go back to his reading, apparently done with Thomas’ bullshit. “But, Thomas?”
“Yeah?” Thomas hums, content, lying down and burying himself under the duvet, weirdly exhausted from all the excessive thinking and planning.
“What about your biochem project? You said it’s due in two weeks, and I’m pretty sure it doesn’t go along with wild partying.”
“Oh,” Thomas manages to squeak only, all of his plans crumbling down. Shit. “I’ll wait till I am finished with it, then.”
*
Thomas has never considered himself to be a particularly lucky person, nor the other way around; he hadn’t given it much thought, not really - but what happens two weeks later is so weird, bordering on lucky and unlucky, that he starts wondering if he should actually learn some more about fate, or karma, or whatever it’s called.
His plans concerning reviving his social life are postponed until he is finished with his assignment (which Gally graciously doesn’t stop mocking him about) so his routine doesn’t really change – Thomas attends he classes, reads, visits library, studies, and reads even more. But there’s this nudge, this pull at the back of his mind that makes the anticipation coil in the pit of his stomach. Because as soon as Thomas gets a grade – an A, let’s be real, that’s what he’s always aimed for – he’s going to work on himself and nothing is going to stop him. For once, he’s going to do something for himself and push the studying and the need to be good at all of his subjects aside.
And so it pretty much feels like Christmas when Thomas finally gets an A on both his presentation and his essay, and with no future projects in sight he can finally start fulfilling his mental wishlist.
Or so he thinks.
The man bolts out of the classroom, bag clutched to his chest, ecstatic and impatient to drop the books off at the library so he can meet up with Gally and do – something. Go clubbing or crash at a random party or do whatever Thomas has always wanted to do. It doesn’t matter, there is nothing to stop him now.
“You were supposed to bring those books a week ago,” the librarian says when Thomas enters the library building and leans restlessly over his desk, eager to get rid of the books.
“Yes, yes, sorry. I had an assignment, I needed them,” a fake smile makes its way on his face as Thomas tries to look apologetic because of course the grumpy librarian would be here when he’s in a rush.
“That’s what phone calls are for,” the man remarks slowly, as if Thomas were a five years old – and stupid at that – child. “You ring and we extend the loan period of the books you borrowed.”
The urge to roll his eyes is so strong that it almost physically pains Thomas not to do so. “Yes sir, I’ll remember that,” he manages to say through gritted teeth. “So do I pay a fee?”
“Two dollars,” the man says with a frown. “And you’re gonna have to put them back on their shelves. There are people waiting for them.”
Thomas doesn’t say a word when he pushes the money towards the librarian and turns on his heel to get rid of the books as soon as possible, but smirks to himself when he hears the man mutter, “And don’t call me sir, bloody hell, we’re probably the same age.”
Thomas has always liked the library – spacious and quiet, with high shelves and green lamps and the overwhelming smell of old paper which he loves. But today it seems too big and too quiet, an obstacle, and he seriously just wants to get out and join Gally and get wild.
Which might not be the best idea in the world, Thomas ponders, startled, as soon as he reaches the right row of the shelves only to see a smokin’ hot guy standing there.
Which is a stupid idea, he’s certain, when the guy looks up and says, “Oh, ya’ve got Fundamentals of Forensic DNA Typing. Been waiting for that.”
Thomas can only halt in his way over to the right shelf and stare dumbly as the man approaches him, pushing the glasses higher up on his nose, extending his muscled arms for one of the books Thomas’ holding. His eyebrows are thick and his black hair is perfectly styled; his eyes squint as he smiles when Thomas finally hands him the book.
“Thanks.”
“Yeah, sure. Um. I mean, sorry,” Thomas stutters, feeling sheepish all of the sudden. The Asian guy is still smiling, looking all smart and classy in is button down and thick-rimmed glasses, and he might possibly be the hottest person Thomas has encountered meeting in a looong time.
“So you’re the one keeping the book all to himself, hm?” the guy inquires, his gaze flicking to the damn thing menacingly, though he looks cheery nonetheless, his eyes drilling into Thomas’ right after (making him break into cold sweats in the process, damn him). “The one Newt told me about?”
“Newt?” Thomas sounds so weak he wants to slap himself in the face. As if him standing there, gaping like a lovestruck cow weren’t enough.
The other man doesn’t seem to notice – or care, which is probably the case here – and points with his thumb in the general direction of the reception desk.
“The lil’ grumpy British man over there.”
“Oh. Ugh. Yes, that would be me,” and if that’s not an unhealthy flush gracing his cheeks may Thomas burn in hell, because he has never felt this - crestfallen, the word invades Thomas’ mind (and doesn’t help at all), thanks to someone’s looks only.
“Well, ya seem like a smart shank to me, so ‘m gonna forgive ya this once, okay?” the guy doesn’t waste his time and actually fucking winks at Thomas, and if Thomas weren’t so shocked that this someone might actually be hitting on him, he would faint dramatically and make an even bigger fool out of himself. “Name’s Minho, by the way.”
The fact that Thomas is able to form a coherent word, even if it’s only his name, is a miracle in itself, so he tries not to worry too much that his mouth stays open after he introduces himself.
He’s not sure how it happens, but Minho helps him put all of the books back to their places, all the time chatting happily, not bothered by the fact that Thomas’ only contribution to the conversation are troglodyte noises as his future plans about going crazy and crossing all borders are going down with every sentence the intelligent, impossibly good-looking guy directs at him.
“So I’ll see you on Monday?” Minho says when they’re leaving (Newt The Librarian observing them carefully all the time), as if it’s the most natural and normal thing to say to a stranger one has met at a library. Thomas just wants to scream, though he doesn’t know if out of joy or terror.
“Sure thing,” he replies, eloquent as ever, trying to level is voice so he doesn’t sound too excited or too terrified.
Minho smiles as a means of goodbye and they part ways.
Thomas is so dazed he gets on the wrong bus.