Chapter Text
It all started one momentous evening. Thomas' brain was fuzzy and it was getting hard to think straight. He couldn't tell what it was from, maybe the red wine he'd had, the couple shots of vodka, or the champagne he was currently sipping on.
His head was spinning but then it focused on Prince Newt.
It was Prince Ben's wedding and was marrying a French Princess. Thomas was reluctant to go, very reluctant, but he didn't have a choice being the FSOTUS. At least he had his siblings, Teresa and Chuck, and his best friend, Brenda.
Except he didn't because they were all off dancing with royalty or other guests. Teresa had been dancing with the insufferable Prince Newt, what kind of name was that anyway?, but she must've left him as he was now standing by the $75 000 cake, alone.
Who the hell spends that kind of money on a cake?
Before Thomas really knew what he was doing, he'd already stood up and was stumbling over to the Prince.
Prince Newt had always been someone Thomas admired. He was handsome and cool. Thomas had even stolen Teresa's magazine that had a poster that you could pull out of Newt. He'd considered taking the poster out just so he wouldn't have to keep stealing the whole thing to look at Newt. He never did though, he didn't have long enough nails to undo the staples and pull it out neatly. He didn't have long nails like a girls nails, like Teresa.
When Thomas found out he was going to be able to meet Newt at an election event for his mum he was so excited. However, 17 year old Newt looked at 15 year old Thomas like he was a piece of gum stuck to his shoe. That was how Thomas found out that Prince Newt was not a gorgeous, ethereal, fairy tale Prince. No, he was boring, rude, and so far up his own ass he didn't care there were people more important than him.
"Hello Thomas," Newt said with his stupid posh accent. He was looking incredibly handsome, all tousled sandy hair and high cheekbones and a soft, friendly mouth. He held himself with innately impeccable posture, as if he emerged fully formed and upright out of some beautiful Buckingham Palace posy garden one day. His eyes lock on Thomas’, and something like annoyance or adrenaline spikes in his chest.
"Hey Newt, you know its your brothers wedding right? You might want to look at least a little interested," Thomas said rolling his eyes.
"What?" Newt asked, he had the audacity to sound completely confused.
"What?" Thomas mimicked in a high pitched voice with a horrible attempt at a British accent. He took a large mouthful of champagne.
"Oh my god, are you drunk?" Newt laughed.
Thomas sighed and rolled his eyes.
"Do you ever get tired of looking down on people all the time?"
Newt took a step towards Thomas.
"I think, with you, it's rather inevitable," he said with his chin up and posture impeccable.
"Don't you get tired of acting like you're above all of this?" Thomas asked also stepping towards Newt.
"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Thomas." Newt said.
God he's so stuck up! Thomas thought as he stared into Newts dark, dark brown eyes. They were a gorgeous colour and suited Newt perfectly but they held no emotion that Thomas could decipher, leaving him to conclude that Newts emotion was bored, uninterested. It pissed him off so much.
When neither of them spoke for multiple seconds, Newt turned around and began to strut away. Thomas, unfortunately, wasn't having that. He grabbed onto Newts shoulder to turn him back around. It all happened so quickly after that, it was hard for Thomas to process.
Newt, with a surprising amount of anger showing, shoved Thomas off him. Thomas was distracted by the fact that Newt actually could show emotions and lost his footing. He reached out and latched onto the prince's sleeve to try gain balance. That backfired completely. The two boys went tumbling down together, hitting the table behind them.
The room went hauntingly quiet, Thomas felt all eyes on them. He turned at the last minute to see the 9 layered, $75,000 nightmare of a cake to come crashing down with them. Shocked gasps were heard echoing across the room as Newt and Thomas now became covered in white icing.
"Jesus fucking christ," Newt whispered angrily beside Thomas, who noticed Newt now had a small cut across his right cheek bone. His first thought was that was the first time he'd ever heard Prince Newt cuss. As he was being manhandled and escorted out of the room, he had his second thought: Mom is going to absolutely murder me. Maybe with the paper shredder. God, please not the paper shredder.