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When Thomas wakes up, he’s disoriented. Light is streaming into the apartment, hitting his face and making him wonder why he was sleeping on the couch. His neck hurts from the odd angle at which he lay all night. As he kicks out his legs, his feet hit something hard. Something hard that yelps.
“Watch it, slinthead,” Minho groans.
It takes a moment of Thomas staring at his boyfriend for things to line up. Minho came over last night to watch a movie. Thomas looks at the TV, sees the movie has long since ended, but neither was awake long enough to turn it off.
“What are you still doing here?” he asks anyway.
Minho rubs his eyes, then takes his time stretching out his arms and legs. He’s gonna be sore for days, he feels. “Fell asleep watching that dumb movie, obviously.” He side-eyes Thomas. “You didn’t wake me up either.”
“Stupid movie,” Thomas mutters.
Before he can say anything else, Minho’s phone lights up on the table. He grabs it, eyes widening.
“Twenty,” is all he says.
Thomas frowns. “Twenty what?”
“Messages,” Minho says. “And four missed calls. All Newt.”
At that, Thomas laughs. “Better call your roommate back then,” he says.
Minho runs a hand through his hair. “He’s gonna be so pissed.” But he dials the number anyway.
Two rings are all it takes, and the moment Newt picks up Minho starts to regret every decision he’s ever made that led up to this specific point in his life. If Minho thought his friend was gonna be pissed, he was mistaken. Newt is livid.
“So now we’re just staying out all night, without so much as a text?! And then you can’t even be assed to pick up your bloody phone!”
“Newt I-”
“I was worried, alright? Where have you been? You still at Tommy’s? ‘Cause I tried calling him too.”
Thomas, who can hear every shouted word, looks around for his phone, finds it on the kitchen table. He gets up to check, and sees he’s in fact missed a couple of calls. There’s also a very angry text message. All caps and exclamation points. He bites his lip to keep from laughing, especially listening in on Minho some more.
“If you’re gonna spend the night with your boyfriend, at least let me know!”
“I’m sorry, Newt, we fell asleep and I-”
“I’m sure you did.”
“I wasn’t planning on sleeping over.”
“I’m sure you weren’t.”
Thomas doesn’t have to see Minho’s face to know the shade of red it takes on. He has the same reaction.
With a nervous laugh, Minho tries to clear things out still. “No, dude, I didn’t- We didn’t-”
“Oh spare me the details, Minho.”
And Newt hangs up. Minho throws his phone onto the empty space on the sofa, and buries his face in his hands. He doesn’t look up when Thomas sits down next to him.
“So,” Thomas says, hearing the grin in his own voice.
“Don’t, Thomas.”
The boy puts an arm over Minho’s shoulders, pulling him into his side. Minho relents easily, yet continues to hide his face in Thomas’s shirt. Seconds later, he’s chuckling and Thomas joins in.
“I can’t believe this.”
“You know, Minho, if you were gonna spend the night, we could’ve made it a lot more interesting, you know that?”
“Stop it,” Minho groans. He’s not even sure why he’s embarrassed; there’s nothing weird about sleeping over at his boyfriend’s place. Only he doesn’t want Newt to get the wrong idea. Yet.
Eventually, he raises his head to look at Thomas. Brows furrowed, he asks, “How much more interesting are we talking?”
With a slight smirk, Thomas rests his hand in Minho’s neck, pulling him in for a tender kiss. Minho kisses him back, cupping Thomas’s cheek to make sure he isn’t going anywhere. They’re grinning between kisses and quickly forget about their animated morning.
Yet they’re oh so rudely interrupted when Minho’s cellphone goes off once again. It’s another text message from Newt.
Now get your ass back home!! I have class and I’m not taking the bloody bus!
Thomas reads it over Minho’s shoulder and lets out a sigh. “Too bad. Next time you spend the night I promise to make you some breakfast.”
Minho turns to his boyfriend, pecking him once on the lips before getting up. “Remember I might take you up on that.”
“Can’t wait!” Thomas shouts as Minho’s already running around, gathering his things.
Before he leaves, Minho leans over the back of the couch, slinging his arms around Thomas’s neck.
“I really will, you know?” he whispers.
Thomas feels his cheeks heat up, casts down his eyes and pushes Minho’s face away. “Yeah, I know,” he mumbles, unable to stop himself from grinning anyway. “Now get going.”