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“Newt! Look!”
Newt let out a groan when Thomas yanked so hard on his arm it nearly felt like it came out of socket. Grimacing, he rubbed at it while scanning the street for whatever had apparently convinced Thomas that performing impromptu chiropractic work on Newt’s non-dominant arm was acceptable. (Which, to be fair, was generous of him. He could’ve grabbed the dominant one.)
“Bloody Christ, Tommy, isn’t it enough that my leg’s already buggered?” Newt muttered, trying to follow where Thomas was pointing.
All he saw was their usual café, The Homestead, which had recently decorated its brown front door with a rather pathetic-looking sprig of mistletoe.
Thomas ignored him entirely.
“The Homestead’s got a Christmas special! Look at the sign—they’re doing two frappes for the price of one for couples!”
Newt frowned.
Thomas looked like a kid on Christmas morning: painfully adorable with his red nose, beanie tugged low over his forehead, and messy tufts of brown hair sticking out from underneath. His wide brown eyes practically glowed with excitement. There had once been a time when the mere sight of Tommy was enough to make Newt stammer, lose his train of thought, and generally behave like a lovesick idiot.
Thank God for personal growth.
Now Newt could look at his best friend and act perfectly normal while being a lovesick idiot internally instead.
“And that was worth nearly dislocating my arm?” Newt asked, rubbing his gloved hands together against the cold. “Besides, you’re single. Unless you’ve found someone and forgotten to tell me.”
It was meant as a joke—he even smiled when he said it—but the words still stung on the way out. The idea of Thomas finding someone else sent cold snakes twisting through Newt’s stomach.
God. Falling in love with your best friend really was spectacularly inconvenient.
“Your arm’s fine,” Thomas said dismissively. “And it’s not exactly a problem. I’ve got you, don’t I?”
The cold in Newt’s fingertips spread through the rest of his body.
He often thought he possessed a sixth sense for impending disasters, and this was no exception.
“What d’you mean by that?” he asked cautiously, despite already knowing exactly what Thomas meant.
Thomas grinned.
“We pretend to be a couple and get free frappinos.”
Despite the beanie, scarf, and thick winter coat, Newt suddenly felt as though he’d been dropped naked into the middle of the Arctic.
“Absolutely not,” he said immediately, his voice tighter than he’d intended. “That’s a terrible idea, Tommy. What if they realize we’re lying?” What if I can’t survive pretending to be your boyfriend for five seconds when it’s not even real?
Thomas, meanwhile, looked entirely unconcerned. His eyes shone with the same stubborn determination he had had when Minho and Alby had locked themselves out of the apartment they’d shared at the time, and Thomas had decided to try and climb up to the open window in their kitchen and unlock the apartment from inside.
“Oh, come on! How’re they gonna prove it? Look at that line—they’re not gonna interrogate us.” He waved a hand dismissively. “And even if they do, we’ll just tell them some cheesy story. Like—we met when we were kids, became best friends, eventually realized it wasn’t entirely platonic anymore, bam, happy couple. Easy.”
And with that, Thomas proceeded to nearly yank Newt’s other arm out of socket as he dragged him toward the café entrance.
Newt tried very hard not to react to how terrifyingly accurate Thomas' made-up backstory actually was. At least on Newt’s side. Minus the happy-couple ending.
A bell chimed overhead as they stepped inside.
Warm air wrapped around them immediately, thick with the smell of cinnamon, fresh bread, coffee, and chai. The café buzzed with people in oversized puffer jackets and long scarves, snowflakes melting on their shoulders while they sipped steaming drinks or tore into giant cinnamon rolls.
As he and Thomas stood in line, Newt desperately tried to think of a convincing reason why they absolutely should not do this.
Unfortunately, it was pointless.
Thomas was probably right—the cashier wasn’t going to question them. And protesting too aggressively would only make it seem as though Newt found the idea of dating Thomas horrifying, when the truth was painfully, disastrously the opposite.
“Hey!” Thomas said brightly once they reached the counter. “We saw the two-for-one frappino deal. My boyfriend and I would love a chocolate frappino and a strawberry one, if that’s alright?”
Even though Newt had known the words were coming, they still nearly made him choke.
My boyfriend.
God, what if it were real?
“Of course,” said the cashier, a young blonde girl who didn’t even blink. She tapped a few things into the register, and Newt only realized Thomas had already paid after the card reader beeped.
Apparently he’d been so lost in his own pathetic in love with my best friend spiral that he hadn’t even offered.
“See?” Thomas said smugly as they stepped aside to wait for their drinks. “That went perfectly.”
Newt tried to look unimpressed.
He probably just looked constipated.
“We shouldn’t encourage consumerism and capitalism.”
Thomas snorted. “This café’s been here since Jorge was in diapers. This is literally supporting local businesses.”
“We’re opportunists.”
“We’re recognizing opportunities and taking advantage of them,” Thomas corrected.
“That is the definition of an oppurtunist.”
“Alright then, British Wikipedia,” Thomas said, nudging him with his shoulder. “I think our drinks are ready.”
A barista called out their order, and Thomas immediately went to grab the drinks before pressing one into Newt’s hands.
“Don’t get any ideas now,” Newt warned, trying very hard not to melt at the sight of Thomas frowning in concentration as he attempted to scoop whipped cream up with his straw. “This was a one-time thing.”
“Course it was,” Thomas promised solemnly, before giving up and attempting to lick the whipped cream through the small hole of the dome lid instead.
Newt took a long sip of his own drink, trying to ignore the cold unease spreading through his stomach.
“Christmas presents are nothing but the result of overconsumption, capitalism, and fast fashion,” Newt declared sourly.
He and Thomas had been wandering around the mall for nearly two hours, and the only thing Newt had managed to buy was a pair of earrings for Lizzy. They were nice earrings, to be fair, but he needed to get her something else too unless he wanted his sister to personally murder him for being rubbish at gifts.
Thomas, meanwhile, had naturally already found presents for his sister, Brenda, Minho, and Lizzy.
(Yes, Lizzy. Despite the fact she technically hadn’t even been part of their original friend group. That was just the sort of person Thomas was. Newt tried very hard not to have complicated feelings about it.)
Thomas had also somehow acquired:
- one free lollipop,
- a coupon for some spa,
- and a complimentary goodie bag containing assorted candy and a whistle.
It was like his giant curious eyes, warm smile, and permanently messy hair collectively screamed: Hello! I am a highly approachable customer who would love to sample your products!
Newt had foolishly assumed Thomas' shopping success meant they could finally go home. He was desperate to collapse beneath a blanket on the couch, put on a terrible Christmas movie, and drink hot chocolate in peace.
Unfortunately, fate hated him.
“Oh!”
For the second time that week, Thomas grabbed Newt by the arm hard enough to nearly send him stumbling sideways.
“At this rate I’m gonna have to ask for a massage or a chiropractor for Christmas,” Newt groaned, though he followed willingly enough.
There were very few places Newt wouldn’t follow Tommy.
“Look!” Thomas pointed excitedly toward a jewelry store window. “They’re doing fifty percent off the cheaper item if you buy at least two things from the couples section!”
Newt squinted through the glass. “They have a couples section?”
Thomas shrugged. “Maybe loads of people get engaged around Christmas. Or they buy apology presents for forcing their partner to survive dinner with their family.”
Newt snorted despite himself.
Naturally, Thomas took this as encouragement and immediately started dragging him toward the entrance.
“No—Thomas, we are not a couple! And who are you even buying for?”
Thomas ignored him entirely.
They were already inside before Newt could properly protest, and Thomas was enthusiastically flagging down a sales assistant.
“Hi! Sorry—my boyfriend and I wanted to have a look at that necklace and that bracelet over there.”
Newt didn’t even see what Thomas was pointing at. He was too busy internally combusting over being called Thomas' boyfriend for the second time in one week.
The sales assistant—an older man with kind wrinkles around his eyes—smiled warmly.
“Of course, young man. You’ve got excellent taste. The necklace is quite popular with men, though the bracelet might suit a lady better.”
“Oh, that’s alright,” Thomas said easily. “My boyfriend still hasn’t bought his sister a Christmas present. She usually thinks I give better gifts than he does anyway, and then Newt gets all sulky and starts asking whether I’m dating him or his sister.”
The words rolled off Thomas' tongue effortlessly, as though they were true.
And most of it was true, aside from the whole dating part. Thomas really was annoyingly good at buying gifts for Lizzy. Sometimes better than Newt himself.
Now Newt could only stand there stiffly while Thomas held up a delicate silver bracelet with a tiny heart-shaped charm dangling from it.
“Don’t you think Sonya’d love this?” Thomas asked. “It matches the earrings you bought earlier. You could give it to her as a set.”
And of course Thomas was more focused on helping Newt finish his shopping than doing his own.
Newt tried to keep his expression neutral.
“Yeah,” he admitted reluctantly. “You’re probably right. But the necklace, I dunno—”
“Oh, come off it. Look.”
Thomas picked up the necklace—a thin silver chain, simple but elegant—and before Newt could react, Thomas had already stepped closer and slipped it around his neck.
The metal was icy against Newt’s skin.
He froze completely while Thomas' fingers brushed against the back of his neck, carefully holding the clasp together without fastening it.
“It looks brilliant on you,” Thomas insisted eagerly.
Newt tried not to choke on his own tongue, painfully aware of Thomas' fingertips grazing the sensitive skin at the nape of his neck, the fine hairs there standing on end. Thomas stared at him with open delight, his gaze so intense Newt didn’t know where to look.
“Thomas, I don’t think—”
“We’ll take it.”
And just like that, Thomas stepped away again, removing the necklace from Newt’s neck.
Newt absolutely did not mourn the loss of contact.
Not at all.
“Thomas!” Newt hissed, hurrying after him as Thomas marched toward the register. Newt had longer legs, but Christ alive, that boy could walk fast when he wanted to. “Thomas, stop it—I don’t need—”
“Excuse my boyfriend,” Thomas said sweetly as he placed the bracelet and necklace on the counter. “Christmas shopping makes him grumpy.”
Newt was going to kill him.
The cashier only giggled, glancing between them with a knowing look while she scanned the jewelry and wrapped it neatly in tissue paper.
And once again, Thomas was absurdly fast with his card, paying before Newt even had time to process what was happening.
“I have to pay you back,” Newt protested immediately. “The present for Lizzy was supposed to be from me—”
“We’ll sort it out later, darling,” Thomas said sweetly.
Newt nearly died on the spot.
The cashier laughed again, presumably assuming Newt was merely weak in the knees over his boyfriend being affectionate rather than experiencing a full-scale existential crisis over his hopeless crush.
“You two are adorable,” she said as she handed Thomas the bag. “Merry Christmas!”
“Thanks!” Thomas replied brightly.
Newt made a strangled, deeply unconvincing sound beside him.
Outside the shop, Thomas made them stop again in order to clasp the necklace around Newt's neck again. Newt was worrying he was going to start hyperventialting at the feel of Thomas' long, strong fingers confidently moving around his throat, brushing against his sensitive skin. When Thomas stepped back and admired his handiwork, Newt struggled to paste on a smile.
"Your leg's acting up?" Thomas asked, sympathy in his voice, and Newt nodded, maybe a bit too eagerly.
"Yeah. Just my leg."
Newt had never liked the local Christmas markets, but Thomas, Teresa, and Brenda adored them. So Newt came along anyway, because even if he hated the crowds, the overpriced jams, and the smell of burnt sausages, he loved the way the Christmas lights reflected in Tommy’s eyes and the way his whole face lit up with childish delight whenever he spotted the enormous tree in the center of the square.
Today was milder than usual. Newt had left his beanie at home and settled for just a coat and a thin scarf. Thomas wandered beside him in his bomber jacket and hoodie, snowflakes melting into his hair while he excitedly pointed at every other stall they passed.
“Look, Newt, d’you think Frypan would like those spices? And those handmade birdhouses—Gally would absolutely hate them. Aw, shame Chuck’s not here. He would’ve loved those action figures.”
So yes, Newt hated Christmas markets.
But he loved Thomas.
And when you loved someone, you tolerated things like strangers elbowing you in the ribs every five seconds, your bad leg aching twice as much in the cold, and your phone sitting stubbornly at twelve percent battery.
Teresa and Brenda had wandered off together earlier—Teresa had muttered something about a makeup stand selling products half off—and now Newt and Thomas were making a slow loop around the outer edge of the market before drifting toward the crowded center.
Thomas sucked absentmindedly on a lollipop while Newt gnawed on an oversized gingerbread cookie and tried very hard not to stare at the way Thomas' lips wrapped obscenely around the candy. The soft sounds, the movement of his mouth, the thin sheen of saliva making his already-red lips glisten—
Christ, Newt was doomed.
Minho kept telling him he should just confess already, but Newt refused.
Their friendship wasn’t worth risking just because Newt had gone and developed a few stupid feelings that would surely disappear eventually.
Admittedly, “eventually” had been approaching for almost two years now, but Newt considered himself an optimist.
“Free box of chocolates for couples! Couples can win a free box of homemade chocolates!”
Newt froze.
Immediately, and as subtly as possible, he tried steering Thomas in another direction.
Unfortunately, it was already too late.
Thomas perked up like a bloodhound catching a scent.
“Newt! C’mon!”
Newt sighed, though this time he followed willingly before Thomas could yank his arm out of socket again.
“Pick your lucky number and compete to win our homemade chocolates!” the woman running the stand called cheerfully. “Perfect to share with your sweetheart over Christmas!”
“I wanna do it!” Thomas announced immediately, crunching down on the lollipop as he squeezed toward the front of the stall. “What’re the rules?”
“Oh!” The woman looked delighted. “Very simple. Only couples can participate. You each pick a number between one and one hundred. I spin the wheel, and if it lands on either number, you win a box of chocolates.”
“Can we get the heart-shaped one if we win?” Thomas asked.
“Of course! How romantic,” the woman cooed. “You and your boyfriend are adorable.”
Newt really should’ve been used to pretending to be Thomas' boyfriend by now, but the words still nearly made him crush the gingerbread cookie in his hand. That familiar ache twisted sharply in his stomach.
“Thanks!” Thomas, apparently, possessed absolutely no shame whatsoever. “Newt, what number d’you wanna pick?”
Newt, still busy trying not to spontaneously combust, shrugged weakly.
“I dunno. Twenty-five?”
It was nearly Christmas, after all. Sue him for lacking imagination.
“Alright. I’ll go with seven.”
Newt tried focusing while the woman spun the wheel, but the motion made everything blur together unpleasantly in front of his eyes. Thomas stood close enough that their shoulders pressed together, warm and solid against one another.
Newt bit into his now-half-demolished gingerbread cookie just to give himself something else to concentrate on.
“Yes!” Thomas shouted suddenly, and Newt jumped. He hadn’t even realized the wheel had stopped spinning. “Number seven! We won, baby!”
Newt nearly inhaled gingerbread crumbs.
Baby?
What the hell was that? They did not need to commit this hard to the bit.
“Congratulations!” the woman said brightly, handing over the heart-shaped chocolate box. “Hope you enjoy them.”
“Oh, we will,” Thomas replied happily. “My boyfriend loves nougat chocolates.”
And then it was over.
They drifted back into the moving crowd, shoulder to shoulder among the sea of winter coats and glowing lights. Thomas immediately started picking at the tape sealing the box shut, and Newt snorted.
“Shouldn’t you wait till we get home?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Thomas shrugged. “Thought you might want one now.”
He peeled the lid open carefully and held out a chocolate toward Newt. After a brief hesitation, Newt took it, Thomas' warm fingers brushing lightly against his palm.
Newt jerked his hand back far too quickly and shoved the chocolate into his mouth.
It wasn’t until he’d already started chewing that realization hit him.
“Wait,” Newt said slowly. “You don’t even like nougat.”
“Nope.”
Thomas shrugged.
Newt frowned. “Then why’d you pick a box that only had nougat in it?”
Thomas raised an eyebrow like the answer should’ve been painfully obvious.
“Because you like it?”
And oh.
Oh.
If Newt hadn’t had heart problems before, he certainly did now.
“Besides,” Thomas continued, blissfully unaware of the violent catastrophe unfolding inside Newt’s ribcage, “I knew I was gonna win anyway.”
Newt, who was still trying to recover from baby and you like it, blinked at him.
“What d’you mean?”
“Seven’s your birthday,” Thomas pointed out casually. “Oh, look—roasted almonds! We have to get some.”
And just like that, Newt got dragged into yet another queue, standing beside Thomas like a decorative NPC while his brain attempted to reboot itself.
Eventually Teresa and Brenda reappeared and immediately asked where they’d gotten the chocolates.
“We won them from that lady over there,” Thomas said, pointing vaguely somewhere behind Newt’s head.
Teresa frowned. “Isn’t that thing only for couples?”
“Yeah, but pretending to be a couple’s dead easy,” Thomas said cheerfully before biting into an almond.
The crunch sounded alarmingly similar to the sensation inside Newt’s chest.
He knew it was fake. Of course he knew that. But hearing Thomas say it so casually hurt far more than it should’ve.
“Pretending to be a couple?” Teresa repeated suspiciously, and Newt could practically sense an interrogation incoming.
Thankfully, Brenda saved him.
“If they can do it, we can too,” she declared, grabbing Teresa’s sleeve. “C’mon, Tree. I want free chocolate.”
And then they disappeared back into the crowd.
“Want another lap around the market, or d’you wanna head home?” Thomas asked, tossing another almond into his mouth.
Newt cleared his throat.
“I think I wanna go home.”
Newt followed Thomas out of the market on stiff legs.
His vision had narrowed into tunnel vision; it took an absurd amount of concentration just to keep putting one foot in front of the other. He blamed his bad leg, which always acted up when it was cold and he walked too much.
Thomas—wonderful, thoughtful, infuriatingly observant Thomas—noticed Newt limping almost immediately and linked their arms together.
The gesture itself didn’t actually help support Newt’s leg much, but the warmth of it spread straight through his chest.
Suddenly, embarrassingly, Newt wanted to cry.
Bloody Christmas markets. He’d known he shouldn’t have come.
Then Thomas stopped short again.
“Newt!”
Newt followed his gaze and instantly felt dread curl in his stomach.
Near the giant Christmas tree in the center of the square, the organizers had set up a little holiday photo booth. Hay bales sat stacked beside fake snow and decorations beneath a heart-shaped candy-cane-striped archway.
A young couple stood underneath it kissing while a photographer snapped pictures.
“No, Tommy,” Newt said automatically, before he could even think through the fact that this wasn’t a discount or a freebie they could justify their way into.
This was just… aggressively couple-y.
“Oh, come on, Newt,” Thomas whined. “I want a picture with you.”
Newt blamed his bad leg again for the fact he somehow ended up getting dragged toward the short line anyway.
Only one couple stood ahead of them now: two girls giggling violently while holding hands.
“Thomas,” Newt hissed, tugging at his sleeve. “I think this is actually for couples. Like—romantic photos for couples.”
Thomas gave him a strange look Newt couldn’t quite decipher.
Instead of answering, he turned toward the guy handling payments and pulled out his card.
“We’d like a photo, please,” Thomas said. “Me and my friend.”
The guy behind the stand didn’t blink at the wording.
Newt’s heart, unfortunately, did.
He bit down hard on his lip while Thomas paid, staring fixedly at the heart-shaped chocolate box still tucked awkwardly beneath his arm.
Suddenly he felt ridiculous standing there with the love of his life beside him, holding Valentine-looking chocolates while waiting to take an aggressively platonic friendship photo beneath a giant heart arch clearly intended for couples.
The girls ahead of them posed a few more times—kissing, holding hands, making some ridiculous pose—and then it was Newt and Thomas' turn.
“Tommy, I dunno…” Newt tried to wriggle free as Thomas guided him beneath the arch. “We got away with pretending before, but I don’t think it’ll work here exactly—and honestly I don’t really see the point, we can take pictures together somewhere that’s not specifically designed for romantic couples another time—”
“Newt,” Thomas interrupted.
He turned so they were facing each other properly now.
Thomas' eyes were serious, lacking that usual teasing glint they almost always carried.
Newt swallowed.
He was taller than Thomas, and usually Thomas' restless, bouncing energy made the height difference feel more obvious somehow—physically, emotionally, everything.
But now Thomas stood completely still, gaze sharp and unwavering, and somehow he felt taller than Newt anyway.
“Can you stop overthinking every shucking thing and just take a hint already?”
Newt stared at him.
“What d’you mea—”
And then cold lips crashed against his.
The camera flash exploded white across Newt’s vision.
Thomas pulled back first, smiling in a way that looked both nervous and hopeful.
“I paid for two pictures,” he said. “So maybe try looking slightly less horrified in the next one?”
Newt just stared at him.
Half his brainpower was dedicated to not dropping the chocolate box clenched awkwardly in his hands. The other half was trying to process the words currently coming out of Thomas' mouth.
“What d’you mean?” he asked faintly.
His heart was going absolutely feral inside his chest. Somewhere around them, Newt vaguely registered the fact that half the market seemed to have stopped to stare.
Thomas smiled softly.
“Newt. You don’t seriously think I wanted to pretend to be your boyfriend this much just for free stuff, do you?”
Newt blinked.
The words refused to connect properly inside his brain. His mouth wouldn’t cooperate enough to form a coherent sentence.
“I…”
“Can you stop gawping at me like a fish and kiss me properly?” Thomas asked. “The photos were expensive. And while you’re at it, you could maybe become my boyfriend for real too.”
“I…” Newt let out a helpless little laugh. None of this felt real. “Okay.”
And then Thomas was kissing him again. Warmer this time.
When the flash went off again, Newt blinked against the light and wrapped his arms around Thomas' waist.
“So what you’re saying,” Newt drawled, tightening his arms around Thomas' waist, “is that all those free things were just catastrophically bad attempts at flirting?”
“Oi!” Thomas protested. “Who said they were bad?”
They were curled together on the couch in Thomas and Teresa’s apartment, tangled beneath a thick blanket while their freezing feet fought for dominance. Love Actually played quietly on the television, though Newt couldn’t have cared less about the film.
The only thing he had eyes for was the boy in his arms.
Thomas wore sweatpants and the ugliest Christmas sweater Newt had ever seen in his life. His hair was thoroughly wrecked after a fairly intense make-out session—Teresa was absolutely going to murder them for doing that on the couch—and his expression was impossibly soft as he twisted slightly in Newt’s embrace to look at him properly.
The mulled wine sitting on the coffee table had long since gone cold.
Newt raised an eyebrow, unable to stop himself from grinning.
“If you actually want to date someone, it’s slightly misleading to suggest pretending to date in public solely to obtain free or discounted products,” he pointed out.
Thomas groaned dramatically and shoved his icy toes against Newt’s calf. Newt yelped and nearly shoved him clean off the couch.
“Sorry for trying to be creative, then,” Thomas huffed, though the smile tugging at his mouth ruined the effect. “At least I actually did something, Mister ‘Pining For Two Years.’”
Newt spluttered. “Who told you it was two years?”
Thomas immediately looked guilty.
At the exact same time, they both said:
“Minho.”
Newt sighed heavily. “I’m never telling that shank anything ever again.”
“It’s not his fault!” Thomas protested quickly. “He was actually really helpful. Well—first he laughed so hard Gally woke up and kicked him out, but then he told me he was glad I’d finally pulled my head out of my ass and that now I needed to remove the stick from my ass too and actually do something about it, because you obviously liked me back but unlike me you’d never have the guts to act on it.”
Newt sighed again.
That did sound exactly like Minho.
“You still can’t blame me,” he argued. “What was I supposed to think when my best mate suddenly wanted to pretend to date me for free stuff? How exactly was I meant to interpret that?”
Thomas lifted one hand and lazily hooked a finger around the silver chain still hanging around Newt’s neck.
“You were supposed to interpret it as me being stupidly in love with you,” he said matter-of-factly, “and wanting to do a lot more things with you on this couch, except I know Teresa’ll terminate our lease if I try.”
As if summoned by sheer spite, the apartment door slammed open.
“It was seriously rude of you two to ditch us!” Teresa complained while stomping into the living room. “Brenda and I had to walk all the—”
She cut herself off abruptly upon seeing the position Newt and Thomas were currently in.
Newt flushed immediately, but Thomas made absolutely no effort to move away, so Newt stubbornly stayed put too.
A slow grin spread across Teresa’s face.
“Finally,” she breathed. “Finally. Thank God. No more longing stares and ‘I don’t know if Tommy’ll like it’ and ‘I don’t wanna go unless Newt’s there’ and ‘What if he doesn’t like me like that.’”
She dropped dramatically to her knees and clasped her hands together toward the ceiling.
“Thank you, God…”
Newt thought she was being a little dramatic.
“We were not that bad,” he protested.
Teresa leveled him with a glare.
“Yes,” she said darkly. “You were. Especially him. Do you know how many times a day I had to hear him sighing about your smile? Or your accent? Or ‘his hair fell over his forehead like that again today, Teresa, it should genuinely be illegal for someone to look that fit.’”
Newt slowly turned toward Thomas, who immediately attempted to hide his face against Newt’s chest.
“Is that true, Tommy?”
“She’s lying,” Thomas whined into Newt’s sweater. “Slander. Defamation.”
“It’s Christmas,” Teresa said loftily as she stood back up. “I would never lie.”
Brenda appeared behind her, took one glance at Newt and Thomas tangled together on the couch, and sighed.
“Damn it. I owe Frypan twenty bucks. I didn’t think you idiots would get together before New Year’s.”
“Excuse me?” Thomas sat up slightly. Newt tried not to make a deeply offended noise over the sudden loss of contact. “Were you all betting on us?”
Brenda shrugged.
“Obviously. You’ve been tiptoeing around each other for years. It’s been painful to watch.” She pointed at Newt specifically. “Especially you.”
Newt groaned and buried his face in his hands.
“There, there.” Thomas patted him smugly on the head. “I know I’m devastatingly sexy and irresistible and—”
“Yeah, yeah.” Newt glared at him. “Are we actually finishing this film or not?”
“Oh, you’re watching Love Actually?” Teresa asked, dropping into the armchair. “That kid Sam kinda looks like you, Newt.”
“He does not,” Newt protested immediately.
“Yes he does!” Thomas insisted eagerly. “He’s at least as adorable as you!”
Newt opened his mouth to object again, but Thomas kissed him before he could.
Soft. Warm. Firm enough to completely short-circuit Newt’s brain.
“Ew!” Teresa and Brenda yelled simultaneously.
Brenda threw a cushion at them.
“Stop violating the sacred spirit of Christmas.”
“Minho and Gally are coming over in half an hour,” Thomas grumbled. “If anyone’s gonna destroy the sacred spirit of Christmas, it’s those two.”
Everyone laughed at that.
And sitting there with Thomas warm in his arms, Christmas Eve only days away, the cool silver chain resting against his throat and fresh mulled wine warming his stomach, Newt was fairly certain this was the happiest he’d ever been in his life.
Not even Minho and Gally practically kicking the front door down twenty minutes later—with Minho yelling, “Fucking FINALLY!” while Gally muttered, “About damn time”—could ruin his mood.