Chapter Text
To: Newt
From: Tommy
help
To: Newt
From: Tommy
pls tell me you’re still going tonight
To: Newt
From: Tommy
i need u to do my face paint
To: Newt
From: Tommy
minho offered but he lacks ur artistic excellence and i don’t trust him
To: Newt
From: Tommy
i’m omw over so u better be ready to make me beautiful
To: Tommy
From: Newt
You owe me one
To: Newt
From: Tommy
is that a yes ????? :D
To: Tommy
From: Newt
Yes, hurry up. Party starts in an hour
To: Newt
From: Tommy
YOU ARE THE BEST <3 ok just leaving
To: Tommy
From: Newt
Thought you were on your way?
To: Newt
From: Tommy
i lied
Newt tried and failed to suppress an amused smile and chucked his phone back onto his bed. He picked up the tube of paint he’d abandoned and turned back to Minho, who sat on the bed looking up at him with half a face of intricate blue patterns.
“He coming here first or meeting us there?” Minho asked.
“Comin’ here. He wants me to do his paint.” Newt continued his task, dabbing at Minho’s face gently with the thin brush he’d chosen for the task. He gave Minho a firm look when the boy opened his mouth in shock. Minho shut it quickly and rolled his eyes.
“Sorry, forgot. No more moving. But that bastard! I said I’d do it and he told me he was really excited to do it himself.”
Newt chuckled — not only at Minho’s disgust over Thomas’ betrayal but also at his poor attempt to keep his lips as still as possible as he spoke.
“He says he doesn’t trust you.”
“I’ll kill him.”
“Doubt that’d help your case.”
Fifteen minutes later Newt declared Minho appropriately "painted up" for Teresa’s party, as their text invites had demanded; they didn't quite know to what extent everyone else was going with the theme, but had decided they would just do their faces. Minho had tried to persuade Newt he should do his arms, chest and torso too. After a few threats of moving out from Newt, Minho relented.
Minho bounded up and into the bathroom quickly, thrilled to be able to move after so long of sitting still. Newt laughed at the sound of his friend whooping as he admired his own reflection. "Dude, it looks awesome! Even better than yours,” Minho grinned as he came back into the room. Newt raised a hand to the orange designs he’d done for himself, gently tracing the soft ridges of dried paint.
“Yeah, well. It’s kinda hard to do yourself.” Newt sighed when Minho wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at the accidental innuendo. “Shut up. What colour d’ya think would suit Tommy best?”
A knock at the door interrupted Minho’s reply.
“Come in!” the two boys shouted at the same time. The apartment was rarely locked, much to Newt’s disapproval. Minho insisted it was safe and that it made them look ‘cool and welcoming’ if their friends could walk in whenever. Newt secretly locked it whenever he could do so without being scolded.
Thomas burst into Newt’s room a few moments later, slightly out of breath. He looked between Newt and Minho in awe.
“That looks so fucking cool! Newt, you’re a genius.”
“Thanks, Tommy. Hello to you, too,” Newt replied, blushing a little at the compliment and Thomas’ approving gaze. Minho bounded over and he and Thomas performed their ridiculous secret handshake which ended in a bear hug. Rolling his eyes at them, Newt turned back to his fluorescent paints and chose one for Thomas. “Green?”
“Green sounds good,” Thomas answered, throwing himself onto the edge of Newt’s bed. He reached up and poked under Newt’s eyes before getting his hand swatted away. “Can you do those swirly things on me?”
“Sure. We don’t have much time though, it might not be perfect.”
“It’ll be awesome,” Thomas shrugged and beamed up at Newt, who stepped forwards to position himself between Thomas’ legs for the best angle to work with. Newt found Thomas’ faith in him a little intimidating.
“Cute,” Minho called as he walked backwards out of the room. “You’ll be all matching. I’m gonna grab a beer.”
Getting Thomas to stay still and not talk too much was even harder than it had been with Minho. Several times, Newt had to force Thomas’ legs to stop jiggling, or shout at him to stop singing along to the music Minho was playing in the kitchen.
Thomas settled for tapping his foot and humming along whilst Newt continued his work in comfortable silence. He found himself inspecting the flecks of green in Thomas’ brown eyes and inwardly congratulating himself for his choice of paint colour. It brought out his features perfectly. Even as the thought formed in his mind, Newt considered that it was a little weird of him. Everything about the situation felt strangely intimate in a way it hadn’t with Minho; he supposed it was because he hadn’t known Thomas as long.
“Okay, that’ll do,” Newt sighed after a while. He’d painted swirls under Thomas’ eyes that trailed down to his cheeks, matching his own, adding a few dots above his eyebrows and across his jawline. It was much less detailed than Minho’s aztec design, but he’d had more time to work on that. Thomas got up and headed into the bathroom to check out Newt’s work, just as Minho had done.
He re-emerged a minute later looking furious. Newt’s heart dropped.
“‘That’ll do?’” Thomas spat before dropping the act and grinning widely. “Newt, this looks fucking amazing!”
“Jesus, Tommy, you scared me. Thought you were gonna say you hated it or I ruined your good looks or somethin’.”
Thomas laughed and the sound lightened the weight Newt felt pressing on his chest. He followed Thomas out of the room after begrudgingly accepting the side-hug that was forced upon him.
“Sorry, sorry. Just hate it when you put yourself down. Now, let’s get drunk.”
Once again, Newt had to hide his blushing cheeks and involuntary smirk at Thomas’ words. He shoved his friend playfully and accepted a beer from Minho.
“Good that.”
***
After quickly drinking a couple of beers at home, the trio walked the short distance to Brenda and Teresa’s apartment. They were a little late; the rooms were already full of people, chatting and drinking happily. The lights were down low and several UV lamps had been placed around the room, making everyone’s body paint glow impressively.
However, Newt’s stomach twisted a little uncomfortably at the sight of so many strangers. Thomas patted his shoulder reassuringly and Newt sent him a small smile, wondering how he could always sense his mood so acutely. Minho, though he’d been his best friend since middle school and roommate since they started college, needed slightly less subtle hints. It didn’t bother Newt, though. Minho was always there when he needed someone to rant at or go crazy with.
The three of them pushed through the crowd until they found a few familiar faces. Brenda actually screamed when she saw them, already pretty drunk, and greeted them all with a sloppy kiss to the cheek. Newt cringed but smiled genuinely at her, admiring the slightly smudged lines of pink paint that adorned her face.
“Where’s the birthday girl?” Newt asked her, looking around for Teresa. He gave Frypan and Gally a nod in greeting.
“Probably getting more drinks,” Brenda slurred. “Which is exactly what you should be doing. You’ve got catching up to do!”
“We’re not that late,” Thomas said with a grin, still glued to Newt’s side with an arm slung loosely around his shoulders. Newt noticed Brenda glance between them curiously. He supposed it was because if anyone else was as close to him as Thomas currently was, he’d probably have hit them by now. With the exception of Minho — maybe. Depending on Newt’s mood.
“So, what’s with the paint thing?” Newt asked curiously. He’d usually have rejected the idea immediately but Minho and Thomas had persuaded him. It was Teresa’s birthday, after all, and Newt had to admit that doing the designs on himself and his friends had been pretty fun.
“Teresa wanted to do something different,” Brenda said with a soft smile. “Costume parties and shit like that are boring.”
“Is that it? I thought it was gonna be some fancy metaphor for something,” Thomas whined.
Newt scoffed. “What the bloody hell would face paint be a metaphor for?”
Thomas shrugged, giggling. He dropped his hand from Newt’s shoulder and backed into the crowd, gesturing that he was going to get them drinks. Newt nodded with a smirk and watched him disappear into the kitchen before turning back to his friends.
“You guys fucking yet?” Gally called out loudly. It took Newt a moment to realise he was talking to him.
“What? Who?” Newt replied. He was genuinely baffled by the seemingly random question.
“You and Thomas. Or should I say ‘Tommy’?”
Newt allowed his mouth drop open in shock at Gally’s words. He furrowed his eyebrows, looking around to his friends for help and being met with nothing but amused smiles and raised eyebrows. Not one of them looked as confused as he felt.
“What on Earth are you on about, mate?” Newt said eventually with an incredulous laugh.
“Oh, come on. You look at him like you wanna rip his clothes off and —”
“That’s bullshit,” Newt interrupted, not keen to hear the rest of the sentence. “We’re just friends.”
Gally rolled his eyes and looked around at their friends expectantly. Newt followed his gaze and was met with an evil smirk from Minho, a noncommittal shrug from Frypan and silent laughter from Brenda. He sighed and threw his hands up in defeat.
“No one’s gonna help me out here?”
“I don’t know, man,” Minho drawled. He was clearly enjoying Newt’s discomfort. “He’s got a point. You two are kinda all over each other. It took you years to warm up to me like that. He’s broken you down in, like, six months.”
“Because we’re friends. Good friends. Best friends.”
“Say ‘friends’ one more time,” Brenda muttered, earning a death glare from Newt. He turned back to Minho with a grunt after receiving a punch in the arm.
“I’m your best friend, shank!”
“I’m starting to question that decision,” Newt grumbled. “Can we drop this?”
“Sure. Your boyfriend’s on his way back, anyway. Wouldn’t want to embarrass you in front of him,” Gally said with a grin. The others laughed as Newt rolled his eyes dramatically.
Thomas rejoined the group, handing Newt and Minho drinks. Teresa followed soon after and Newt greeted her with a hug and a happy birthday wish. He was relieved when the conversation turned away from his and Thomas’ relationship and onto less humiliating topics.
It wasn’t that he and Thomas hadn’t been mistaken for a couple before. They had a few times, in fact; the difference being it was usually by strangers or acquaintances who didn’t know them well. He supposed it was because of Thomas’ touchy-feely nature. He'd probably been confused for Minho’s boyfriend, too. Maybe even Teresa’s. But the fact that Gally, one of Newt’s closest friends at college, was insinuating that their relationship was anything but platonic deeply unsettled him. And he knew Minho was joking around, trying to unnerve him further — but why hadn’t he shown even a trace of shock or confusion at the suggestion?
“What’s up?” Thomas murmured close to Newt’s ear. Newt looked up and shook his head in an attempt to clear it; he hadn’t even realised how spaced out he’d been. Or that Thomas was back by his side.
“Nothing, sorry. Zoned out for a sec.” He raised his beer to his lips and gulped almost half of it down in seconds. Thomas nodded, though his eyes continued to search Newt’s face, and followed suit with his own drink.
***
An hour or so passed uneventfully, though Newt was pleasantly surprised to find himself having a good time. Parties weren’t necessarily his scene, but Teresa and Brenda had invited a nice group of people who didn’t seem too crazy; he barely knew anyone there other than his close friends, but it didn’t bother him for once. Newt was tipsy, as were most of the guests, but no one was getting out of hand or being annoying. People chatted, danced, drank. It was refreshing; the few parties Newt had bothered to attend since starting college six months ago had been pretty disastrous. Especially the first one Minho had dragged him along to — which happened to be the current topic of conversation.
“I literally don’t remember it at all,” Minho exclaimed, laughing hysterically.
“Of course you don’t,” Newt scoffed. “You had ten shots in the first half hour and left me to fend for myself with all of your sports buddies.”
“I’m sorry! That’s literally your worst nightmare.”
“But hey,” Thomas chipped in. “At least you met me.”
“Wait, that’s how you guys met?” Frypan asked curiously. Newt and Thomas nodded in sync whilst Minho continued to chuckle at his own hilarity.
“Tommy took pity on me. Must’ve looked pretty tragic, some lanky kid stood alone in the corner trying to avoid being forced to drink vodka by any beefy track guys,” Newt groaned at the memory. He’d felt so unbelievably out of place around all Minho’s beer-chugging, heavily muscled friends.
“That’s not what happened!” Thomas said incredulously. “I wasn’t taking pity. You looked cool and not shitfaced so I was like, hey, this guy might actually be able to hold a conversation for more than twenty seconds.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Tommy,” Newt shot back with a grin.
He tried not to think about the actuality of what had happened that night. How he’d mistaken Thomas’ genuine friendliness for flirting and started to develop a crush unhealthily quickly. And how that dream had been quickly shattered when Thomas told him he had to leave early to meet some girl he was dating — Rachel, had it been? They’d broken up a couple of weeks later, but Newt swore to himself he wouldn’t go down that road again. By that time, he and Thomas were getting to be fairly good friends; he was determined not to ruin it. Plus, he was pretty much over it by then. Over him. Pretty much.
Newt hadn’t even thought about it since those first few weeks of college and of friendship. Remembering it now was making his heart rate quicken significantly.
Luckily, at that moment, Gally returned out of nowhere and shoved shots into everyone’s hands. Newt had no idea where he’d gotten them from, but took one reluctantly. He knew his friends would give him hell if he didn’t. Brenda pulled everyone into a circle and gestured to them to raise their glasses in the middle.
“To Teresa!” she said with a sparkling smile in Teresa’s direction. Everyone repeated her before throwing back their shots. Newt laughed at everyone’s varying expressions of disgust.
***
A little later, as the party begun to die down, Newt found himself on the couch next to the birthday girl herself. They were chatting about nothing in particular; Teresa’s birthday presents from Brenda, who the other guests were, stuff of no consequence. Newt found himself watching Thomas and Minho as they talked to Harriet, a girl Brenda had introduced to them that night.
“Jealous?” Teresa asked suddenly, following Newt’s line of sight. Newt laughed.
“Yeah, how dare she steal my friends from me,” he replied sarcastically.
“I meant that she’s flirting with Thomas, but sure.”
Newt sighed dramatically and threw his head onto the back of the sofa. “Not you, too.”
“Oh come on, Newt. I’ve known Thomas since we were, like, five. I’m not stupid, even if he is,” Teresa mumbled. Newt was grateful she had at least approached the subject in a private and subtle manner.
“I dunno what you want me to say. It’s not like that.”
“But you want it to be.” It wasn’t a question. Newt finally turned to look at her and was met with a piercing, but genuine, expression. She seemed desperate for him to open up. Something in the sincerity of her face made Newt want to, for once. He could always blame it on the alcohol.
“Fine. I used to, kinda. But only right at the beginning of the year, when we first met.”
“And now? What changed?”
A good point, Newt realised. What, if anything, had changed? He could (and did) still appreciate Thomas' good looks and toned body. But since they were such good friends now, Newt hadn't ever bothered to look at him with an open mind for anything more than that. He was beginning to realise that actually, not a lot had changed at all except his own willingness to see Thomas in a romantic way.
Newt’s insides were burning. He could feel the regret of his next words before he’d even formed them on his tongue.
“I don’t know…”
Where had this come from? Sure, he'd hardly declared his undying love or even anything concrete, but Newt had been vehemently denying any romance between himself and Thomas all night. And it hadn’t felt like he was lying. Yet here he was, unable to confirm to Teresa the simple fact that he no longer had feelings for their friend.
Teresa seemed to sense his inner conflict. She smiled, put a hand on his knee and stood up. When he looked at her questioningly, she subtly nodded her head behind her and Newt saw that Thomas was heading over. Just before he was in earshot, Teresa leaned forwards and whispered four words that sent Newt’s already confused brain into complete overdrive.
“He feels the same.”
She sauntered off, leaving Newt reeling. He didn’t have long to compose himself before Thomas flopped down next to him.
“Hey, buddy,” Thomas grinned. Newt stared at him, taking in his features quickly and trying to make sense of everything that he’d just started to realise. Thomas’ eyes bored into Newt’s with a soft intensity. Newt once again admired the way the green paint made his features pop: his long lashes, toothy smile, freckled skin. How his shiny hair flopped over his forehead messily, yet each loose strand still managed to look completely intentional. How his arms, smooth and strong, spread out over the back of the couch as if he owned it.
And Newt tried to work out how all this made him feel. Simultaneously comforted and nervous, excited and terrified. When Thomas’ gaze flickered around Newt’s face curiously, as if searching for something that only he could give him, Newt desperately wished he knew what that was; if he did, he knew he’d give it up in an instant.
Oh, shit.
“Hi, Tommy.”