Newt/Thomas Sangster One Shots (warning: smut)

One Shot #21 ~ Taken

He was perfect. But he was taken.

I smacked my phone down on the coffee table and put my head in my hands. The most recent photo of Thomas and his girlfriend Isabella Melling made my throat ache and my stomach throb.

I wanted to hate her. I wanted her to do something so terrible, so unbelievable that he could never forgive her. But she would never do that, she was lovely and kind and smart. I'd met her a few times before, but it was almost unbearable. They looked so happy though, I would never do anything to come between them. And he was my friend, I'd say he was close to my best friend actually, so no way would I compromise his happiness for my own.

Fuck, he's gorgeous I thought to myself. I switched my phone off without looking at the screen and made myself some tea.

A sudden knock on the door almost made me spill the hot water all over myself. I looked at my reflection in the oven door glass, and I was a mess. In leggings and a big jumper, my hair in a messy ponytail and my hands cold and pale.

"Who is it?" I called unenthusiastically.
"It's Thomas! Can I come in?" He yelled back happily. I decided to let him in, I didn't have enough energy to turn him away.

"Hi," I forced a smile as I opened the door to see him.
"Uh...hi? What's up with you?" He chuckled and walked in. I didn't want to see him, I just wanted to be alone.

I sighed loudly, "nothing."
"Louisa. Come on. What's up?" He smiles attentively.
"Thomas, I said it's nothing." I snapped. He looked at me painfully. His face, it just...ouch.
"Sorry," I swallowed, "I'm not having the best day." I smiled sadly at him.

"It's ok. Let me put the kettle on and we can talk about it?" He offered.
"It's already boiled, let me." I replied, getting up and pouring him a cup of tea in his favourite blue mug, two sugars with milk, just the way he liked it. Mine was over-stooped at this point, so I just made his.
"So, how's the girlfriend?" I tried to make conversation cheerfully as I stirred in the sugar.

"Great, actually, everything's going well," he replied, his voice unwavering. I was almost disappointed to hear that, but then I mentally slapped myself for hoping he was unhappy. What kind of a friend was I?

"What about you? Anyone caught your eye?" He asked as I handed him his mug and sat opposite him, in my late father's favourite armchair.

"Well, not...no." I stuttered.
"You're a terrible liar, Clarke." He smirked.
"I'm a great liar." I defended.
"Tell me, who is it?" He pushed.
"No one, Thomas. I told you," I laughed.
"You're lying again." He stated.
"Stop, there's no one," I smiled and shifted uncomfortably.
"Just tell me," he continuted to push.
"There's no one—"
"Yes there is, just tell me!" He cut me off.
"For the last time Thomas, there's no one," I continued, beginning to get nervous.
"Oh come on, lou, there's obviously someone. I wouldn't dream of telling anyone. Just tell me,"
"I...I cant," I reasoned.

"Yes you can, please I want to know," He continued to push and push. I could feel myself panicking.
"Please Thomas, don't make me tell you, I can't—"
"Why not?!" He teased.
"Because!" I stood up and paced around the lounge.
"Because...?"

"Because it's bloody you!" I yelled loudly before instantly covering my mouth with my hands.

He laughed briefly and kept eye contact. However his brow furrowed when we realised I wasn't laughing either, but was in fact tearing up.

"What?" He whispered.
"Be....because it's you," I whispered back.

He stared at me dumbfounded and set his cool tea down on the coffee table, and an awkward silence hung in the air.