unlucky (newtmas)

8

"I didn't get to thank you," Newt said the following Monday at lunch. We had been walking together after physics and somehow we ended up in the cafeteria, bought lunch together, and were now ready to part ways to go to our respective tables. Newt looked slightly guilty as he spoke to me, his eyes skirting across the ground.

"Thank me?" I repeated. "For what?"

"Saturday," Newt replied as if that were a proper answer. Sensing my confusion, he continued, "You stood up for me against Finn. Or, you stood between me and Finn. Same thing, I guess. Just--thanks."

"That wasn't anything," I said, feeling just a little bit of heat on my cheeks at the compliment and wanting it to dissipate as quickly as possible.

"It was," said Newt. "It was to me."

Newt met my eyes then, and he looked so pathetically earnest and genuine that it made my heart tumble over in my chest. He and I wore matching bruises on our cheeks, though his was much nastier and much larger. I figured he was hiding a few more beneath his clothing, wearing them all proudly and as if they didn't affect him at all.

Just then someone bumped into Newt and his small form was caught off guard. Him, and his tray stacked high with mashed potatoes, went flying forward into my chest.

He stepped back quickly and was already stumbling through frantic apologies, but I turned quickly to see who had just passed by. By no surprise, Finn was laughing over his shoulder as he walked away. A wave of loathing I had never felt before seemed to sweep across my chest, blinding me.

However, I was rooted back into the world when I turned to face Newt and caught sight of his expression. There was a small, scared look on his face as he clutched his tray to his chest firmly, staring at me with wide, frightened eyes. It wasn't something I had ever seen on anyone's face and it wasn't something I ever wanted to see again; he looked like he wanted to run, but also like he was waiting for me to yell at him. In that moment, I had never seen him so small.

I hated seeing him like this, because he was Newt and he was supposed to always be smiling and happy and kind. Desperate to make the usual happy glow about him come back, I smiled lightly at him and said, "What do you think? White stuff looks pretty good on my chest, eh?"

He didn't laugh, but he seemed to catch my gesture as what it was. His shoulders untensed and he looked so fucking grateful, and it made my heart swell and break in the same beat. He reached a hand out, and I noticed it was shaking, and then he scooped a finger's worth of mashed potatoes off my chest with a shaky smile. It looked so genuine. So painfully genuine and it drove me crazy.

"I'd say," Newt replied as he stuck his finger into his mouth. The gesture was playful and teasing and so normal and so Newt, and yet I had the strangest feeling it wasn't really Newt at all.