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It seemed there was a subtle shift in my relationship with Newt after that day. It wasn't something many people could have noticed. But it was there, and I noticed.

It first began in the mornings before classes. Whereas before the first time I saw Newt was physics, he now took it upon himself to greet me in the morning at my locker. Our encounters usually went something like:

"Morning!" And a happy smile.

"It's not a good morning," was always my stiff reply.

"Ah, it's lovely to see you too, Tommy. Tell me, did you mean to look like that today, or is grumpy the new style?"

"Fuck off."

And I'd slam my locker, and he'd grin like he won the lottery, and the bell would ring and we'd part ways.

Then there was my mounting unintentional concern for him. Although he insisted his ribs were fine and healing perfectly, I refused to let him carry his bag after physics. I wasn't trying to be nice, it's just that his constant wincing annoyed me, and seeing him in pain really ticked me off.

"I can carry my stuff, you know."

"No you can't." I always kept my eyes ahead of us, never looking back.

"My doctor said I could," he'd say as he scurried to keep up with me.

"Oh, what does he know?" I'd spit back.

Newt would pretend to consider it, and then he'd reply, "Well, judging by the 12 years of college and his degree as an orthopedic surgeon, I'd say he knows more than you."

"You can't prove that."

Newt always rolled his eyes then, but he'd be smiling. "He'd also agree that you're an idiot."

Somehow Thursday mornings became tradition to meet at the coffee shop afterschool. It happened by accident, but now was something I unwillingly looked forward to.

"You should try drinking some milk. You look like you need milk," Newt would say from behind me as I scanned the menu. Sometimes I'd shoot a glare over my shoulder, other times I'd ignore him.

Other times I might say, "I'm going to buy the hottest coffee they have and dump it on your head."

To which Newt would reply chirply, "Can it at least be hot chocolate?"

Most concerning about our shift in our relationship was how much time we were spending together. What had at first been just Thursday coffee became Thursday hangouts, what had at first been occasional chats at lunch was now sitting at the same table to eat. The few friends I had left after the whole Alexis scandal seemed unperturbed by Newt's appearance and welcomed him wholeheartedly into our group. Time passed quickly and suddenly out of nowhere we were spending nearly everyday together--at my house, by the lakes nearby, the park--and it was never dull, and it was never boring, and it was exactly what I had never known I was looking for.

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