His life was falling apart. He hasn't even done his sophomore midterms yet, and he was a total wreck. Those goddamn airplanes. Thomas thought they were a blessing. Someone actually liked him, that alone should be a revaluation, but even better, Newt Issacs likes him.
But Newt is also the one now slowly killing his spotless reputation.
Thomas sat on the bathroom floor for a few minutes after Minho left, mainly trying to wipe away stray tears. He picked himself off the floor, feeling heavier than he could ever recall. Looking at himself in the mirror made him sob, the sound wracking his body. Red, tear-stained cheeks, messy brown hair, and bruised lips from harsh biting. But that wouldn't stop him. He had to talk to Newt. Now.
So he did. Thomas slammed the restroom door on his way out and marched up to where Newt always was. The library. And, as if destiny had spoken, the beautiful blond sat there, reading a book. Just looking at Newt made Thomas blush lightly. He walked up to the blond, pushing the top of the book away from Newt's face.
A pair of brown eyes met Thomas's. Newt stared at him for a moment, before pulling a signature smirk. "Tommy," he said, his smooth accent making Thomas swoon, no matter how much he didn't want to.
Newt saw. His smirk only grew.
"What brings you to me? Or is it fate?" The blond said confidently. Thomas nearly died. Newt set his book down now. They can talk that way.
Thomas waved a hand in the air as if shaking away the comment. "No. We need to talk. About earlier. About the notes. About everything, Newt." He said, acting like he knew what he'd just said.
He had no idea at this point.
But it's too late now. No going back. He looked to Newt, and his expression made the brunet giggle without thinking. Newt looked so confused. His eyebrows knitted together, his lips slightly puckered, and he was a beautiful colour pink. Nothing in the world could compare to that sight. "What notes? I mean, earlier was... fun," Newt winked, "But I don't know about any notes?" He asked. He was actually, genuinely confused.
And Thomas was flustered as hell.
It had to have been Newt... right? Who else could it have been? Newt is just pretending to be confused, Thomas persuaded himself. He didn't know if that's what he thought, or if that's just what he wanted. He just huffed.
Crossing his arms, Thomas spoke. "Well, I've been getting these little love poems, folded into airplanes, and I know it's you, no matter what you say."
Newt laughed. And then Thomas laughed because the blond looked so cute when he laughed. "Well Tommy," he was whispering, "I didn't write them, but I could if you'd like." Newt began to lean in, and now Thomas could almost feel his breath on his lips. And he could nearly feel his words. He was totally under Newt's control.
It was like he's been hypnotized by Newt's beauty, and his words, and his eyes, and his accent, and just, so completely Newt. And to be honest, he loved it.
Then he blinked. Just as his eyes closed, a pair of lips crashed into his, fitting perfectly. Needless to say, Thomas's eyes stayed shut. He felt like he was in a dream. Some kind of fantasy. But, alas, he wasn't. He was in real life, kissing Newt, with all the passion he had. And nothing had ever felt more right.
