Warnings: Cursing, mention of alcohol.
Rating: PG to PG-13
A/N: Sorry this one starts a little slow, really tried to focus on building background here!! Also idk what I'm doing writing I'm an artist sorry this sucks.
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"Careful shank, you wouldn't want to ruin those pretty little arms of yours."
Thomas chuckled, and leaned into the door frame. His brown hair swept messily over his forehead, perfectly framing his dark brown eyes and lightly freckled skin. He crossed his arms over his letterman, placing his foot on the wood behind him.
"Shut the fuck up, Dieson."
Another boy stood a few feet in front of Thomas, balancing several cardboard boxes filled with various streamers and deflated balloons, old Christmas decorations, along with a multitude of heavy-looking containers with quite a few pots and pans.
His bulky arms swayed the boxes back and forth, and it was nearly impossible for him to see over them, causing him to trip into the plastic fold-out table on the other side of the room-presumably where he was supposed to be placing the boxes. Thomas snorted, watching the other boy practically throw the contents onto the table.
"Good job. I'd pat you on the back but you might trip." Thomas retorted, covering his mouth with his sleeve.
The other boy shot him a fierce glare, his eyes staring daggers into the snickering brunette. Thomas giggled at his friend, knowing that he wouldn't do jack shit to him- even if he asked. His friend was a lot taller, and a lot buffer, but wouldn't dare hit him like he meant it. A tough Asian boy with dark hair, close cut, and a grimace to match. He wore a letterman jacket over a gray t-shirt, identical to Thomas'.
Thomas strided over to his aggravated friend, elbowing him in the ribs.
"Lighten up Minho, you know I would've helped you. I mean... would've. Paige says I'm here for 'supervision'." Thomas raised his index and middle fingers at "supervision", creating air quotes, as Minho sighed. Thomas walked over to the box of party supplies and what seemed like random junk, rummaging through it like he was a starving raccoon.
"Hey, get your curious hands off the decorations." Minho snapped, pulling Thomas off of the boxes. Thomas smirked, and tossed a festive red streamer in his face. Minho wrestled with it for a few seconds before throwing it to the ground, grinding his shoe into it.
"Who's the one touching stuff now?" Thomas smiled.
This whole thing was stupid. All of this for some dumb holiday party. For one stupid night where all of the shuck-faced idiots at Wicked High could do what they did every other night. Drink, grind, steal, smoke- whatever else. Thomas found the prospect ridiculous. This idea that every high school student had to submit to the most cliche of all cliches. But, nonetheless, Thomas was an all star track runner, and instead of being treated like a King by his school, he felt more like a slave at the moment. Principal Paige had assigned the track team and StuCo fully in charge of the arrangement of the festivities, much to Thomas' dislike.
He threw himself into a plastic chair pushed against the wall, throwing his arms behind his head. Minho turned around, and rolled his eyes at him.
"We're supposed to be sorting." Minho barked. Thomas simply laughed, and watched as Minho tossed a variety of tinsel and streamers to the side, before picking up a roll of green ribbon. "Maybe we could tie these to the tables in the gym?" Minho mused, trying to get Thomas interested in their current work. The other track member tilted his head at the ribbon, before scoffing and leaning back again.
"...What?" Minho asked.
"Nothing... it's just... The tables are navy. Green and navy really don't go together."
Minho held back laughter, his shoulders and chest rising with humor, much to Thomas' confusion.
"What's funny, Minos?" He taunted. It must've been a sports thing, calling people by their last names. Thomas didn't think much about it, honestly- he'd already gotten used to people calling him both Thomas and Dieson.
Minho broke his silence, giggling heartily.
"Man, you didn't want to help me carry anything, but now you're an interior designer?" He laughed, throwing the ribbon at Thomas. He groaned at him, wrapping the ribbon around his neck and head lazily.
"Look I'm just saying, blues and greens only go together in some ways. And that navy, and this green-" Thomas stopped to jokingly wave his finger around, snapping in a z-formation. "Nu-uh honey."
Minho laughed, sliding against the wall until he was sitting. "Don't know when that knowledge will be any use to you, girlfriend."
Thomas simply shrugged, and continued covering himself in the brightly colored decorations, like he was a Christmas tree. "You never know. Maybe chicks dig color theory."
Minho went a little solemn, fidgeting with his watch while he looked at Thomas, before speaking again.
"Speaking of which... do you even have a date to the Holiday Dance?"
Thomas frowned a little bit, before pulling the ribbons off of himself and letting them drop to the storage room floor. "No... I didn't really think I needed one. Considering I don't even want to be there in the first place, and it's bad enough that it's my 'duty' as a 'valued student' to be there- why would I want some poor girl to be there with me too."
"Come on man, it's not like you'd have a problem getting a date or anything, Mr. Divisionals all star three goddamn years in a row." Minho replied, rather forcefully.
Thomas looked at the floor, sliding his sneakers against the concrete. He hadn't really had any urge to find a girl to bring, let alone thought that any girls would want to bring him. He'd been with girls before- more than he could count- but he never clicked with any of them. It made him a little bit sad, really. That he wasn't more than just the pretty boy on the track team that all the girls fawned over.
Minho noticed his expression change, and got up from his spot on the floor, before patting Thomas on the back.
"Ah, man. It's not that important. Come on, let's finish moving all this shit so we can go home finally. 'S Friday after all. Don't you want to go do something interesting?" Minho cheerily said. Thomas snapped out of whatever existential crisis he was having, and helped Minho finish dragging whatever junk back into the room for sorting. His mind was still on the subject however, something he still couldn't shake just bounced around in his head.
I wonder if anyone actually cares about color theory.
YOU ARE READING
Limp - Newmas High School!AU
FanfictionThomas had never really noticed it, but the senior with the limp was kinda cute. He seemed dark, almost brooding - but it was a different kind of dark. The happy kind. The kind that would stay up all night and watch movies with you or drive you out...
