one shots | newtmas

𝐬𝐢𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫- 𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐞𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡

2330 words

He woke up in the dark, feeling awful right off the bat. Anxiety washed through him, making his stomach turn horribly. Not to mention he had a raging headache to accompany his hangover.

The bedroom was dark, no light escaping through the slits in the curtains or from under the door. Even in the pitch black, Newt knew what the room looked like. It was a mess. Clothes littered the floor, the bed was a tangle of sweat soaked sheets and bottles stood left and right on the floor.

Newt sat up slowly, rubbing his fingers against his temples. He groaned audibly and swallowed thickly, his tongue feeling three times to big.

Standing, his head spinning, Newt made his way to the door, walking through the mess on the floor.

He reached the bedroom door and opened it slowly. It took too long for his eyes to adjust to the bright afternoon light. He sighed at the empty apartment.

A few more beer bottle sat on the coffee table in front of the couch. An ashtray was on the table, the contents spilling over. One empty shot glass sat on the kitchen bench. The bottle of whatever he'd been drinking was nowhere to be seen.

Newt knew he had sat there for most of the night, wallowing in his own self-pity before he moved to the couch. Newt went through bottle after bottle, shot after shot, staring off into space, missing him and drinking like it would fix his broken heart.

He shook his head, wincing after the harsh movement. Newt walked to the bathroom, finding pills already laid out on the bench. He swallowed them with a glass of water and walked back into the living room.

The blonde fell heavily onto the couch, groaning. He kicked his legs up, sighing when the all too familiar pain in his chest returned.

Newt knew he needed to move on. By this time Tommy... Thomas... was probably with someone new. Newt should be happy for him, be happy to see him happy. They had never officially ended or broken up. But they hadn't found their way back to each other again. Thomas was probably happily moved on.

The blonde glanced out the window. The sky was grey, matching his mood perfectly. Newt stood slowly and walked back to the bedroom. He didn't go into the room. He just leant against the door frame.

Newt stayed in the doorway, looking at the mess. Going against himself, he thought of Thomas. The brunet would have scolded Newt for letting the room get this messy.

He smiled sadly, leaning against the door frame.

Three loud knocks on the door pulled Newt's thoughts from Thomas. They pulled his thoughts from everything. He could only feel the sharp pain in his skull.

"Fucking hell," Newt groaned, walking towards the door before the person could kill him, knocking like a psycho on the door.

Again, Newt thought of Thomas. Maybe he'd come home. Maybe it had all been a dream and he was coming home after spending the night out.

The blonde pulled the door open and his face fell.

"Jesus Newt, don't look so happy to see me," Minho said, stepping around the blonde and into the apartment carrying two shopping bags. "Put a shirt on you porn star."

Minho, Newt thought. Always looking out for me.

"What the hell happened here?" the buff boy asked, dropping the bags.

Newt groaned again, closing the door as softly as he could. "Please Min, your annoyingly loud voice will be the death of me."

He didn't look in the mood to joke. He looked angry and concerned. Minho looked around the room, his eyes lingering on the empty beer bottles and ashtray on the coffee table. Newt rolled his eyes at the boy's expression. "Slim it Min, it's too early for a lecture."