Archive of Our Own

Thomas doesn’t usually ride his skateboard. He got it when he was 14 and going through a “cool rebel” phase, learned how to use it, and then subsequently stopped using it until he left for college and discovered it was a slightly faster way of getting from place to place around campus. But he still doesn’t use it much, because he feels like it makes him look like a poser or a douchebag or something. Plus he’s no professional skateboarder, and has wiped out on the sidewalk more than once, and he just doesn’t like dealing with that kind of bruised ego (and knees).

But it just so happens, of course, that he’s coasting along the sidewalk on that stupid board, heading for his 3:00 class from his nearby apartment and just a tiny bit late, pulling his sweater tighter around him against the sharp late-October wind, when somebody steps out of a little shop ahead of him. There’s a bit of space between them still, but the sidewalk in front of Thomas declines suddenly, just enough to make him speed up against his will, and he’ll admit that he’s distracted by his suddenly vibrating phone in his pocket.

“Watch out!” he yells, trying to veer around them, but he’s too slow, and the guy doesn’t turn around, and he’s too laden with bags of groceries. Even though Thomas jumps off his skateboard at the last moment to avoid completely bowling him over, he still runs straight into the guy and makes him drop all his stuff.

“Fuck,” Thomas says at the same time as his unfortunate victim makes a startled sound and then mutters, “Jesus bloody Christ,” swaying and held up only by Thomas’ iron grip on his arm.

“I am so sorry,” Thomas says immediately, taking a step back and letting go of him quickly. “It was an—” He cuts himself off quickly as the guy turns to look at him, tall and blond and fuck, he’s cute. “Uh.”

Without saying anything, Tall Blond and Handsome turns away from him to look at his scattered goods. Most of it is contained, having been dropped in the bags and stayed there, but a number of apples have rolled out of one and are visibly bruised, and a carton of eggs fell out of another and are probably all broken.

“Shit,” Thomas says, scrambling to go pick up all the fruit before they fall off the sidewalk into the street. “I’m so sorry,” he says again, tucking the apples back into the bag and picking it up to hand it back. “I really didn’t mean to, I didn’t think I was going that fast but there was a bit of a hill and I wasn’t paying close enough attention and I mean, to be fair I did give you a warning but you didn’t turn around in time and anyway, I’m so sorry, I can pay for those, I mean at some point I can pay for them, I only have like $3 on me because I’m poor as fuck but you can have that and I’ll pay you for the rest eventually—”

And here he stops, because Tall Blond is just staring at him, and more specifically, at his mouth. While Thomas has been rambling, this guy’s just been standing there, looking cute, with his eyebrows a little furrowed (CUTE), and staring at Thomas’ mouth, which is...flattering, maybe, but really kind of weird. Thomas is all for being direct when coming onto someone, but this is a little much for him. Does this dude want to kiss him or something? Right after Thomas just collided with him on his skateboard?

Except that, as soon as Thomas has stopped talking, the guy’s gaze flicks up from Thomas’ mouth to his eyes, perfectly calm and still silent.

“Uh.” Thomas scratches his head. “Are you okay?”

Tall Blond nods.

Discomfort itching down Thomas’ spine at his continued silence and generally weird behavior, he twists to take off his backpack, unzipping it and rummaging around inside for his wallet. “Look,” he says, “I can pay you back the rest later, but this is literally all I have on me so if you want to give me your phone number?” He pulls out his last three pitiful dollar bills and looks up again.

Tall Blond doesn’t respond, still staring, head cocked a bit to the side, like he’s waiting. He’s looking at Thomas’ mouth again.

Realization hits Thomas suddenly, like a lightning strike in his skull. “Oh my god, you can’t hear.”

Finally, Tall Blond smiles, eyebrows quirking, as if to say Took you long enough.

“I’m so sorry,” Thomas says for what feels like the thousandth time.

Now Tall Blond laughs, a chuckle that makes Thomas want to laugh too, despite himself. When his lips move, though, no sound comes out. You talk too fast, he mouths, pointing to Thomas, then at his own mouth. And you mumble. He gestures with his hands as he says it, palms up and fingers curling from where they stick out from the handles on his grocery bags.

Thomas fidgets, embarrassed and flustered, like a schoolgirl with a crush. “Sorry,” he says, head tipped down. Then, quickly, he lifts his chin and says, “I mean. Sorry,” realizing the guy can’t read his lips if he’s staring at the ground.

Tall Blond laughs again, shaking his head.

Thomas is definitely blushing now. Clearing his throat, he holds out the bills in his hand and says, “Here. For the eggs.” He points to Tall Blond’s bag and offers an apologetic smile.

Tall Blond nods gratefully and takes it, plucking the money from Thomas’ fingers and sliding it into his hoodie pocket.

“So. Um.” Thomas swallows and chews on his lips, unsure what else to say. He still wants that phone number, though now maybe for another reason. “I’m—”

The other boy jerks away suddenly, staring over Thomas’ shoulder. His lips form a surprised “o,” and Thomas turns to see the bus coming around the corner. When he turns back, Tall Blond is already jogging for the bus stop down the street, limping just a bit, waving over his shoulder.

“Wait!” Thomas says, but of course, Tall Blond can’t hear or see him. Shit. A moment later, he’s getting onto the bus and effectively disappearing from Thomas’ life. “Fuck,” Thomas mutters, finally walking forward to save his skateboard from the storm drain it got stuck in. He really needs to get to class, but he watches the bus drive away from him for a couple miserable seconds first. He sighs. “I didn’t even get your name.”

And that’s all Thomas ever expects to see of Tall Blond, obviously. He won’t deny that he keeps an eye out for the guy from then on, especially around that area, around that bus stop, but a couple weeks pass, and Thomas never spots him again. It’s not like he’s going to invest time and effort into finding the guy again, because he literally saw him for like two minutes and managed to both run over him and make a complete fool of himself in that short amount of time. Not the most attractive first impression. But Thomas secretly kind of wants to see him again. He was cute. And he had a nice laugh and an adorable frowny face.

But Tall Blond stays out of Thomas’ life, and Thomas goes on living anyway, trying to get through his final year of college relatively unscathed. That in itself is a struggle, so he decides to pour most of his energy into that, writing papers and pounding out assignments and making it to class when he can.

One of those assignments, as it is, is for his dumb Psych elective, and he has to give a fifteen-minute presentation with a partner, as well as hand in a 3-page paper. The research is done, the paper is mostly written, but the powerpoint still has to be put together, and finally, his partner asks him if he wants to go back to his apartment to just get the thing done.

“Sure,” Thomas sighs, zipping up his bag. “This is my last class of the day anyway.”

“Yeah?” His partner, a buff Korean guy named Minho, has sat beside him all semester, but they haven’t really gotten past pleasantries and man this class sucks and what the hell is up with our professor. So far, they’ve done all their partner work separately, going with the tried-and-true Divide and Conquer method.

“Yup. I was gonna go home and order pizza and hate my life, but making a powerpoint for this class sounds almost as fun.”

Minho laughs, standing up and heading for the classroom door. “We can still order pizza if you want,” he says. “I’m down.”

Thomas grins. “Awesome. Sounds like a date.”

They take the bus from campus to Minho’s apartment, trying to stay out of the chilly November weather, and Thomas makes a few feeble attempts at conversation. He really likes Minho, he’s a chill dude with a pretty great sense of humour, but for whatever reason they’ve never talked outside of class. This probably should change. Thomas has been in college for three years and still has the same friends he brought with him from high school. And they’re both girls. Thomas may be gay, but he refuses to be a stereotype.

Minho is a good sport and humours Thomas, chatting with him idly during the five-minute bus ride to his block, and then they get out and head into a small apartment complex, taking the stairs up one flight to a door marked 203. Minho unlocks it with a key from the ring in his pocket and swings the door in, then flicks on the lights. “Come on in and make yourself comfortable,” he says, waving Thomas through. “My roommate’s home, but he shouldn’t be—”

“Minhooooooooo,” comes a voice floating through an open door. Thomas turns at the sudden interruption, and sees a familiar face walk out. He freezes and stares, and Tall Blond, in all of his adorable frowny face glory, stares right back, obviously just as startled as Thomas is.

Minho grins, lifting his hands to sign as he speaks. “Newt,” he says, and Tall Blond looks at him. “This is my project partner, Thomas.” He spells out Thomas’ name with his hands—or at least, that’s what it looks like he’s doing. “Thomas, this is my roommate, Newt. He’s deaf, but he can read lips.”

“I know,” Thomas says, starting to smile a little.

“What?” Minho sounds as perplexed as would be expected.

“I made him drop all his groceries the other day.”

Newt smiles, thin lips twisting up as he leans against the doorframe. At the same time, Minho bursts out laughing. “That was you? Newt told me about that. He called you skateboard bastard.” He makes a few signs with his hands, as if imitating exactly how Newt described him.

“Oh, awesome,” Thomas says, ducking his head shamefully.

Newt waves to get his attention, then makes a few signs and mouths, Fancy seeing you here. It’s a bit hard to make it out, but between the movement of his lips and the fairly straightforward gestures, Thomas gets the gist of it. He laughs embarrassedly.

“We need to work on our project,” Minho says as he signs towards his roommate. “Do you want pizza later?”

Newt nods enthusiastically, his face expressive, then jabs back towards his room and signs some more.

Minho nods, then turns back to Thomas. “He says he’ll be in his room,” he supplies, then points to another door. “Mine’s through there, if you wanna get started on the slideshow.”

“Yeah, okay,” Thomas says, dragging his eyes away from Newt as the other boy sends him one last smile and disappears.

They get down to work, looking up relevant pictures and short YouTube clips, but Thomas’ mind keeps drifting. “How long have you and Newt been living together?” he asks, out of nowhere.

Minho gives him a surprised look, eyebrows raised, then turns back to the screen, typing up a short explanation for a diagram. “Three and a half years,” he says. “As soon as I started college, we moved in together. We’ve known each other for years though.”

Thomas nods slowly, embarrassed by his obvious interest but unable to resist prying further. “That’s how you know sign language?”

Minho hums and nods. “Yeah. We took a crash course on ASL together a couple months after I met him, and he’s been learning and teaching me more ever since.”

“You learned at the same time?”

“He moved here from England. BSL’s different, that’s what he’d been learning till then. Messed him up a bit, but he’s got it figured out now.”

Thomas nods, biting his tongue to keep from asking more but only succeeding in keeping his mouth shut for the time it took to put another slide together. “But I heard him talk a few times,” he blurts when he just can’t contain it any longer.

Minho sends him another eyebrows-raised look, now smirking. “Interested, huh?”

“I’m honestly too curious for my own good,” Thomas admits shamefully, grinning.

Minho laughs good-naturedly. “He’s Post-Lingual Deaf,” he says. “Lost his hearing when he was 13. He can still talk, but he mostly chooses not to. Not hearing anything for nine years has made his pronunciation a little weird, and I think he’s self-conscious about it.”

“So he’s completely deaf?” Thomas asks, pretending to browse through pictures on Google Images but not really seeing them. “He can’t hear anything?”

“Nothing,” Minho affirms. “Head trauma from a car accident.”

“Hmm.” Thomas taps out a rhythm on his laptop. “But he talks to you?”

Minho shrugs. “Well, we had to communicate somehow when we first met,” he says. “And he doesn’t give a shit if I think he sounds weird. But still, he only talks to me when he needs to get my attention, or we’re in different rooms, or his hands are full.”

Thomas nods again, swallows more questions about how hard it was to learn ASL, and if Newt still has a British accent, and why his name is Newt, and if Newt went to college like them, or is still in college, or what he does. Suddenly, Thomas wants to know every single detail of Newt’s life, but that’s probably creepy, so he tries to focus on their assignment, and not on his mental image of Newt’s cute frowny face or his warm brown eyes. Nope.

A couple hours later, their powerpoint presentation is finished, and the pizza has arrived. Thomas has to fight the urge to make sure he looks good before going to join Minho and Newt in the kitchen.

Over dinner, the pair of roommates sign back and forth, their hands and faces equally expressive, but Thomas catches Newt throwing him glances in between. Although it’s possible that that’s just because Thomas is looking at him. He eats his pizza in silence until Minho says, “Newt’s asking about you.”

“Huh?” Thomas looks at him in surprise, then at Newt, who sends him a crooked smile. “What’d he ask?”

“What your major is in college.”

“Oh. It’s Human Kinetics.” For whatever reason, Thomas has to stop himself from approximating some kind of nonsensical sign for the words. Instead, he makes sure to face Newt and say the words clearly. Newt nods in understanding.

“Yeah? You an athlete?” Minho asks. Newt signs something, and Minho turns back to him and says, “I just asked him.”

Thomas glances between them and says, “Just running. I used to do lacrosse, too, but dislocated my shoulder once and haven’t played since.”

Minho grins. “Hey, I run too! I mean, not for sport, but I run most mornings.”

“Yeah?” Thomas brightens. “We should run together sometime.”

“Yeah, totally.” Minho tips his can of coke towards him and smiles.

“What about you?” Thomas asks, looking at Newt. “Sports?”

Newt makes a face and shakes his head. Busted ankle, he mouths, and points to his foot.

“Oh.” Thomas feels a little embarrassed, even though he had no way of knowing that.

“He messed it up in the car crash,” Minho supplies, taking another slice of pizza from the box. “Still bothers him a little.”

Thomas nods in understanding, then clears his throat and attempts to casually say, “Are you still in school?”

The smile on Newt’s face suggests that he doesn’t buy Thomas’ little innocent act, but Thomas tries to ignore that. The blond shakes his head and mouths, I work. Web design. He mimes typing on a keyboard. Thomas is positive he’s dumbing down actual ASL for him.

“He works freelance,” Minho adds. “And takes up extra shifts at a little hipster organic grocery store. I think the owner is in love with him.” He signs that last part, and Newt kicks him under the table.

“Oh yeah?” Thomas picks at the crust of his pizza slice.

“She’s like 65 and thinks he’s an angel.” Minho grins. “She has a deaf niece, though, so she’s a good boss for him.”

She’s nice, Newt mouths across the table. And she pays me.

“I know she’s nice. I wasn’t saying anything mean about her.” Minho kicks back at him.

Thomas smiles at the two of them. (Mostly at Newt.)

By the time supper is over, Thomas has exhausted all of his ideas for reasons he might be able to stay longer. There’s nothing. He’s going to have to go home.

“What are you guys up to tonight?” he asks as a last resort, trying to stall.

Minho looks at his roommate. “Video games?”

Newt signs something back that goes right over Thomas’ head.

Minho nods at him, then turns back. “You wanna join? I think we’re going to play Smash Bros.”

Thomas blinks in surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah, sure. It gets boring playing with just Newt. He always picks Lucas because he can’t hear his annoying voice.”

Newt signs something, and Minho laughs. “Yes, I am complaining about your character choices.”

“Yeah, I’ll play,” Thomas says quickly, almost breathless. “I haven’t played much Smash Bros, but it’s never too late to learn.”

“Indeed,” Minho agrees.

They end up sitting squeezed onto Minho and Newt’s loveseat in the living room, a controller in each of their hands, playing for several hours. Thomas catches on fairly quickly, but Minho is obviously the master here, and he wins almost every round. Thomas mostly mashes buttons, and it seems like that’s what Newt does too, if his character’s chaotic movement is anything to go by.

Thomas also gets treated to more of Newt’s voice, though mostly vocalized through alarmed “Ah! Ahhhh!” sounds and high, desperate whines and angry shouts. He lets out one loud, “Bloody fucking Christ!” when his character gets blasted off the screen, and Thomas turns to look at Minho, eyebrows raised.

Minho laughs without turning from the screen. “I don’t think he realizes he’s doing it,” he says. “Even after so many years, it’s kind of a knee-jerk reaction to swear out loud.”

“He swears very...British,” Thomas says, sitting back since his character’s dead anyway.

“Yeah, well, he never got to hear American swearing,” Minho says with a shrug.

There’s a loud slap, and Thomas turns to see Newt glaring at Minho, who laughs. “He says not to talk about him like he isn’t here,” Minho translates. “Newt, baby, I only ever say wonderful things about you.”

Newt slugs him in the arm, looking completely unconvinced, then gets up as he signs something else before disappearing into the kitchen.

“He’s getting chips,” Minho says. Thomas looks at him, and realizes he’d been staring after the blond. He fights down a blush, but Minho grins. “And I’m getting tired of being the man in the middle. Literally.” He gestures towards Thomas on his left and Newt’s empty seat on his right.

Thomas just shrugs, trying to play it cool, and looks back at the screen. “I think I want to be Marth this time, he looks like a badass.”

Minho laughs, and Thomas is pretty sure he failed.

By the time Thomas remembers he should probably edit a paper before printing it off to hand in tomorrow morning, he feels like he’s bonded with both Minho and Newt over Smash Bros and sweet chili heat Doritos. He calls his goodbyes as he slips on his shoes at the door, thanking them for letting him hang out and stuff, then pointedly looks at Newt and waves, smiling as he says, “Bye.”

Bye, Newt mouths, waving back with his lips quirked.

Minho gives Thomas a look as he steps out the door, which Thomas ignores. Okay, so he has a little crush. So what?

He doesn’t see Newt for a couple weeks after that. He and Minho see each other regularly, in class and once to go for a morning run, but they never go back to Minho’s apartment, and thus, Thomas doesn’t get to see Newt. Which sucks.

But that doesn’t mean Thomas doesn’t think about him every now and then. Or maybe sort of often. And maybe he peers into the only hipster organic grocery store he knows of, to see if maybe Newt works in there. Not that he knows his shifts or anything. But he can always hope. (And maybe he peers inside every single time he passes by, which is twice a day, on his way to and from campus.)

He doesn’t see hide nor hair of Mr. Tall Blond until mid-November, when he shoots a cursory glance through the store’s big glass window and sees a familiar face behind the counter.

Thomas’ heart skips a beat, which is ridiculous, because he honestly barely knows the guy. Running a nervous hand through his hair, he adjusts his backpack on his shoulders and steps in through the door.

Newt looks up from the book he’s reading behind the counter. His eyebrows shoot up his forehead, and he waves.

Thomas smiles awkwardly and waves back. “Hi,” he says. “I, um. I was just passing by, and I saw you in here…”

You were just...passing by? Newt mouths, a smirk pulling at his mouth.

Thomas tries not to blush. “Uh, yeah. My apartment’s down that way.” He gestures down the street. “So this is where you work?”

Newt still looks skeptical and amused, but he lets it go and nods. Sometimes. His nametag says ‘Hello, I’m DEAF.’

“Cool.” Thomas clears his throat, pulling on his backpack straps as he casually walks over to the counter to lean against it. “Whatcha reading?”

Newt smiles and holds up his book. It’s Of Mice and Men.

“Oh, hey, I read that book in high school.” Thomas tries to remember a single detail about it and fails. “It was...good.”

Newt nods and looks at him expectantly, as if waiting for Thomas to say what he really came in here to say.

Thomas promptly realizes there isn’t much to say to a guy you’ve seen exactly two times, and the first time hardly counts. Especially when communication is still a bit of a struggle. “So…” he says slowly.

A phone vibrates suddenly, and it’s not Thomas’. He looks up to see Newt pulling out his own, then snickering at whatever message he just got. Before Thomas can even ask, Newt turns the phone to show him a snapchat picture clearly taken over Minho’s shoulder at a girl in large goggles and a lab coat. The part of Minho’s face that’s visible in the shot looks horrified, and the caption reads “I’M IN BIOCHEM HELL.”

Thomas laughs softly, and Newt picks up a pen to scribble something down on the pad of paper in front of him, clearly there for that reason. He really hates his lab partner, it reads. Thomas laughs again.

Then he looks up and says, “You have snapchat?” before he can stop himself.

Newt looks at him with raised eyebrows. Obviously, he mouths.

Thomas scratches his neck and grins. “Wanna add me?”

Newt still looks amused at his expense, but he shrugs and says, Sure.

Fumbling for his phone, Thomas blurts out, “And while I’m at it, can I get your number?”

That freaking smile is going to be burned into Thomas’ brain forever. It’s going to haunt him in his sleep. Sure, Newt mouths again calmly.

“Teresa says I need to make more guy friends,” Thomas says quickly, mouth running on autopilot, as usual.

Newt looks away to pull up a new contact page on his phone and hand it to him, then moves his gaze back to Thomas’ face. Who?

“Teresa.” Thomas plucks the pen from his hand and scribbles the name down. “My friend.”

Newt nods, then takes the pen back and scrawls, Friend?

Thomas, unsure if the repetition is just for the sake of clarification or, well, something else, swallows thickly and nods. “Yeah.”

Newt smiles, then finishes tapping his number into Thomas’ phone and hands it back.

“So anyway,” Thomas says. He almost blurts, You wanna hang out sometime? but he figures he’s already embarrassed himself enough for one day. “I’ll let you get back to your book. Or working. Or whatever.”

Newt nods, waving. See ya.

“Yeah, see ya.”

An hour later, Thomas gets a text from Minho. A little birdy tells me you got my roommate’s number today.

Thomas cringes and tries not to die of embarrassment. Was that little birdy your roommate?

Maybe.

Thomas doesn’t know how to respond to that. Does Newt telling Minho means he was excited about getting Thomas’ number, or does it mean they were laughing over it, like, Isn’t this guy a total weirdo? Ugh.

But Minho’s next message is u better take care of him, he is my precious baby bird.

Thomas’ face burns. Has he just gotten his project partner’s blessing to woo his roommate? Or is this just a big joke?

He really hopes it isn’t a joke.

The next time Thomas sees Newt, it’s because Minho invited him over to watch a movie. And, in Minho’s words exactly, “To get Newt off my back.” Whatever that means.

Since their last meeting, Newt and Thomas have been messaging each other back and forth erratically. The first message Thomas gets is a snapchat of Newt covering half of his face with his copy of Of Mice and Men and the caption “i’m not crying ur crying.” The second was a blurry, dark picture of Minho in front of the TV and the caption “watched the movie. Minho’s crying.”

Thomas had responded the following day with a snap of Minho asleep in their shared class, with the caption “ur roommate is drooling on my textbook.”

Their snapchat conversation from there on may have devolved into attempting to get the most unflattering pictures of their mutual friend. Minho was a good sport about it when he found out, only threatening Thomas once before leaving it.

Thomas: control ur roommate, i thought he was going to kill me today

Newt: nah he;s just a big fluffy bear

Thomas: he told me in graphic detail how he was going to destroy your life

Newt: he loves me really
Newt: jk he just came home and forcefully made me delete all my beautiful screenshots
Newt: what a meanie i h8 him
Newt: i need a new roommate
Newt: tommy say you’ll apply for the job so i can tell minho that i’m replacing him

Thomas had taken a few moments to blush at the nickname before responding. sign me up, the rent’s probably cheaper

Sadly, the roommate replacement never went through, but the snapchatting did continue, and apparently Minho wasn’t that mad, because he still invited Thomas over for that movie. (Possibly because they’d switched from trying to capture Minho at his worst to trying to catch Minho at his most photogenic, captioning their photos with things like “BABE” and “10/10 HOTTIE”.)

“Hey, you made it!” Minho says when Thomas shows up at their apartment. “Thank goodness, Newt’s been nagging me.”

“Oh really?” Thomas tries to brush it off like it’s nothing.

“Yeah. I think he’s sick of me. He keeps bringing up replacing me as a roommate.” Minho grins, looking anything but fazed by the threats.

They walk into the living room, where Newt is already sitting on the couch. He waves, face lighting up with a smile when he spots Thomas, then pats the seat next to him. Sit, he mouths.

Thomas wishes it were dark in the room, because he thinks he blushes. Which is dumb. He isn’t a fourteen-year-old girl. “Hey,” he says, flopping into the seat. “What are we watching?”

Newt slings an arm over the back of the couch, behind Thomas’ head, to turn to look at Minho and snap his fingers until his roommate looks at him. Thomas turns as well, and sees Minho’s eyebrows lift at them. Newt ignores him, signing something quickly, and his roommate replies, “Jupiter Ascending. Seen it?”

“No,” Thomas admits. “Scifi, right?”

“Yeah. I think it got terrible reviews, but apparently the visuals are nice.” Minho looks at the back of the movie case. “It has that Kunis chick and beefcake men. So like, it’s got something no matter what you’re into.”

“What if you’re into non-beefcake men?” Thomas asks automatically.

“Ouch, Thomas, that hurts.” Minho grins as he clutches his chest, but his gaze flicks to Newt. Thomas snorts and turns around immediately.

Newt’s arm doesn’t drop from the back of the couch.

The movie has closed captioning, of course, but Thomas can’t seem to pay attention to it regardless. It’s a pretty snug fit on the couch, and it feels much more intimate when they’re not flailing around with video game controllers, all pressed together as they watch their film. Thomas is keenly aware of every inch of him that’s touching Newt on his right side, which is a lot of inches, because Thomas threw his leg over one of Newt’s at some point, and they’re hip-to-hip, and Newt’s arm is resting against the back of his neck. Of course, Minho is similarly close to Thomas on his other side, but somehow that feels much more trivial.

He almost dozes off once or twice, but he sticks it through to the end, and afterwards, when the lights are back on, Newt and Minho have a silent argument about something movie-related that Thomas can’t even dream of making sense of. He watches the exchange quietly and laughs to himself at their intense expressions, but gathers pretty much zero information.

“You guys need to teach me some sign language,” he says at last, feeling dizzy. “Or else I am never going to know what you’re talking about.”

Minho’s face lights up in a grin. “Seriously?”

“What?” Thomas blinks at him.

“You wanna learn? I can teach you the basics.”

“Wha— Really?” Thomas hadn’t really been serious, and he honestly probably doesn’t have time for sign language lessons, but suddenly, the prospect sounds really tempting.

“Yeah, absolutely. You’ll have to learn it eventually, if you want to…” He trails off and glances at Newt, who sits up and narrows his eyes.

What? the blond asks, but Minho ignores him.

Thomas keeps his face turned away from Newt to hide his flush. “Uh. Yeah, no, I’d love to learn some. If you wanna teach me.”

“Cool. I’m setting up weekly lessons. You better take this shit seriously, okay?”

Thomas is mildly surprised by Minho’s intensity, but he’s all for it. “For sure,” he says. “Sign me up.”

Minho looks extremely pleased about this, almost a little smug. “That’s what I like to hear, Thomas.”

Thomas ends up spending more and more time at Newt and Minho’s apartment after that. Minho sets up their weekly ASL lessons on Saturday mornings, after they go for a run together, but he winds up inviting Thomas over every other day just to hang out. Thomas kind of wonders if Newt puts him up to it, but he never asks, for fear of being wrong.

His ASL lessons themselves are a mixture of frustrating, embarrassing, and exciting. Minho is a good teacher, patient and understanding, but Thomas picks the signs up slowly, often getting them wrong or forgetting them entirely. He has to ask Minho frequently throughout the week to reteach him signs, and it ends up being ASL Lesson Time all the time.

After a while, though, Thomas starts to catch on, and when he uses a few of his newly-learned signs with Newt, the other boy positively beams. So. That pretty much makes everything worth it.

For once, Thomas is not particularly excited for Christmas break. He is, of course, pretty pumped to not have anymore finals to study for, because it’s called Hell Week for a reason, but the thought of going home and seeing no one but his family for several weeks after finally having made some new friends is not his idea of a good time. Of course, Teresa and Brenda will be around sometimes, but it won’t be the same.

His family lives about an hour out of the city, and Thomas and the girls all drive out together, like they always do. They’ve all been busy lately, so it’s a nice chance to catch up on whatever they’ve missed.

“So Thomas,” Brenda says, leaning over from the back seat. “Tell me about your new beau.”

Thomas chokes and coughs. “My new what?”

The girls both laugh. “Oh, come on, Tom. Don’t give us that. We know your hopelessly in love face. You’ve been all dreamy and faraway about this dude for months.”

“I’m not—!” Thomas protests, but it’s futile.

“Just tell us about him,” Teresa says, waving him off.

With a sigh, Thomas says, “He’s my friend. His name is Newt.”

“What kind of a name is that?” Brenda snorts.

“I don’t know, probably a nickname. Anyway. He’s really nice.”

“And cute?” Teresa prompts, smiling knowingly.

“Yes, if you must know.” Thomas keeps his eyes on the road. “And deaf.”

The girls are silent for a few seconds. Then Teresa says, “And you’re still going for it?”

Thomas scratches his head and glances at her. “Well, yeah,” he says awkwardly. “I like him.”

His friends make various cooing and squealing noises. “You’re adorable, Tom. I’m so happy for you!”

“Shut up!” Thomas complains. “We’re just friends.”

“For now~” Teresa singsongs.

“Show us pictures!” Brenda prompts. “I want to see him.”

“I’m trying to drive here!” Thomas objects.

“Okay fine. But as soon as we’re out of the car. Pictures.”

Thomas sighs, but his lips rebelliously tug up in a smile. At least they’re supportive?

The first week of break is right over Christmas, so Thomas doesn’t really have a chance to hang out with friends, spending time with family and all that. He does get a number of texts, though, both from the girls and from Minho and Newt. Most of the conversation revolves around how everyone is celebrating and what they got as gifts and “oh shit i forgot to buy my sister a present do you have any ideas???”, but eventually the topic turns to what people are doing post-holidays.

Thomas is over at Teresa’s when Newt texts him on the 28th.

Newt: what are u up to today?

Thomas glances at his best friend, who is watching cop dramas and painting her nails. Uh, not much.

“Is that Newt?” Teresa asks. “I know it is, I can see your gross smile in the reflection on the screen.”

“You’re weird,” Thomas tells her.

Newt: want to hang out today maybe? if you don’t mind the drive. i’m bored as bloody hell today.

Thomas swallows hard. “Uh, T?”

“What. Are you ditching me?”

Thomas tries on an apologetic grin. “Maybe…?”

His friend sighs heavily. “Just go. Make out with your boyfriend, I don’t need you.”

Thomas beams, ignoring the jibe. yeah, absolutely! when, where? Then, stomach sinking slightly, Is Minho gonna be there? Not that he would mind, really, but, well.

Newt: would you not come if he wasn’t?

Thomas almost breaks his phone in his scramble to reply. no, ofc i would. i was just wondering.

Newt: i think he’s busy.

Thomas has to swallow down his bubbling excitement. alright. so yeah. when? where?

Newt: do you bowl? because if so, i don’t want to play against you.

Thomas: no, i’m a terrible bowler.

Newt: excellent.

Thomas jumps up, grinning, and announces, “I’m going bowling.”

“Have fun on your date,” Teresa says boredly.

“It’s not a date, and I will.”

“It’s a date.” Teresa turns to smile up at him. “Good luck, Tom.”

“Thank you,” Thomas says, suddenly feeling like he’ll need it. “See ya, T.” And he’s out the door.

The bowling alley isn’t particularly full on a Monday afternoon. He spots Newt immediately, sitting inside and already wearing his red and blue bowling shoes, and he waves enthusiastically. Newt grins and waves back.

“Hi,” Thomas says, signing the word. Then, fumbling, he clumsily signs something along the lines of “You come here...when?” and then drops his hands, embarrassed.

Newt laughs, eyes bright. Just a few minutes, he mouths. He points at his shoes, then at the counter. Go.

Smiling bashfully, Thomas turns and walks up to the counter, paying for his shoe rental and everything. The girl behind the counter smiles at him charmingly and says, “Just you and him today?”

Thomas ducks his head and smiles, nodding as he fishes some cash from his wallet. “Ah, yeah,” he says, and wonders if anyone thinks they’re on a date.

“He’s very self-sufficient. He came very prepared,” the girls laughs.

“Did he?” Thomas grins.

“He had a paper with his shoe size and everything written on it. I was impressed.”

“I’m sure he’s used to it.” Thomas takes his shoes from her but doesn’t move away from the counter.

“I have a little cousin that’s deaf,” the girl tells him. “I’ve never learned any sign language, though.”

“I’m just learning now,” Thomas tells her, even though he’s sure it’s obvious.

“You two can still communicate alright, though?”

Thomas drums nervous fingers on the countertop. “We usually have a mutual, hearing and signing friend with us,” he admits. “We don’t usually hang out, just us two. So...we’ll see how it goes.”

“I’m sure you’ll get along fine.” The girl smiles encouragingly.

“Yeah, I hope s—”

“Tommy!”

Thomas almost has a heart attack at the sound of his name. It’s a little distorted, but it’s definitely recognizable, and Thomas wheels around to see Newt looking at him, waving him over impatiently. Grabbing his shoes, Thomas jogs over to him, still struck dumb. “You just said my name,” he says.

Newt smiles slightly. You weren’t looking at me, he mouths, signing the words slowly.

Thomas grins slowly. “I should not look at you more often.”

You can’t resist me. Newt smiles teasingly.

He’s right though.

Thomas loves how vocal Newt gets sometimes. He’s usually so silent, apart from soft laughs and occasional hums, but when he’s frustrated or startled, he makes all sorts of complementary sounds, and apparently, this is true when he gets excited, too.

“WOO!” he says loudly when he gets a spare. He turns to Thomas and gesticulates wildly, grinning from ear to ear. He does a little victory dance, and it’s probably the cutest damn thing Thomas has ever seen.

Thomas just laughs and claps, even though he thinks there’s a special sign for applause in ASL. He gives Newt a high five, then goes to take his turn. He’s losing, but thankfully not by that much. Neither of their scores are crazy high.

I like playing with you, Newt mouths and signs. Minho is too good at bowling.

Thomas watches Newt’s hands carefully. He’s trying his best to learn new signs, but sometimes he gets really confused. “Minho?” he repeats. “How did you sign his name?”

Ah! Newt grins, then makes a sign for an M and flexes his arm to sign strong.

“That’s how you sign his name?”

That’s my name sign for him. Since we were little.

“That’s cute.” Thomas smiles. “Do you have a name sign, too?”

Newt nods, and mouths his name as he signs N and taps it against his forehead, then swings it out, like the sign for smart.

“Not literally a newt?” Thomas asks, eyebrows raised. “Like the lizard?”

Newt shakes his head, chuckling. Smart, he signs, like Isaac Newton. He fingerspells out the name slowly.

“Oh! Oh, that makes so much more sense.” Thomas laughs embarrassedly. “So you’re the brains and Minho is the brawn?”

Yes. Although it turns out he’s smart, too. Newt rolls his eyes, like he’s annoyed by that.

Thomas has to laugh. “So what about me? Do you and Minho have a name sign for me?”

Newt nods, but he suddenly looks embarrassed.

“What is it?” Thomas has forgotten all about bowling.

Newt signs a T and circles it around his face. Thomas copies it, and Newt nods in approval.

“What’s it mean?” Thomas asks.

Newt shrugs, fidgeting. Your name, he mouths.

Thomas narrows his eyes, but lets it go. He figures he’ll find out eventually.

They go to a warm, quiet cafe afterwards, stepping in out of the bitter December cold, and sit at a little table with hot drinks clasped in their hands. Newt teaches him the signs for hot chocolate and coffee and warm and sweet and spill, and Thomas tries to use them in sentences, and they chuckle between themselves over little mistakes and dumb jokes. They keep a sheet of paper between them, for when a sentence is too long or complex for Newt to mouth it, and it fills up with conversation and doodles and smiley faces, and it’s fun. Communication isn’t quite as simple as Thomas is used to, but it flows easily regardless, and Newt smiles at him over the rim of his coffee mug, and Thomas feels kind of floaty and all sorts of happy.

They grab a late dinner at a hipster burger joint and discuss Thomas’ major and their families and favourite TV series, and in the end Thomas goes home practically swooning. Teresa and Brenda both come over—there are downsides to having nosey friends who live on the same street as you—and they take one look at him and say, “Oh Thomas. You have it bad.”

Thomas makes a face at them.

But they’re right.

“So Thomas,” Minho says a couple days later. It’s New Year’s Eve and Thomas is at his and Newt’s apartment to help him set up some party decorations, although Newt himself is currently at a family thing. “How did your date go?”

Heat rises to Thomas’ cheeks, and he keeps his eyes on the streamers he’s taping to the ceiling. “What date?”

“Oh please,” Minho laughs across the room. “Newt told me all about it.”

“That wasn’t a date,” Thomas mumbles. “We just went bowling and stuff.”

Minho snorts loudly. “Yeah, okay. So?”

“So, what?” Thomas steps back to survey his work.

“So, do I have to teach you the signs you need to ask a guy out, or what?”

Thomas turns red and glares at Minho over his shoulder. “What makes you think he even wants to go out with me?”

Minho grins and walks over to lay a firm hand on his shoulder. “Thomas, please. His name sign for you is T combined with Attractive.”

Thomas’ stomach does a little flip thing. “It is?”

“Also, he asked you to hang out with him one-on-one. Without me. Newt never asks non-signing people to hang out without me around, because he gets embarrassed about struggling to communicate with them. He obviously really, really likes you.” Minho gives him a reassuring smile.

Thomas’ chest aches with the effort of trying not to get too hopeful. “You think so?”

“Dude. He’s super into you. Trust me.” Minho gives him a look. “So do I have to teach you the signs for safe sex or not?”

Thomas chokes, waving his hands. “Whoa, okay, no need to get ahead of ourselves here.”

Minho laughs, finally leaving him alone to check the fridge. “Better safe than sorry, Thomas. Wild things can happen on New Year’s.”

“Oh my god,” Thomas groans.

“Just saying!” Minho calls back, and Thomas shakes his head.

Minho refuses to leave it alone after that. Everything other sentence out of his mouth is “So when are you going to ask him out?” and “I can teach you the sign for date” and “Are you going to ask him out tonight?” The more he mentions it, the more nervous Thomas gets, wondering if Minho’s over-exaggerating to get a rise out of him, or if he’s misreading Newt. And then he starts worrying about Newt turning him down, and then about Newt saying yes, because that presents a whole new array of scary possibilities. As the afternoon drags on and the time of Newt’s return draws nearer, Thomas gets increasingly panicked about the entire situation, mostly for no reason but it starts to sound pretty logical to him.

“So,” Minho says again, bumping his hip as he passes by. “What’s the plan, Thomas?”

Thomas lets out a long, distressed breath. “I don’t know!” he says. “I don’t have a plan! I haven’t even thought this through yet, I’ve just kind of been idly daydreaming about dumb shit. I don’t even know if, like, I’m ready for...this…” He trails off lamely, cringing.

Minho turns to look at him. “Ready for what?”

“I don’t know.” Thomas runs an agitated hand through his hair. “Just...dating him and...dating a deaf person…”

All of a sudden, Minho is very serious. He steps right in front of Thomas to look at him head-on, and Thomas almost takes an alarmed step back. “Thomas. Dude. I am not kidding. If you are not going to be serious about this, just say it and I will let Newt down gently. But do not ever, ever tell me and especially not him that he is not worth dating because he is deaf.”

“I’m not—!” Thomas starts to protest.

“No, listen. You don’t know how hard it’s been for him, losing his hearing. He has lost so many friends and faced so much difficulty making new friends, and struggled so much. And if you are going to ditch him because he’s hard to communicate with, then you honestly might as well just leave right now, and I will tell Newt you died, because that would probably be easier on him than the truth.” Minho’s eyes are dark with fiery intensity.

“Minho, wait, that’s not— I mean, I’ll admit, it’s kind of daunting, but I wouldn’t do that,” Thomas says, throat closing up a little with how desperate he is to get his message across.

“That’s what I’d like to believe, Thomas, but this is important to me. I like you, and Newt likes you, so I think this is great. And I’m not saying you have to commit to marrying the guy or anything. But I do want you to give him a fair chance. Because he is wonderful. And the fact that he can’t hear should not change that for you.”

Thomas swallows, feeling properly cowed. “It doesn’t,” he says.

Minho huffs out a breath. “Then what are you scared of?” he asks, backing down slightly.

Thomas gives a half laugh. “Okay, well, dating a deaf person is a little bit intimidating. I mean, you can’t argue with me there.”

“Alright, fine. If you’re not used to it...sure,” Minho relents.

“So that’s giving me pause,” Thomas admits. “And you’re right. I should be serious about it. So I’m just...gathering my strength to make sure I’m ready. Okay?”

Minho stares at him for a few long seconds, his eyes searching Thomas’ face, like he’s looking for any sign of insincerity there. But apparently he’s satisfied, because he sighs and says, “Okay. I just...I’m a little protective of him.”

Thomas grins. “You’re a good friend, Minho,” he says, clapping him on the shoulder.

Minho snorts. “Thanks. I try.”

“So have I gained your approval? Have I passed your test?” Thomas asks teasingly.

“I guess so.” Minho smiles crookedly. “So...what’s your plan?”

“Oh my god, Minho, give me a fucking minute!”

Minho laughs, and Thomas figures they’re okay.

But he really does need a plan, at some point.

Newt returns half an hour later, right on schedule, and he’s acting completely normal, of course, because he hasn’t been heckled for the last several hours about when he’s going to start dating Thomas, but Thomas does not have that luxury. He greets Newt nervously, trying out three different smiles as the older boy lifts an eyebrow at him, and then he quickly excuses himself to the bathroom because wow. He needs to get a grip, and soon.

The party is small, with just a few friends of Minho and Newt’s, plus Teresa and Brenda. Thomas goes through introductions—Alby, Gally, Ben, Aris, Sonya, Harriet, and so on—and he learns that a few of them are deaf or hard of hearing, and the rest can sign to some degree. They all smile at Thomas, and they all know his name sign (So this is [T-attractive]?), so Thomas is effectively both charmed and embarrassed. But they’re all super nice, and they all make an effort to talk to Teresa and Brenda, too, which is awesome of them.

It’s the girls’ first time meeting Newt as well, and both of them shoot Thomas knowing smiles as Newt grins at them and offers to get them drinks from the kitchen.

The party is...interesting. There are drinks, but no one gets drunk, and there’s no music, because half the people wouldn’t be able to hear it. It’s fairly quiet, because so many people are signing rather than speaking, and often the relative silence is broken by bursts of laughter. They stand around chatting or playing board games or watching TV, and Thomas stands in the corner with the girls until Harriet and Sonya drag them away, and then he’s alone until Newt seeks him out.

Hi, Newt signs, smiling widely. He puts his cup down on the coffee table so he can use both hands. Why are you hiding here?

“I’m not hiding,” Thomas objects, clumsily signing not. “I was waiting for you to come over.”

Newt laughs, eyes bright. Oh really?

“Of course.” Thomas grins, but his stomach twists uncomfortably. Should he say something? Should he make a move? Ask if Newt’s busy this Saturday? He can barely even get himself to talk at all.

The girls are having fun, Newt comments, and Thomas looks over to watch them all laughing over some sort of card game.

He spaces out for a while, getting lost in his stupid little insecurities again, until warm fingers touch his hand and bring him back in an instant. Newt smiles at him, having successfully gotten his attention, and says, Who are you staring at?

“Huh?” Thomas glances back at the girls. “Oh, no one.”

Sure, Newt says, rolling his eyes, and Thomas’ stomach rolls in time with them.

If Newt thinks he’s into girls, and specifically one of these girls, does that mean he thinks Thomas isn’t into him? Is he okay with that?

“I was watching your reflection in the window pane,” Thomas says immediately, and although it’s a lie, it sounds pretty sweet to him.

Newt laughs, cheeks rounding and maybe getting a little pink, and he nudges Thomas gently. Cute, he mouths, signing it with two fingers to his chin.

Someone across the room waves to Newt wildly—Thomas thinks it’s Gally, but he’s not amazing with names—and proceeds to ask him something long and complicated with his hands, and Newt laughs and responds with an answer just as lengthy. The exchange goes on for a minute, and then a few other people laugh, and finally Newt turns back to Thomas, still smiling.

Thomas sighs wistfully. “Someday I’ll be able to have real conversations like that with you,” he says. “I’m going to have to practice really fucking hard though.”

Newt stares at him, eyes warm but somehow piercing. Then, slowly, he mouths, That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all day.

Thomas blinks rapidly, then offers an embarrassed, albeit pleased smile. “You’re welcome?”

Newt laughs and nods, patting Thomas’ arm gently. It makes Thomas warm all over.

The night passes by all too quickly, long before Thomas can work up the nerve to say anything. He really does try, sticking close to Newt for the majority of the night and running possible questions through his mind, but he never manages to do it. They all cheer and blow party horns at midnight, and then hang out for a few more hours, until people start having to leave to drive home. Thomas doesn’t want to go, but Designated Driver Teresa tells him she’s not taking no for an answer, and he ends up saying goodbye at the front door, very nearly taking Newt’s hands like a pair of starcrossed lovers or something. In the end, he just says, “See ya,” and goes.

“You’ll get your chance, Tom,” Teresa assures him. “But please, please do it while completely sober.”

Thomas laughs and agrees that would probably be the best idea.

It’s kind of a relief when school starts again and everyone goes back to their old routine. The beginning of the semester is slow, and Thomas is glad, because that means he gets to spend more time at Minho and Newt’s apartment. He and Minho don’t have anymore classes together—human kinetics and biochemistry really don’t intersect that often—but he sees more of his friend than ever, and increasingly, he spends time alone with Newt.

Thomas is learning more ASL on a daily basis, expanding his vocabulary both with help from the guys and from YouTube videos he looks up in his boring classes, but even without that, he’s becoming more comfortable with the way he communicates with Newt. Aside from frequent texts and snapchats, they speak via a combination of lip-reading, writing things down, finger-spelling, simple signs, and other gestures and facial expressions. It probably makes no sense to anyone else, but it works for them, even if it’s kind of slow. Thomas no longer worries about being misunderstood when they’re alone together.

“Oh my god, Thomas,” Brenda says when they’re hanging out and Thomas inevitably lights up when he gets a text from Newt. “Just date him already.”

Thomas waves her off, pink in the cheeks. “Don’t pressure me,” he snipes, and goes back to replying.

“He’s just waiting for the perfect timing, Bren,” Teresa tells her, and Thomas makes a vague sound of agreement.

Except that it’s less that, and more than Thomas is more nervous about asking Newt out than he’s ever been about another date in his life. This seems...much more weighty, somehow. More important. He can’t screw this up.

One day, at the end of January, Thomas discovers his class got cancelled when he’s already on campus, and he sighs in annoyance until he realizes this is the perfect opportunity to guiltlessly hang out with friends. Shooting off a quick text asking if Newt is free (which he almost always is, since he works freelance), Thomas takes the bus up to their apartment.

He still hasn’t replied by the time Thomas gets to their block, and he considers texting Minho to ask what’s up, but he figures he might as well just go up and see if anyone’s home. If not, he’s only wasted like 10 minutes getting here.

It’s been long enough since breakfast for Thomas to be feeling kind of hungry, so he picks up a couple donuts from the bakery just down the street from the apartment before heading up and pressing the buzzer that he knows sets off a flashing light in the apartment for Newt to see. No one answers immediately, so Thomas gives it one more try, figuring he can just go back home if no one’s there.

A moment later, though, the door swings open to reveal Newt standing there, hair wet and chest conspicuously bare, dressed only in a pair of jeans and a towel around his neck. He stares at Thomas is surprise, skin flushed. I thought you were Minho, he signs. Coming back for his key. He does that sometimes.

Thomas laughs awkwardly, trying not to let his gaze stray or his face give him away. “Ah, nope. Just me.”

Why are you here? Newt’s face is adorably confused.

“Oh, um.” Thomas clears his throat, tries to gather his wits. “My class got cancelled, so I figured I’d stop by. I texted you.”

Oh, Newt mouths ruefully. I was in the shower.

“Yes, I can see that,” Thomas laughs, scratching his neck. He swallows, forcefully dragging his eyes back up from where they wandered down to Newt’s chest, and says, “I brought donuts!”

Newt grins. Come on in, then.

Thomas walks in as Newt steps away, toeing off his shoes. “You’re not busy?” he asks, just to make sure.

Nah, not really. Newt looks thoughtful for a moment, lifting his towel from his shoulders to rub at his hair, making it stick up wildly. Hey, you know stuff about injuries, right?

Thomas blinks in surprise at the question. “Uh, yeah, kind of. I mean, I’m no doctor, but I know a thing or two about physiotherapy and stuff.”

I pulled a muscle or something in my back. Here. Newt twists and points over his shoulder. It’s been bothering me a while. Think you can fix it?

Thomas clears his throat, alarmed by how greedily he’d looked at Newt’s smooth, damp skin when given the opportunity. “Um. I could try?”

Great. Newt grins. Bring the donuts.

They sit down on the couch with Newt’s back to him, and he points out where it hurts, running a fingertip as best as he can along a muscle. It’s a pretty common problem area, so Thomas doesn’t need that much direction, pressing his thumbs into the muscle and watching as Newt twitches and winces. Holding his breath, Thomas rubs gently along it, assessing maybe for longer than necessary. Newt’s skin is soft and warm and dewy from his shower, and Thomas can see the way his back and shoulders flex at his touch, and the way he shivers, probably from the chill in the room but maybe from something else. And sometimes, if Thomas presses a little more firmly, Newt lets out little hums of pleasure, or tiny squeaks of discomfort, and Thomas has to close his eyes and breathe deep before he develops a problem between his legs.

When the desire to touch everything becomes a little too close to overwhelming, Thomas backs away and taps Newt’s shoulder, signalling that he’s done. When Newt turns, Thomas just says, “Put heat on it if you’re going to be exercising, and ice on it afterwards. Get a real massage if it keeps bothering you. It’s nothing serious, so you should be good.”

Newt beams, and his cheeks are still pink, but he looks otherwise unaffected as he signs Thanks! and gets up to find a shirt at last.

When he returns, Thomas has mostly composed himself, and they sit around and chat for a while. Newt ends up suggesting a movie, and they sit back and eat their donuts on the couch as they watch, pressed maybe too close together but not bothering to move apart. It’s comfortable and cozy in the slight chill of the room, and Thomas feels kind of blissful there. He sort of never wants to move again.

Eventually, though, it’s time for him to head back to campus for his next class—but not before Minho comes back, of course, and sees them there, and wiggles his eyebrows knowingly.

“Go away,” Thomas says, rolling his eyes, and almost doesn’t give him the donut they saved for him.

“Soon, Thomas,” Minho whispers as he passes by to grab his coat. “Soon.”

“I hate you,” Thomas tells him factually.

Thomas switches to hating himself for a while after that, never quite working up the nerve to ask Newt out or do much aside from kinda-sorta flirt with him and then bail when Newt reciprocates. Newt is sneaky about his flirting (if that’s really what it is), all slightly suggestive looks and innuendoes that could potentially not be innuendoes and innocent expressions as he calls Thomas cute or sweet. He’s all “I let you win because I like you” and “You need to graduate so you can support us” and little jokes that could be just jokes and not flirting, and Thomas never manages to ask which one it is.

Which becomes increasingly frustrating, of course, as Thomas spends more time with him, and thus, more time wanting to kiss him until he can’t breathe. It’s kind of a problem.

Despite this, Thomas is physically unable to stop himself from going to see Newt whenever the opportunity arises, so when he spots his friend inside the grocery store on his way past one Thursday afternoon, he ducks inside without thinking.

Hi! Newt signs enthusiastically as soon as he spots him. Then, more subdued, How can I help you?

Thomas laughs. “Humour me,” he says. “I’m escaping the cold.”

That’s why you’re here? Newt asks, one eyebrow raised cheekily.

“Of course. Why else?” Thomas grins. “Hey, when does your shift end?”

Newt glances at the clock. Half an hour, he signs. Why?

“I dunno, I was just thinking we could hang out.” Thomas has a paper he should probably write, but that’s at the back of his mind right now. “It’s actually pretty nice out there today. Sunny and not that windy.”

If you want to stick around until I’m off, then sure. Newt smiles. Or you can help me put some things on the shelves.

It’s not like Thomas has anything better to do, so he follows Newt around the store, helping him line up goods and stack fruit, holding things so that Newt’s hands are free to talk to him. It’s not super exciting, but Thomas doesn’t mind.

Eventually, Newt’s shift ends, and he puts away his apron and nametag and says goodbye to the owner, and then they leave, bundled up in warm coats and hats.

So where are we going? Newt asks, only pulling his hands out of his pockets long enough to form the question.

“The park?” Thomas suggests. “It’s covered in ice from where everything melted and refroze.”

Newt laughs silently. Sounds like a party.

“It is,” Thomas assures him.

They walk the short distance down the block, past Thomas’ apartment to the park. It’s small and not that exciting, but it really is covered in a small lake of slightly lumpy ice. Thomas takes off the moment he spots it, running carefully across the slippery ground and then sliding across five feet of mildly-slick glass. He turns back to Newt, who looks unimpressed. “I needed a better running start,” Thomas insists.

Yeah, okay. Newt smirks.

“Well then you try!”

Making a face, Newt runs and slides, and although he goes slightly farther than Thomas, he wobbles precariously at the end, nearly losing his footing.

“See? It’s not that easy,” Thomas says with a laugh.

Whatever, Newt mouths, and he starts moving again.

They find some spots that are better than others on the little ice lake, slipping and sliding over some patches and tumbling when their feet catch on rough ones. It’s stupid, and they probably look like idiots, but it’s weirdly fun, acting like kids at this tiny, frozen park.

Determined to get one good slide in, Thomas back up and gets a good running start, landing smoothly on the ice and flying across it. He only realizes Newt standing directly in his path, facing away from him, when he’s moving too fast to stop. “Watch it!” he says uselessly, before colliding with him dramatically in a tangle of flailing limbs.

Thomas laughs hard enough to almost drown out Newt’s startled, “Bloody Christ!”, but not quite. He holds onto the other boy tightly, keeping him from tipping onto the ice, and chuckles through his, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it was an accident.”

Newt makes no move to right himself, balancing precariously and holding onto Thomas, smiling as he mouths, We have to stop meeting like this, Tommy.

Thomas laughs, shaking his head in apology. When he looks at Newt, though, the other boy has a fond look in his eyes, and his nose is red and his cheeks are rosy from the cold, and he’s smiling away, and god, Thomas wants to kiss him.

But the moment the thought crosses his mind, Thomas’ entire being seizes up in panic, and he laughs awkwardly and pulls Newt back to his feet so he can step away. “Sorry,” he says again, dusting off Newt’s shoulders.

Newt blinks at him, mouth twisted slightly, brow furrowed. He looks annoyed, and Thomas’ heart pounds in his throat. They stare at each other for a moment, and Thomas has to tamp down the urge to run. If you don’t like me, Newt signs suddenly, mouthing the words almost too quickly to catch, just say it. This back and forth is really tiring.

Thomas stares, open-mouthed in shock. The words register, but he can’t seem to respond. How is he supposed to properly communicate that that is not at all what is going through his mind right now? How is he supposed to find the words to tell Newt that he has literally had a crush on him since they first met, and that Thomas likes him so much that it’s stupid, and that he has had dreams about them ranging from grossly sappy to X-rated?

But then again, if spending time with Newt has taught Thomas one thing, it’s that actions are, indeed, in some cases much louder than words. So he says nothing, and instead drags Newt forwards right there in the middle of the icy park to kiss him. He kisses him hard, one hand curled in the collar of Newt’s coat and the other at the back of his neck, lips sealed together, and he sighs in relief and pleasure when, rather than pulling away, Newt kisses him back.

And they just stand there on the ice, lips moving slowly and breaths mingling, cold noses nudging warm cheeks, fingers sliding into thick hair or into the warmth of heavy jackets. It’s unspeakably wonderful.

Finally, Newt pulls back, laughing. Took you long enough, he mouths, and Thomas couldn’t look away from his red, shiny lips if he wanted to.

He leans in instead, steals another kiss, and then another. “Sorry,” he whispers, even though he knows Newt can’t hear him.

Newt hums indulgently, lets Thomas press their lips together again, then takes a step back. It’s bloody freezing out here. Let’s go home?

Thomas grins. “My apartment is nearby.”

They end up thawing on the couch, mostly by sticking their hands up each other’s shirts, kissing languidly. When their lips go numb, they cuddle up close, a blanket pulled over their laps.

Minho kept telling me you liked me, Newt signs lazily. But sometimes I didn’t believe him.

Thomas laughs, shaking his head. “He kept telling me you liked me.”

I will kill him, Newt signs solemnly.

Thomas hums and tightens his arm around Newt’s waist. “Can’t blame a guy for trying to get his roommate laid.”

Newt snorts, elbowing him gently. Then he fishes his phone out of his pocket, which usually means he’s about to say something he can’t easily translate into signs Thomas will understand. He taps something out, then gives it to Thomas to read. I don’t put out on the first date.

It startles a laugh out of Thomas, and he shakes his head, handing it back. “Woe is me.” He smiles, making sure Newt knows he’s kidding. (Not that he isn’t eager to get Newt out of his clothes. But he can wait.)

We’ll see about date #2, Newt taps out next, and Thomas just laughs and shoves him.

They stay on the couch for hours, sometimes chatting, sometimes kissing, sometimes dozing off for a few minutes. Around 7, Minho texts Thomas, asking if he’s kidnapped his roommate or if Minho should be worried.

Thomas: nah. you will be happy to know i have finally lured him into my bed.

Minho: spare me the details, pls. but yay! an end to the mutual pining is welcome. just return him in one piece, yeah?

Thomas: if i return him at all.

Minho: ok but he still has to pay half our rent.

Newt scoffs and shakes his head in disbelief, and Thomas giddily presses kisses to his cheek. He honestly can’t stop himself. He’s so cute, and warm, and available for kissing.

“You wanna sleep over?” Thomas asks. He really doesn’t want Newt to go home right now. Or maybe ever. “I promise I won’t make any moves on you.”

Newt grins and pats his face. Sure.

They order in dinner first, Chinese from the place down the road, and then watch a movie, which Thomas doesn’t really pay any attention to because he’s looking at Newt’s face for half of it and making out with him for the other half. It’s kind of perfect.

Newt has to borrow pajamas to sleep in, of course, and Thomas is totally joking when he offers an old pair of track shorts, but Newt takes them without batting an eye. When he comes out of the bathroom in those little shorts and a big Star Trek t-shirt and tousled hair, Thomas nearly has a heart attack.

Cute? Newt asks, smirking cheekily, and Thomas just swallows and ushers him into his bedroom.

Snuggling in bed is practically orgrasmically pleasurable (or maybe it’s just been too long since Thomas had sex), and Thomas relishes it, spooning his new boyfriend from behind and planting feathery kisses across his nape. Newt squirms, but he hums contentedly, and Thomas feels blissfully happy, tangling their legs together under the covers.

Just as he’s dropping off to sleep, he hears Newt whisper a soft, “Tommy.”

“Hmm?” Thomas hums against his neck, hoping he’ll feel the vibrations and get the picture.

But Newt just shakes his head, and Thomas falls asleep with Newt’s soft voice playing in his head.

He wakes up to Newt propped up on his elbow, staring down at him in a way that would be creepy if it weren’t so incredibly fond. Thomas yawns and blinks, and Newt grins.

Go brush your teeth, he mouths, miming the motion. I want to make out with you.

Thomas laughs, interest stirring in his stomach immediately as he slides out of bed to do as he’s told. He returns as quickly as possible, falling back into the sheets and letting Newt slide on top of him, both hands cupping Thomas’ jaw as he kisses him into a stupor.

It’s a little clumsy and sloppy, what with the early hour and all, but Thomas doesn’t care, gladly letting Newt lick into his mouth and map every bump and ridge. When he pulls away, it’s only to kiss down to Thomas’ throat and suck a mark into the soft flesh there, and Thomas shivers as his cock stirs with interest.

Newt pulls away with a gasp, eyes dark and hair wild. Does this count as a second date? Or do I have to change my rule about not putting out.

Thomas swallows hard. “Yeah?”

I literally want to touch every bloody inch of you, Newt tells him. If you’ll let me.

Thomas is having a hard time breathing, but he nods quickly. “Go for it,” he says.

Newt grins, and soon Thomas’ shirt is off, and he’s kissing down his chest, taking his time. Thomas bites his lip and runs his palms down Newt’s back, over the curve of his ass in those little shorts, down to his thighs where he’s straddling Thomas’ hips. His skin is warm and soft all over, and Thomas is desperate to feel more of him.

Without thinking, he jerks Newt down on top of him, and they both moan in unison as their hips press together. Thomas had really been planning on doing this properly, but he doesn’t want Newt’s mouth to stop doing whatever it’s doing right now along his collarbone, and the pressure between them feels so good, rolling their hips together, with Thomas’ guiding hands on Newt’s ass. It feels glorious, and Thomas gasps and groans, but he tries to stay quiet, because Newt is making tiny sounds, moans and whines and oh’s that slowly get louder, and Thomas wants to hear them all. Newt is always so silent, and Thomas wants to make him make all those noises, as much as possible.

“Oh my god,” Newt groans against Thomas’ mouth as his hips jerk suddenly, and the sight of him climaxing has Thomas following suit a moment later, dragging a raw sound out of his throat.

They just lie there for a while afterwards, too lazy and sated to move, and Thomas soaks in the wonderful, glowy aftermath.

Finally, Newt props himself up, lips stretched in a grin. Well that was fantastic.

Thomas laughs. “It was,” he agrees.

For a few moments, Newt just stares at him, smiling, eyes fond and happy, cheeks flushed. Then, dipping down to kiss him between the eyebrows, he quietly says, “Tommy.”

Thomas’ own smile grows at the sound of his name in a voice he rarely gets to hear. “Hmm?”

Newt kisses him again, this time on the lips. Nothing, he mouths. I just like how you light up like a bloody Christmas tree when I say it.

Thomas laughs and shakes his head, but he can’t deny it. “You’re adorable,” he says, and drags Newt down to kiss him.

It’s only much, much later that Thomas thinks to say, “When I first met you, I thought you wanted to kiss me.”

Newt grins shamelessly. Maybe I did, he responds.

Thomas pats his ass fondly. “My name isn’t T-attractive for nothing.”

Newt just hits his face with the nearest pillow.