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Newt is, categorically, not a morning person. He’s just not built for it. It doesn’t matter what time he goes to sleep, pulling himself out of bed in the morning is a Herculean task.
Waking up is one thing, he can just about do that. But actually throwing the covers off and standing up? Unbearable.
It’s worse in winter, when it’s dark and his body wishes for nothing more than to slip back into a peaceful slumber. And it’s cold, the warm embrace of his blankets reluctant to let him go.
But, he’s paying a lot of money to be here and he’ll be damned if he misses a lecture to stay in bed. He promised himself he’d only do that three times, max.
Once he’s at uni it’s not that bad, the buildings are heated and the lights are bright enough to keep him awake but not so bright that he gets a headache. The lectures are interesting, too, which helps.
As does the coffee, warm and creamy and dirt cheap from the van outside his lecture hall.
Still, knowing it’s not all bad when he gets there doesn’t make it easier to get out of bed in the mornings.
One thing does, though. The new guy on his metro every morning. Living so far from campus had been a pain at first, even with the savings he’d made from the choice, and the metro had its up and downs. Sometimes it was blissful and quiet, sometimes there was a rowdy group causing problems, sometimes they even got stuck.
But the new guy, he makes it a little bit more worthwhile.
Newt’s not a creep, or trying not to be anyway, so he limits his looks. But it’s hard, because the new guy is joy incarnate. Every morning, no matter the time or the weather or any of the other things that put Newt in a foul mood, he’s smiling.
It’s a cute smile, slightly crooked in that endearing way. It shows off his dimples, and sometimes crinkles his eyes.
Every once in a while they’ll make eye contact, and that smile will be aimed straight at Newt with a slight nod, and it makes his entire day.
It’s a little pathetic, maybe, but Newt is alone in a big city and awake far before his body wants him to be, so he takes the small wins.
He’s never dared to talk to the boy, content in his little world where a smile will mean a good day and that’s been enough.
What he hadn’t prepared for was the boy talking to him.
He swings happily into the seat next to Newt - who is actually dripping from the downpour that caught him.
Even the smile and presence aren’t enough to lift him up as he’s soaked to the bone.
“I could be wrong,” he turns that smile straight at Newt, eyes twinkling with untold mischief. “But I think it might be raining.”
The shock hits first, people don’t talk to each other here, and more than that he never expected to talk to this person.
Then there’s the butterflies, and a small smile twitching on his own face.
“Genius observation. If I had a gold star I’d give it to you.”
“Nothing escapes me.”
Newt could let the small talk lull and let the moment pass, but communication has begun and he’ll be damned if he lets it slip away.
“So, how come I’m soaked and you don’t seem to have a drop on you?”
The man smiles and bends down slightly. “Ah, that would be another genius move of mine. An umbrella!”
As he sits back up he flourishes the item, sending small droplets flying slightly, much to the annoyance of the woman behind in front of them. His smile turns sheepish, apologetic, but only for a moment. Then it’s back on Newt, full and beaming like they’re in on this together.
“Though, based on the accent, I’m going to make another genius observation that you’d call it a ‘brolly’?”
Newt’s been in the US for months now and has grown tired of people teasing his accent, this feels different, though.
“Nothing gets past you.”
“Thomas.”
Newt’s smile grows. Finally, a name for the face.
“Newt.” He’s about to say more when he notices his stop arriving. He briefly considers missing it, staying here and seeing what else Thomas can notice, and what he can learn in return. But even he knows that’s ridiculous. “This is me.”
“It’s gonna rain all week, Newt. Might wanna look into that umbrella idea.”
“Sage advice, Tommy.”
The nickname slips out, but it feels right on his tongue, and Thomas doesn’t seem to care.
For the rest of the day it doesn’t matter that he was soaked and exhausted, that his lecturer was late or his coffee cold, because he finally got to speak to the guy on the metro. But would he again? Thomas had been there almost every day, still he tried not to have any hopes.
He also bought an umbrella on his way home.
The next day he has nothing to do on campus, so he sleeps in and he works at his laptop and he doesn’t think of freckled boys with dimpled smiles.
The day after it’s back to lectures though. His alarm blares and his room is cold when he slips out of bed, rain is lashing against the window as the forecast - and Thomas - said it would.
The umbrella isn’t perfect, just a cheap thing, but it gets him to his metro dry enough.
One stop.
Two stops.
Three stops.
The car he’s in slowly filling up, the same one as always, with faces that are beginning to be familiar.
Four stops, and there he is. Sturdy umbrella dripping in hand, hair tousled, face pink from the cold.
And a smile that lights up his entire face when their eyes meet.
“Newt!” He drops into the seat Newt had fought to keep empty. “Looking dry today I see.”
“I got some wise advice the other day.”
“That must have been some genius you met.”
It goes on like this for weeks, casual and easy conversations that fill the emptiness from Thomas’s arrival to Newt’s departure. He never sees him on the return journey, but can always count on Thomas to be there in the mornings to make it a little more bearable. They grow to something akin to friends, as close as two guys on public transport can anyway.
Thomas brings an extra coffee one morning, commenting that he “almost brought tea, but that seemed too close to a stereotype.”
Newt brings Thomas his copy of a book he’d mentioned wanting to read. Then they spend their mornings discussing the chapters Thomas manages the night before, sharing favourite moments and indulging in theories.
It’s the first connection Newt’s had while living here, and he’s fighting hard to quell the butterflies that have followed him from that first conversation. He always wants to ask for something more, a number or other means of contact, some meeting outside of this metro, but he’s too scared to push it and lose what they have. He might want more, but at least this is something.
It takes two weeks for Thomas to finish the book.
“Destroyed. I’m absolutely destroyed.”
The force of Thomas’s descent into seating made him bump into Newt, their legs pressed together for a moment longer than they should have, and Newt forces words out so he doesn’t focus on the warmth of Thomas beside him.
“You didn’t enjoy it?”
“I loved it! I’m destroyed because it’s over and I will never experience that again. I can’t believe you’d do this to me, Newt, I really thought we had something.”
It’s a joke, Newt’s brain tells him.
He still said it, is all his heart supplies, pounding away in his chest.
“Well, you know. If I had to suffer, I have to bring others down with me.”
“Evil. You’re evil. But also thanks for loaning it me.” Thomas holds the book out, again with a flourish.
Their hands brush as Newt takes it. “My pleasure.”
“So, what’s next?”
Newt has many recommendations, only some of which he manages to share before his stop. Thomas promises they’ll continue, and Newt holds that promise close.
The first lecture on a Tuesday is always a drag for Newt, not something he’s very interested in but a requirement for his course. Then there’s the hour to wait before his second one, so he pulls out the book. A harmless reread to pass a bit of time.
Tucked in the title page, though, is a note. The handwriting is scratchy, sharp, but wholesome. It’s clear to him who wrote it without any name attached.
There isn’t enough time between metro stops for a proper conversation, even if I do feel like I know you now. I’m sure there’s more to know, and I want to hear it all.
A scrawled heart, a smiley face, a series of numbers. Newt’s phone is in his hand before the words can sink in, the butterflies getting ahead of themselves and eager to escape.
He saves the number as Tommy.
Tommy replies instantly.