Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sound of heels echoed clearly through the stairwell, as if someone were running in a hurry — but not headlong, rather lightly and confidently, like on a morning jog. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven — a flat landing, then the stairs again. The girl stopped, took off her red low-heeled shoes, and ran again. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

One had to be especially quiet on the fifth floor — and she knew that. Once, a huge brute had come out of his apartment and yelled that she, apparently, wasn’t letting him sleep. And that would’ve been fine, but the man had threatened to call the police, so since then any shoes with heels were taken off immediately.

“Thanks to Thomas at least for the fact that I’m in great shape,” the girl thought with gratitude and kept running.

Reaching the seventh floor safely and without even losing her breath, the brunette looked at her thin gold wristwatch. It was 7:48 — right on time. With a confident stride, she headed to door number 23, entered without knocking, and went straight into the bathroom. Naturally, her radar for alcoholics always worked flawlessly: she always knew where and who would be lying around after another party.

Opening the tap in the bathroom, the girl went to the kitchen to put on the kettle and make sandwiches. As it turned out, the only food there was bread, butter, and cheese. Rolling her eyes, the brunette got to work, prudently pulling an apron over her new white blouse. She checked the time again — 7:55.

“All right, the fun begins. One, two… three.”

At that very moment, a wild scream and a stream of curses burst out of the bathroom. The brunette only smiled, tucking a strand of thick black hair behind her ear. The kettle whistled, and a minute later the kitchen filled with the smell of herbs. Thomas didn’t like green tea — and she knew that. Which was exactly why she made it.

“Damn, my head…” a hoarse voice merged with the music the girl had turned up loud. Staggering, the guy walked into the kitchen. Without even looking at the morning guest, he went straight to the tap and started drinking from it.

“For heaven’s sake, Thomas, use a glass, you look like a pig.”

“You barged into my apartment, broke in illegally, inspected my fridge without my permission — and I’m the pig?”

The girl snorted loudly, folding her arms across her chest.

“Tom, this happens after almost every party. You should be used to it by now, huh?”

“You should keep this close an eye on Minho instead.”

“He’s already in the car waiting for you downstairs.”

The guy choked on the water and started coughing loudly. He was very glad Teresa wasn’t his girlfriend.

“Poor lad,” Thomas said sympathetically, biting into a sandwich. Teresa cast a disapproving look at the sea of crumbs on the table.

“What I mean is — hurry up. My first class starts earlier than yours.”

“You can walk there. Fresh air and all.”

“If anyone needs fresh air, it’s you and Minho. After last night it’s honestly a miracle you two survived. How can anyone drink that much? And I know you also brought drugs. Minho didn’t admit it, of course, but I can smell it a mile away.” The girl looked at him expectantly, waiting to see confirmation on his face. And she saw it. “Great. Now we’ll have to treat you for drug addiction, too.”

Thomas scratched his shoulder and gave the girl sitting in front of him a thoughtful look.

“You’re such a pain in the ass.”

“And I love you too, Tom. Get ready, you have ten minutes.”

***

Thomas loved Teresa. She was clingy, poked her nose into things that weren’t her business, wanted to know everything about everyone, never stopped playing “mom” for Thomas, and was also the all-seeing, all-hearing girlfriend of his best friend. But despite all that, she remained a very good friend to him, and he was genuinely grateful.

Just not right now, when his head felt like it was about to explode with every breath, and his eyes kept closing from fatigue. And if not for Minho, who kept rambling nonstop, he would have fallen asleep long ago.

“Did you ask her?”

Minho tore himself away from his burger and looked at his friend in confusion.

“Ask what?”

“For Teresa to wake me up. It was you, right?”

For several minutes, Minho chewed his bun, smacking loudly. Teresa would’ve swatted him for that. When he finished eating, the guy gave Thomas a look that said, “You don’t believe me?”

“I did,” Minho answered right away. “Sorry,” he looked at his drowsy friend and continued, “but we have a physics exam today, and I’m not suffering alone. And, you know, you need to drink less.”

“Teresa, what have you done to Minho?” Thomas raised an eyebrow theatrically and grabbed his head.

“I’m serious. Do you even remember what happened yesterday? You climbed onto the table and then…”

Thomas pressed a finger to his lips, and Minho fell silent.

“I don’t even want to know what happened. Okay?”

“As you wish. But if you get that drunk again, start digging yourself a grave,” Minho smiled and nodded politely to someone behind Thomas. Teresa was walking toward them, glowing with joy. She kissed Minho on the cheek and sat down next to him.

“A five. Solid and confident,” she boasted loudly and began placing her order. After that, she put the menu aside and tapped her thin fingers on the table. “And why do you two look so sour? This is it! The last exam, and hello, Christmas break!” She smiled broadly again.

“A reminder that we still have the physics test Thomas and I both know nothing about.”

Thomas sighed and looked at the snow outside the window. Everything was so white, fluffy, and cheerful. If only he could die and not take any tests.

“And I told you to study. Told you it would be hard in the end…” Thomas immediately stopped listening. The most important rule of being friends with Teresa was to shut your ears at the right moment. That way their friendship would stay strong and long. He looked at the snow again. If only he could shove the girl into a snowdrift headfirst. He grinned, imagining Teresa angrily kicking her legs above the snow.

“…and if you think life is easy, let me assure you it’s absolutely not and you must…Thomas, are you listening to me?” A few snaps before his eyes brought him back from the trance. “Stop zoning out every time I say something important.”

“Physics isn’t important.”

“Agreed,” Minho chimed in.

Teresa shot him a scorching glare and said:

“No, you do not agree. Thomas, I’m serious.”

“Your order. Spinach ravioli,” the waiter carefully set the plate in front of her and left. Thomas and Minho exchanged glances. At least a few minutes of peace. Teresa never talked with her mouth full.

“We still have twenty minutes, and then hell begins.”

“But if we don’t pass, it’s not the end of the world… right?” Minho asked. The girl gave him a menacing look.

“Just eat,” he smiled and continued, “Gally said physics is canceled anyway because the old geezer disappeared somewhere.”

“What? And you only say that now?” Thomas happily shoved a spoonful of cold soup into his mouth. This changed everything. Wonderful.

“Well, I’m not sure it’s true. Could be one of his jokes. You know Gally,” Minho looked thoughtfully around the hall. “By the way, where is he? He said he’d be here.”

“Good thing he’s not,” Teresa wiped her lips with a napkin. Finishing a giant portion in seconds was her main talent. “Smoking is forbidden here. And what’s a smokestack without smoke?”

All three of them smiled at the joke. Teresa loved giving everyone nicknames. Gally was “the smokestack” because he always smoked (she did not approve it, of course). Thomas was “the alcoholic,” Minho was either “the alcoholic’s friend” or just “Mi,” and Brenda was “the weirdo” (long story).

“Can we go? I’m done.”
The guys nodded, and the three of them left the café.

Teresa said she was going to the store for chips but would definitely come back—to offer moral support at the exam. Wishing the boys luck (Minho got a kiss, Thomas — a hug), she quickly disappeared behind the tall buildings. It was very cold outside, and Thomas already regretted dressing so lightly. They practically ran to the main building, where they bumped into Gally. He was flirting with some freshman. Minho grabbed him by the jacket sleeve and pulled him toward the entrance.

“Excuse us, we’re in a hurry,” the girl huffed and turned away.

It wasn’t any warmer inside — everyone kept their jackets and even mittens on. Thomas felt his fingers going numb.

“What the hell was that?!” Gally pulled his arm free and rubbed the spot where Minho had grabbed him.

“You idiot, you have a test now, and you’re out here seducing girls.”

“There won’t be anything. You’ll see. I asked myself — the professor’s not here,” Gally said proudly. “Listen, let’s throw a party to celebrate the end of the semester.” He smirked. “We’ll invite the girls.”

“No, thanks, I’m out.”

“What, Teresa already scolded you?”

“And you, Thomas? It’ll be fun.”

Thomas thought about it. It really would be cool: drinks, music, people… A sudden wave of pain shot through his skull, and he bent in half. No, he’d had enough.

“I still want to live to old age, Gally.”

“You two are boring.”

“Not boring, just rational.”

Gally snorted.

“Same thing.”

A strange sound rang out, like a beep.

“Well, that’s it then,” Thomas walked forward, leaving his friends behind. Two minutes later they approached the classroom and stared at the door, hesitating to enter.

“There won’t be anything,” Gally said confidently and walked inside. Thomas shrugged and followed.

The room was already full, the professor really wasn’t there — but someone was sitting at his desk. Thomas noted the graying hair and tanned face. Exotic appearance, for sure. The man stood up and looked at the newcomers.

“You here for the exam?” His voice was strong, slightly hoarse — probably from a cold. The Brazilian (for some reason Thomas assigned him that nationality) looked exhausted. Dark circles under his eyes, a fit body but slouched posture, as if from a weight on his back. Dressed lightly — jeans and a white sweater, while almost everyone else was sitting in scarves and jackets.

“Yes, and what are you doing here?” The voice belonged to Thomas, though he didn’t realize it at first. The man looked at him in surprise and smirked.

“You could use some manners, kid,” he said, glancing disapprovingly at the friends. “I’m your teacher today.”

Saying nothing, the guys went to their seats, and Minho whispered to Gally:

“Smartass. ‘He’s not here,’ ‘What are you worrying about?’… Idiot. I’ll end up a janitor because of you.”

“Teresa will love you no matter what,” Gally patted him on the shoulder reassuringly.

“Get lost, will you?”

Thomas didn’t notice the look the Brazilian gave him as he walked by. And even if he had, he wouldn’t have understood it. It was the way children look at their favorite piglet being led to slaughter.

***

“Yes, yes, of course, I’ll tell them,” Teresa closed her eyes tiredly, letting her head sink into the soft pillow. “No, it was just a rough night, you know the boys.”

The voice on the phone said something, and Teresa burst out laughing, immediately catching Minho’s attention.

“Yes, all right, darling. Mhm.” She tossed the phone aside and got up from the couch.

“A moment of attention, comrades!” Thomas reluctantly tore his gaze away from the TV. He was beating Gally 4:5 and was in full victory mode, and Teresa’s interruptions were dangerous. Gally didn’t even bother looking at her — determined, he launched an attack on Thomas.

“Damn it, Gally!” Thomas began frantically mashing the buttons, trying to hide his character from Gally’s onslaught. Just a little more and he’d win. A hit to the head, step aside, another hit. Thomas smirked in satisfaction as his opponent’s health dropped. One more strike — and he’d be the champion.

But before he could press the “hit” button, Teresa unplugged the plasma TV by yanking the cord out of the socket.

“You’ve got to be kidding me! Teresa! I… I was…” The guy started stuttering and waving his arms around. He always did that when Teresa or Brenda interfered with his plans, ruining everything in the process.

Gally burst into loud laughter, slapping Thomas on the shoulder, then ran up to Teresa and hugged her.

“Yes! There is still justice in this world! Thank you, thank you, Teresa. Have I told you how much I love you?” Gally took her hands and spun around like a little girl, honestly.

“I’m never playing this stupid game again,” Thomas grumbled and tossed the remote onto the floor.

“Hey! I paid five grand for it!” Minho yelped, gently picking up the remote and inspecting it for scratches. A second later, Thomas got a smack on the back of the head so sharp he hissed.

Gally had already let go of Teresa and settled comfortably on the floor, sipping beer. His hand drifted to his pocket for a cigarette, but catching Teresa’s predatory glare, he pretended he was just scratching his leg.

Teresa’s apartment (even though it technically belonged to Minho) was the only place where Gally wasn’t allowed to smoke, which is why they often argued about whose place to hang out at. Teresa always pulled everyone to her home — just to spend an evening without feeling like a character from “Hedgehog in the Fog.” And Gally, who was that hedgehog, always tried to drag the group somewhere else.

“Brenda called. She said she’ll be back in two or three weeks,” the girl said cheerfully, and everyone smiled a little. Soon the whole group would be together again.

Brenda, also known as the restless girl who simply couldn’t stay in one place, had gone on a Europe tour a month ago and was finally coming back home. In the photos she sent, she looked very happy — and very tanned. Brenda had naturally tan skin, but after several days in sunny Madrid, she looked practically African. Minho had laughed for fifteen minutes straight until Teresa elbowed him hard in the ribs.

“So we’re celebrating Christmas together?”

“Yes, even if Brenda didn’t return, we would still spend it together, boys,” Teresa coughed loudly. “And you, Ter, would be cooking us a wonderful turkey with spicy sauce,” Minho said, licking his lips, probably imagining the dish.

“We’d invite some girls, buy a few cases of booze — and there you go,” Gally stretched the words as he plopped onto the couch beside Thomas.

“Girls, huh?” Thomas smirked.

“Yeah.”

“Blonde ones,” Minho added, giving Teresa a pointed look. She understood the hint.

“With green eyes,” the brunette said dreamily.

“Named Alice,” Minho snorted. A pillow flew at him instantly.

“Hey, man, what’s she guilty of?”

“Shut up with your Alice already. I don’t care about her,” Gally turned away from the guys and stared at the TV.

“Sure you don’t. ‘Oh, Alice, hi! Want to go to the movies with me?’ ‘Alice, you look amazing today,’ and my favorite — ‘Alice, I can’t live without you,’” Thomas and Minho burst out laughing, and Teresa pressed her lips together to keep from laughing herself.

This time, pillows flew at both of the boys, causing even more laughter. Minho was just starting a new joke when a phone rang.

It took Thomas a few seconds to realize it was his phone. Quickly pulling it out of his back pocket, he saw “Unknown Caller,” which genuinely surprised him. Only a few people ever called him, and most of them were in this very room. Brenda was out of the question, his dead parents too, and the dog… well, unlikely.

Curiously eyeing the screen, he pressed “Accept.” Silence. Thomas realized he had stopped breathing for a moment.

“Uh… hello?” Who would call in the middle of the night just to say nothing? Thomas could hear steady breathing — and nothing else.

After waiting a few seconds, he was about to ask who it was, but he already knew he wouldn’t get an answer, the mysterious caller hung up.

Thomas told his friends about the strange call, and the group offered some very… insightful theories.

Gally said it was some idiot.

Minho, grinning, suggested a secret admirer.

And Teresa gave the most fantastic theory — a killer.

Her explanation was simple:

“Well, what? I’ve seen that in movies!”

Which, apparently, was her only argument.

Chapter Text

Thomas didn’t like rain. Especially when it was just cold enough outside for everything to instantly turn into ice. What he disliked even more was going to class in such weather, which meant today he could stay home with a clear conscience. Outside, it was pouring as if from a bucket, blurring the shapes of people, cars, and buildings so much that it was impossible to tell what was what. He lived practically in the city center, and there was always movement here: crowds of adults hurrying to work with coffee cups in hand, loudly screaming children who didn’t want to go to school, and of course, gloomy, sleepy students with dark circles under their eyes wandering back and forth like zombies, bumping into people from time to time.

There were always awful traffic jams here, often trapping Minho and Thomas. And there were many different shops he knew like the back of his hand. Over there was a big mall, and next to it — his favorite café, “Thomson,” where they served the most fragrant pastries. By the way, Minho used to drop by often because of one very cute waitress, but things somehow spiraled, and now he was dating Thomas’s childhood friend. Teresa had no idea that, when they went there together, the waitress would greet them at the door with, “Hi, Minho,” and smile sweetly; then that same girl would serve their table, occasionally throwing lustful glances at her boyfriend, and at the end she’d even leave a note on a napkin with her phone number and a heart. Long story short, she hadn’t worked there for a long time now, and the entire staff (even the ones who came after the incident) knew Teresa — and were afraid of her.

Across the street was a bookstore. Thomas lingered on the feather-shaped sign. What else was there to do on a rainy day like this? Of course — read something while drinking tea. Something new and interesting. And that new and interesting thing was being sold in the shop across the street.

Thomas was surprised by the determination with which he stepped outside, fighting the storm. Ten minutes later — as if something invisible were pulling him there, because he himself would never willingly go out into weather like this — he crossed the street, cursing all the gods he could think of, and found himself at a small red-brick shop.

Brenda had mentioned recently that she wanted to make a cupboard out of the same kind of brick. She made Thomas run through almost every construction store in the city looking for exactly the kind of red brick she wanted. And what came of it? She didn’t like a single type of brick Thomas found. He genuinely didn’t understand the difference (“They’re all the same kind of red”), what coral color meant (“That’s not red, that’s coral, Thomas, are you blind?!”), or burgundy, or scarlet, or whatever else she demanded, nor why anyone would make a cupboard out of brick at all — and by themselves, apparently, since she said, “I’ll do everything myself,” which meant Thomas would end up doing most of the work. After he refused and a loud fight broke out, they didn’t speak for a week. Thankfully, Teresa came to the rescue, being an expert in such things. Minho didn’t approve of her interference. He would’ve done exactly what Thomas did.

A month later, they started renovations in their apartment, and Teresa decided she wanted a bamboo-wood cupboard. That day Minho and Thomas searched every shop within a hundred-kilometer radius. What did they find? Every bamboo cupboard the city had. And not a single one was good enough for her.

Standing in the small lobby that vaguely resembled a café, Thomas felt rainwater streaming down his body — no, pouring down like a waterfall — loudly splashing onto the wooden floor. Damp and soaked, as if he had taken a shower fully clothed. The shop owner smiled at him sympathetically, and a few minutes later brought a blanket and a cup of strong black tea from somewhere.

“Sit at that table, wrap yourself up, and drink this,” she pushed the steaming cup toward him, “our signature pepper tea.”

“Thank you, but I must admit it sounds strange,” Thomas said as politely as possible, not wanting to offend the woman with his hesitation. He was surprised when he realized she was laughing.

“Sorry, don’t think you’re the first one to say that. Everyone’s scared at first, but—” she winked, “then they always come back for more. See that young man at the first table?” She pointed at a tall blond sitting with his back to them. Thomas couldn’t see his face, but he looked familiar. “He’s a regular now. At first, just like you, he refused to try this wonderful drink, but look at him now — every day a cup of tea and a new book. He’s been coming for a month, and I still haven’t asked his name…” The woman paused, still holding the aromatic drink, and only when her hand began to redden did she remember that the second mug was meant for the blond customer.

Thomas watched her walk over to the table, apologizing for the delay, nodding in his direction. The blond said something to her, then turned his face toward Thomas and smirked. That smirk would stay with the brunette forever. Suddenly Thomas wanted to walk over and punch him hard enough to wipe that stupid grin off his face, but he stayed frozen in place. Aggression wasn’t typical of him, and it was strange that he felt so angry at a guy he’d only seen once. He’d met many people who were truly disgusting, yet none of them ever made him want to hit them.

And the blond wasn’t even unpleasant — on the contrary: his hair was neatly styled, his clothes looked new, straight from a boutique, his shoes gleamed under the chandelier even though Thomas had no idea how anyone’s shoes could stay immaculate in such weather. Thomas had to admit — the blond looked much better than anyone else in the room, and that made him even more irritating.

His perfect hair that looked better than Minho’s, the boutique clothes that fit him flawlessly, and that damn smirk that said, “I know everything in the world, and you’re all idiots.” As if sensing Thomas’s thoughts, the blond smiled even wider, showing a perfectly straight row of white teeth. Damn it, even they looked like something from a magazine cover.

Thomas huffed and reached for the tea. Turned out it was very tasty, so after finishing the first cup, he went back to the old woman to ask for a refill — only then realizing he didn’t have enough money.

Thomas swore under his breath. “Damn, I must’ve left the money at home.” He started rummaging through his pockets, but all he found was a paperclip, a supermarket receipt, and a few candy wrappers.

“Well then, I suppose you can bring it next time, right?”

“Yes, of course, I—”

“I’ll pay,” the blond interrupted Thomas boldly, still wearing that same smirk.

The woman smiled happily and nodded.

“No, thank you, I live nearby, I’ll run there and back real quick,” Thomas started, but the guy cut him off again, shoving a few bills practically into his face.

“Keep the change,” he waved at the woman and stepped aside, as if not feeling Thomas’s piercing stare, and began examining a book.

“Sorry about that, I’ll buy two books next time to make up for it,” the brunette assured the owner and, not letting her say a word, headed toward his so-called savior. The stranger was carefully inspecting a shelf of books.

“Have you read The Silence of the Lambs?”
Thomas froze. Did this blond have eyes on the back of his head? Thomas was sure the guy hadn’t seen him; he hadn’t turned around once. Maybe he heard the footsteps?
“I know you’re not deaf,” the blond snapped a large blue book shut and turned to face Thomas.

“N-no,” Thomas answered automatically and then, realizing the meaning of the question, added, “Actually, yes, I have.” He looked at the blond, but the moment their eyes met — sharp, dark chocolate eyes — he instantly looked away. “Yeah, I’ve read it.” Thomas lifted his head again to get a closer look at him, but the blond was already gone. “What the hell is—”

“And Fahrenheit 451?”
For the third time, he was interrupted. It was unbearable. The voice came from the next aisle, and Thomas walked there. The blond was sitting on a table, legs dangling, flipping through a small worn-out book. Thomas no longer felt awkward and replied immediately:

“I started it, but—”

“—couldn’t finish it,” the blond finished for him and smiled.

Four. Thomas couldn’t take it anymore.

“Stop doing that, for f*ck’s sake. It’s insanely annoying.”
The blond looked at him, narrowing his eyes.

“What exactly, Tommy?” he drawled, stretching the words deliberately, obviously knowing how much it irritated the brunette.

Thomas flared up. Tommy? What the hell?

“That’s not my name,” he hissed, glancing around, looking for something heavy — preferably metal — to smack this arrogant blond idiot with.

“‘Thomas’ is too formal, ‘Tom’ is already taken by your friend Teresa, and ‘idiot,’ ‘jerk,’ ‘dumbass’ are popular choices used by Minho and Gally. So for me you’re Tommy. Original, right?” The blond dove back into the book, smiling slightly. Without even looking at Thomas, he knew exactly how confused the brunette was, and he was genuinely pleased with the impression he made. As he expected, Thomas spoke a few seconds later, stumbling slightly. Suppressing a laugh, the blond looked at him seriously.

“How… how do you know all that?” Thomas swallowed hard, staring at him. This was the part where the blond should say something like, “I came to kill you,” or “You’re coming with me,” like in the movies he and Minho watched. Who could know this kind of information? Only close friends… or stalkers. Since Thomas had never seen this guy before, “friend” was out of the question.

“Funny how clothes and a haircut change a person, right? Or maybe you have a memory problem.” Mischief danced in the blond’s dark eyes like tiny devils. Even Minho never looked at him with such high-level mockery.

And then Thomas recognized him — the guy who had caused him so many problems a few days ago. As it turned out, their new professor Jensen had invited his protégé to the last class — someone named Isaac, whose name had stirred a wave of giggles that stopped instantly when the blond set foot inside. Teresa had clicked her tongue and muttered something about girls and sighs before returning to her notes. Thomas had wondered how she even got there, considering she planned to go shopping, plus she studied law — what physics? But those thoughts quickly faded when a strange feeling of cold and unease spread across the room from either the drafty window or Isaac himself.

He wasn’t dressed for winter at all: black dress pants and a thin coffee-colored sweater. The blond definitely had some sort of charm spell going on, because the entire female half of the audience started fussing: fixing their hair, pulling out lipsticks, dusting their noses, subtly adjusting their necklines. Isaac didn’t seem to notice — or pretended extremely well — while his gaze drifted across the room, slowly burning into anyone bold enough to look back. Thomas had been one of those brave idiots — and immediately regretted it. Something about looking at the blond felt wrong and uncomfortable. He remembered little from that day, but those piercing chocolate eyes were imprinted in his mind down to the smallest detail.

The first association that popped into his mind was a snake. The blond moved with a natural grace and fluidity, radiating metallic cold and hostility. He made Thomas uneasy and tense — which meant Thomas instantly disliked him. Oh, and he also acted like a damn professor and even called Minho slow. Minho wasn’t offended in the slightest and had proudly answered with his signature line: “At least I’m pretty.”

“Remember now, Tommy? We never properly introduced ourselves. Let’s start over.” The blond smiled sweetly and extended his hand. Thomas said nothing, pushed the pale hand away in confusion, and quickly walked out of the shop.

Isaac accepted this reaction without a trace of surprise. He shut the book loudly, climbed off the table, walked calmly to the counter, and waved a small book in front of the woman.

“I’ll take this one.”

Thomas realized he had made a huge mistake. Going out for a book in weather like this was one of the dumbest ideas of his life. Only one thing was dumber — what had just happened inside. Once outside, the fear Isaac triggered in him evaporated instantly. Now he couldn’t understand what had gotten into him or why he ran away so abruptly. If not for that strange blond, who was probably sipping tea in warmth and comfort right now, Thomas would have gone back inside immediately, but pride mixed with poorly timed embarrassment stopped him. So he stood under the awning — proud, freezing, stupid — until a familiar voice called out:

“Hey, I can give you a ride. And stop looking at me like I ate your hamster.”

Thomas turned away from the blond’s honey-colored eyes. They looked darker indoors. Great, agreeing to this was the last thing he needed. But one glance at the monstrous rain — the kind that could knock him off his feet — changed his mind. He didn’t like this stranger, but he still had common sense. Thomas nodded gratefully and looked around for the car. Spotting it, he took a few steps toward the car.

“Hey, genius, wrong direction,” the blond called out, pointing the opposite way.

Thomas cursed internally. He became such a clumsy idiot around this guy.

To be fair, he was grateful the blond didn’t let him get completely soaked again, even though he easily could have left him there. Whatever the case, Thomas knew basic etiquette and decided he had to invite him in for tea. He was sure everything would go according to the classic scheme: you offer someone coffee out of politeness, they politely refuse and act like a saint; then you shove some bills at the driver, and while he insists you don’t need to pay, you quickly run away.

But apparently Thomas was no strategist, because all his plans collapsed at stage one. Hearing the offer, the blond frowned, checked the time, and nodded shortly.

“All right, but I only have thirty minutes.”
“And that’s more than enough,” Thomas thought, still not understanding how he got dragged into this.

They walked up the stairs silently; from time to time the blond pursed his lips, clearly thinking about how they could’ve had an elevator installed here. Yet, when they reached the door, it was Thomas — not Isaac — who exhaled heavily. He still wasn’t used to this.

“Welcome to my den,” the brunette said uncertainly, letting the guest in first, then running straight to the bedroom to change out of his still damp clothes.

The blond examined the hallway carefully — nothing there except a small wardrobe — then the living room with a huge plasma screen, a blue couch, a fluffy rug, and framed art. Only after looking closer did he realize they were photos of Thomas and his friends. In one of them, an Asian guy squatted down, smiling widely at the camera, raising a thumbs-up with one hand and pointing at a sleeping Thomas with a drawn-on mustache and lipstick with the other. Isaac smirked and looked at the next photo. A girl of about twelve with wavy hair and big blue eyes stared attentively into the camera, slightly smiling. Beside her stood a boy in striped suspenders, holding a yellow flower, his head turned as if watching something off-screen.

Then one photo caught his attention — the biggest one. There they all were: Teresa hugging Minho, Gally with a cigarette, Thomas giving bunny ears to the short-haired brunette — Brenda, as he had already learned.

“My favorite photo.”
Isaac flinched slightly, not expecting to be addressed.
“Did I scare you?”

“No, just a reflex,” the blond waved it off. “Why is it your favorite?” He followed Thomas into the kitchen, where the kettle was already boiling.

“Well, all the people I love are on it.” Thomas tossed two spoonfuls of sugar into his cup and looked at his guest questioningly.

“Sugar is evil,” Isaac watched as Thomas ignored the comment, then arrogantly dumped sugar into his own cup, poured water, and stirred. Newton only smiled and tilted his head, still observing Thomas. The brunette spoke again once the steaming drinks were on the table.

“Then why did you call Minho stupid?” Thomas bit into a cookie angrily, staring straight at his guest. He didn’t know how to fill the silence, so he asked the first thing that came to mind. God, Thomas, communication skills zero.

“You first,” the blond leaned back and looked at him attentively. “How smart is it to come to a physics exam without knowing physics?”

“Minho does what he can,” Thomas bit his lip, loyally defending his friend. He couldn’t admit the blond had a point — that was impossible.

“No doubt,” Isaac smiled. “I didn’t say it because I think so. I said it because it needed to be said. Minho is very smart, though careless.”

“That explanation sucks,” Thomas huffed.

The blond smirked and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. Casually tossing his legs up on the table, he put a cigarette between his lips and lit it. Smoke instantly filled the small kitchen, and the brunette coughed.

“Want one?” he offered the cigarette to Thomas.

“No, thanks. I don’t smoke.”

Isaac put the cigarette back in his mouth and inhaled.

“Me neither.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

The blond gave him a strange look and frowned. They drank their tea in silence. The guest took a few polite sips, then pushed his cup toward Thomas.

“All right, Tommy, I should go,” he said and, lacking an ashtray, quickly extinguished the cigarette on his own hand, leaving a red mark. Ignoring Thomas’s shock, he headed for the hallway. The brunette didn’t notice that a pack of expensive cigarettes and a lighter were left on the table on purpose.

The guest was already dressed and waiting to say goodbye. He nodded, muttered a quick “Thanks,” and simply left. Thomas rushed to the door and flung it open.

“Hey! What’s your name?!”

No one was on the stairs. Thinking the stranger had already left, Thomas sighed — but then a voice from below replied:

“Newton.”

“Well then, Newton, my name is Thomas!”

In response, he heard loud laughter.

An hour later, Thomas sat on the couch with hot cocoa, thinking about the unexpected encounter. Newton Isaac. Funny name combination. The blond was probably freezing in that thin black coat — it was winter outside after all. Thomas had never met people that strange. Brenda and Teresa weren’t exactly “normal” either, but still far more predictable. Or maybe it just felt that way — maybe he’d simply gotten used to them.

When he ran out of things to think about, and the rain only worsened, Thomas decided he needed something to do, and a book was the best option. And only then did he realize he’d forgotten to buy the book he had gone out for, gotten soaked for, met that unbearable blond for, and even had tea with. The book he picked out was still lying alone on the table. Thomas groaned in frustration. How could someone be such an idiot?

And an hour later he would find the blond’s abandoned things and start looking for their owner. Lost in this chaos, Thomas didn’t even stop to wonder why this “coincidental” meeting with Newton happened so soon after his appearance at the university, or why he invited a stranger he didn’t even like to his home so quickly, or how the blond knew the names of his friends and the nicknames they used for him. For some reason, all those details slipped out of Thomas’s mind just as fast as formulas after an exam.

Chapter Text

Earlier

Newt — or Mr. K, as wealthy clients preferred to call him — had just finished a job involving the murder of a well-known businessman. A precise shot to the head. No brains splattered on the walls, none of that nonsense he disapproved of. Everything clean and elegant — exactly as it should be.

Newt was a professional. That meant no special effects.
Newt was a professional. That meant no one knew him.

He always stayed in the shadows: unseen, unheard. Everyone knew Jorge — the explosive Brazilian with a taste for expensive alcohol and the only intermediary for Mr. K, through whom all negotiations were handled. Jorge knew everything about Newt’s profession — and nothing about the man himself. The paradox was that out of all the people on earth, Jorge knew Newt better than anyone. Jorge often disappeared into famous clubs, vanishing into week-long drinking binges. Newt paid it no mind. New clients had long since stopped being a source of truly valuable money. Now that he had a massive financial cushion, he could have quit — but something wouldn’t let him. It had become a habit. A part of his life. And he didn’t want to get rid of it.

Murder was his drug. And Newt liked it. He had everything he could possibly want. Perhaps everything except peace of mind.

Jorge used to joke that Newt simply lacked someone equally insane by his side. He insisted peace only came when “that person” appeared. Whether Jorge was to be believed was another question entirely. Newt once asked him about “that person,” pronouncing the phrase with near contempt. He wasn’t interested in love or romance — but listening to his mentor’s drunken philosophy was its own form of entertainment. These conversations happened during nearly every binge. Most of the time, Jorge would smile mysteriously and reach for another drink. Only when he was nearly unconscious would he begin his philosophical ramblings, which Newt secretly enjoyed.

“It’s the person who… you know… who just… is,” Jorge would slur. And though his explanations were usually incoherent, sometimes brilliant thoughts broke through the drunken haze. “You’ll hate them at first. You’ll see them and want to strangle them… or hit them with a stick… no, with an axe! Chop them into pieces… and then gather the mess and hug it…”

Newt would grimace theatrically, convinced it was nonsense, and Jorge would clarify:

“Well, not always like that, my friend. Sometimes it’s the opposite — you see them, you fall in love, you marry. Don’t frown. You don’t have to marry. Depends on the person. I’m alone, as you can see.”

Jorge wasn’t intelligent in the traditional sense. He couldn’t write properly, couldn’t read German well, wasn’t great with numbers. But he possessed an inexplicable wisdom — the kind that had changed Newt’s life.

***

The day it happened was an ordinary Thursday.

13:06.

The clock seemed frozen there forever. Newt tapped the glass of his expensive black watch, as if that might push time forward. Finally, with a loud click — at least it sounded loud to him — the minute hand moved. He never got nervous before meetings. But today something was wrong.

He had overslept — longer than usual. That was one.
He had coffee with sugar. Two.
He arrived twenty-four minutes early. Three.

Something was definitely off.

Outside, the birds hopped from rooftop to rooftop in search of scraps. The sun hid behind heavy dark clouds. Wind dragged leaves and candy wrappers across the streets. Newt’s attention shifted to footsteps downstairs. He raised an eyebrow. Jorge never arrived early.

Something about this Thursday was wrong.

Moments later, a well-dressed middle-aged man entered the room. Perfect suit. Hair neatly combed. A frown etched onto his face. Where was the loud Brazilian, slightly drunk at business meetings, who sometimes couldn’t tell Newt from a chair?

“You’re early today. By five—” Newt checked his watch. “Ah. Four minutes.”

“Important matters,” Jorge replied, sitting down and throwing his legs onto the table — as he always did. The familiarity eased Newt slightly.

“You have an unusual assignment, kid.” He emphasized unusual.

“I see. What is it? A child? I don’t do that. You know that.”

Jorge hesitated — barely noticeable.

“No. It really is something new.” He pulled out a large coarse envelope and placed it on the table. “A guy. Twenty-two years old. Everything you need is inside.”

Newt slid the contents out: detailed information down to the victim’s laundry schedule. Photos of a brunette not much younger than himself. Newt flinched. He scanned the critical details. His expression darkened when he saw a blank line under “Reason for termination.”

Jorge knew he didn’t work without justification.

“Before you say anything, let me.” Jorge tapped the envelope. “There’s a small slip of paper inside with a number on it. Take a look.”

Newt did. His face didn’t change.

“That,” Jorge said slowly, tapping the paper, “is what a very generous person is offering for this young man.”

Newt pressed his lips together. Money meant nothing to him.

“If you’re so sure…” Jorge stood, his knees cracking loudly. “I understand — principles and all. You’re at the top of the assassin elite now. Money isn’t your concern. But poor old Jorge has a reputation to maintain. And when I’m invited to projects like this… I can’t refuse. Don’t worry. It’s not a problem. As they say, murder is a family business, right?”

He pulled out his phone casually. He knew exactly where to apply pressure. He had already won before entering the room. White knuckles gripping the chair confirmed it. Their eyes met. Jorge thought he saw pain flicker there — just for a second — before Newt’s cold grin erased it.

“Yeah,” Jorge coughed through a smoker’s laugh. “The killer instinct woke up in you.”

“What’s his name?” Newt’s quiet voice echoed through the room.

“Thomas Edison. Funny, isn’t it?”

Newt narrowed his eyes, tasting the name. He glanced at the clock.

13:13.

He smirked faintly. That number never meant anything good.

Newt had rules:

1. Children cannot be targets.

2. The reason must be clearly stated.

3. Every project must have a name.

4. Think about work only in the small black room.

He had already broken two.

The reason wasn’t given. And he thought about Thomas everywhere. The black room was now covered in photos: Thomas with friends, with girls, at parties, in cafés, in parks. Newt had never known an ordinary life. This job felt foreign. He studied every photograph. Every detail. Every wrinkle. And suddenly he understood something terrible: he had missed half his life. Thomas became a reminder of how things were “supposed” to be. For the first time in a long while, melancholy settled in. After a full day sitting on his bed, he made a decision.

This was his chance. And he would not waste it.

Getting close to the target had always been his method. Clients rarely rushed him. He liked long games. Newt craved emotion. He never questioned why he enjoyed killing those who had grown attached to him. Their pain fed his own. Killing made him feel alive. Something was fascinating about destroying someone who believed you were their friend. Thomas irritated him simply by existing. His life was painfully ordinary — and that was precisely why it was beautiful. Good friends. Girls interested in him. A small apartment he barely afforded. Part-time jobs. Exams he miraculously passed.
Parties. Movies. Thomas lived. Newt wanted that. He wanted what Thomas had. It drove him mad.

Soon the plan formed naturally. The deadline was Thomas’s birthday. Six months. More than enough time. Newt was thrilled — internally. Externally, he remained as always: cold and serious.

Watching Thomas was easy. Soon Newt knew all his favorite places. All his friends. Every habit. Thomas had no idea how many times they had shared the same space while he was under observation.

Meanwhile, Newt visited bars more often with Jorge, who drank heavily. Newt stuck to beer. Someone had to carry Jorge home. He liked bars for one reason: watching people. He loved reading souls. He didn’t have one of his own. Jorge often said Newt wasn’t from this world. Newt agreed. Being different was always an advantage. But not now. Not with Thomas constantly on his mind.

The money still made no sense. Such sums were paid for important men. Or dangerous ones. Not for ordinary twenty-two-year-olds. He couldn’t find a connection between Thomas and whoever ordered the hit. But there had to be something.

Jorge grew uneasy. Newt disappeared for days. Didn’t come home. Didn’t answer calls. Something felt wrong.

Weeks later, Jorge had a dream. A nightmare. A shot. Newt falling. Bullet through the center of his forehead. The superstitious Brazilian panicked. He begged Newt to cancel the deal.

“This will bring trouble.”

They argued.

“You told me to forget my principles.”

Newt laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

“It’ll be fine.”

Newt never believed in prophetic dreams. Jorge tried to move on. But sometimes he still heard the voice of the man who ordered Thomas. And fear returned.

He remembered everything. Finding Newt. Raising him. Turning him into this. He had given him everything. Except a normal life. And now he watched as Newt’s soul slowly faded.

“Have you chosen a name for the assignment?” Jorge asked one evening.

Newt sat in a long coat, hair messy, eyes closed, cigar between his fingers — like Sherlock from the series. A minute passed.

He answered slowly:

“Synectum.”

Jorge stared.

“What does it mean?”

Newt opened his eyes. Smiled wider.

“I don’t know yet…”

And Jorge remembered. That exact smile.

The one Newt wore the first time he killed.

Chapter Text

Minho took a sip of beer, closed his eyes, and said, “There’s only one thing I don’t get. If he annoys you (and me too, by the way), then why look for him and return that damn lighter?”

Teresa let out a loud, theatrical sigh — the classic “how are you so uncultured?” — and sat down next to Thomas, clearly showing whose side she was on.

“Because it’s the right thing to do. That’s what decent people do, Minho.”

“Oh, of course, and I’m obviously not one of them! Forgot, excuse me,” the Asian boy puffed up and began loudly chewing chips.

“That’s not what I meant. I’m saying that—”

“Don’t bother,” he stood up dramatically from the couch and headed toward the door. “A simple mortal like me can’t understand your sophisticated conversations. Farewell.” He bowed low and left.

“One day he’s going to get what’s coming to him. I’m the girl here, I’m the one who’s supposed to throw tantrums!” Teresa yelled loudly so Minho could hear her. Sighing, she turned to Thomas. “You know, I think I can help you. But for now, sorry — I need to go kick a certain someone’s ass.” Smiling sweetly, she walked out, leaving the brunette alone with his thoughts.

And what was Thomas thinking about? Definitely not Newt. Honestly speaking, he forgot about him as soon as he finished telling his friends what had happened. He just needed to vent a little — that was all. Newt meant absolutely nothing to him, so there was no way Thomas would spend time thinking about him.

He had just started gathering his things to go home when Minho burst into the room at the speed of light — flushed, out of breath, and in a panic. He grabbed Thomas by the shoulders hard enough to make him wince.

“Dude, save me! That crazy woman is going to kill me!”

A moment later Teresa ran in, waving a slipper, and Thomas barely managed not to laugh. His friends were well over twenty (well… two years over twenty), and yet they sometimes acted like children. Actually — not “sometimes.” More like “almost always.” And very often, like now, it looked both ridiculous and hilarious.

To Thomas, Minho and Teresa were the perfect model of a relationship. Not in every aspect, of course, but their “fun and nonsense” department was close to ideal. They had been “dating” back in kindergarten, then the “love over the potty” era passed and they became good friends. In their last years of school, romance flared up again, and now — six years together (not counting kindergarten, ladies and gentlemen).

“And for calling me ‘crazy,’ you’re getting this!” Teresa swung her hand, and the slipper flew straight toward Thomas’s head. The girl had never been known for good aim; even back in school, after dozens of failed attempts to throw a ball NOT at the gym teacher, he simply excused her from the assignment.

She covered her mouth with her hand to hide her laughter and began babbling incoherent apologies. Minho, on the other hand, was laughing openly like a horse, slapping the couch with his palm.

“Tom, sorry, I kinda missed,” the girl snorted and grinned.

“I think you hit perfectly,” the Asian boy wheezed through his tears.

“I forgot I’m supposed to duck when you throw something, damn it,” Thomas rubbed the back of his head. “That hurt, you menace.”

“Brother, run while you still can, before she kills you!” Minho grabbed a small pillow, lifted it over his head, and yelled, “For Thoooomaaas! CHAAARGE!”

Leaving his friends who had gone completely wild (“Tom, come on, be my hostage, yeah?”), the brunette hurried home. Walking alone at this hour wasn’t the best idea. The area wasn’t exactly dangerous, but things happened. Once he and Gally had run into trouble — a group of bulked-up thugs appeared out of nowhere, and if not for Gally, who very convincingly pretended to be “one of them,” Thomas might not have had a full set of teeth today. Remembering that story made him shiver and pick up his pace.

His fear was justified.

Just a few meters ahead, in the shadow of a tall building, stood a group of guys clearly eager for a fight — or at least to scare someone and steal some money. They would have done exactly that if not for a rough voice that left no room for argument:

“He’s mine.”

A few words — and a life saved. For a few more months, anyway.

***

The phone had been ringing for five minutes straight, and the neighbors’ patience was about to run out. Thankfully, Thomas finally bothered to open his eyes, grope around for his device, and answer — preventing a morning scandal.

“I thought you were dead! Why do you even have a phone if you don’t answer it?!”
Honestly, what could be better than waking up to the furious voice of your best friend’s girlfriend? Especially if it was Teresa?

“I’d rather be dead. What is it? Why are you calliiing this early—” Thomas yawned and flopped back onto the bed, hoping to squeeze in more sleep.

“Well, I actually found your blond boy,” the girl said smugly.

“Found who?”

“Oh my god, Tom, wake up! I contacted an old friend of mine first thing in the morning — she knows a girl who knows another girl who can find people’s phones and addresses. She used to be a detective or something, but then there was this unsolved case, client died, and everything went downhill—”

“Wait, you asked a detective to look for that guy’s number?”

“Well… I’m not one hundred percent sure she’s a detective.”

“Teresa, normal people check a damn directory. They don’t hire detectives.”

“That’s the interesting part,” she paused, waiting for him to ask. “Hey, aren’t you curious?”

“Honestly? No.”

“You’re such a bore. Fine, I’ll tell you myself. His number isn’t in the directory, not online, not anywhere. Sara tried to find an address — nothing. And get this,” Teresa dropped her voice to a whisper, “he’s not even registered as a U.S. citizen. Can you imagine? It’s like he doesn’t exist at all.”

“You said you had a phone number,” Thomas whispered back involuntarily, copying her tone.

“Right, that’s the thing. Sara managed to find the number of a person who, according to trusted sources, knows the blond.”

“You’re an idiot. Teresa, you’re giving me the number of a complete stranger who may not even know any blonds.”

“So what’s the problem? Call and ask.”

“Oh, sure.”

“You’ll thank me later! Anyway, I’m off. Good luck, Tom!” she shouted cheerfully and hung up.

Thomas paced around the phone for half an hour. Shortly after the call, Teresa had sent the number of the person who was supposedly connected to Newt. Thomas didn’t want to look like an idiot if it turned out (and of course it would) that the person had never even heard the name.

Big deal — a lighter and cigarettes. People lose that stuff every day.

“But not stuff that expensive,” his conscience added.

And it was true. After examining the items together, he and Minho came to one disturbing conclusion: the lighter was gold. Real gold.

“Teresa can bite me, this thing is GOLD! I’m ready to start smoking just to keep it for myself!” Minho had declared proudly — right before Teresa elbowed him in the ribs and lectured him for half an hour about smoking being bad. After failing to claim the treasure, Minho graciously suggested returning it.

Thomas finally gave in and dialed the number. The call barely rang — someone picked up immediately, as if waiting.

“Hello, how can I help you?” a rough but friendly male voice answered. Thomas immediately pictured a gray-haired man with a tiny dog by his feet. Shutting off his imagination, he replied:

“Sorry to bother you, I’m looking for Newton.”

“Newton? We don’t have anyone like that. Ah! You must mean Newt! Uno momento!”
There was shuffling, footsteps — and then someone else spoke:

“I’m listening.”

“Newt?” Thomas asked uncertainly.

“No.”

“But I was told—”

“I’m Newton,” the guy said calmly.

“Right. So, I’m calling because—”

“‘Newt’ is only for people close to me. Got it?”
And that was when Thomas finally recognized the annoying blond who loved interrupting everyone. If they were standing face to face right now, Thomas was pretty sure he would’ve slapped him.

“Yes, your highness,” Thomas muttered, waiting a second to make sure the blond wouldn’t interrupt again. “I have your lighter. I want to return it — it’s expensive.”

“Wait,” Newt said — and hung up.

Thomas stared at the screen, baffled. What was wrong with this guy?

But the real shock was what happened next: exactly fifteen minutes later, someone knocked on the door — and before Thomas could even get up, the door opened on its own. Thomas had assumed Newt got annoyed and ended the conversation. He had even made tea and turned on his favorite show, when the loud knock startled him. He tried to run to the door, tripped over some cables, fell, and ended up just yelling, “Come in!” while wondering which friend showed up this time.

Instead, tall, thin Newt walked in, wrapped in the same coat. He glanced around the room and muttered something to himself. His gaze landed on the laptop screen, and he smirked.

“You like zombie shows? I love that one.”

“I didn’t think you’d actually come. Sorry, but your stuff isn’t here right now, my friends, uh… temporarily borrowed it,” Thomas said awkwardly, remembering how Gally begged to take the “cool thing” for an hour and a half to impress a girl. Newt didn’t look bothered in the slightest and headed toward the kitchen.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“He’s going to die.”

“Who’s going to die?”

Newt poked his head out, trying to tame his messy hair.

“The guy on your screen. Want tea?”

Thomas froze. He had never believed spoilers were a crime — until today.

“Don’t make that face, Tommy. Frowning doesn’t suit you,” Newt winked, filling the kettle.

“Are you even normal? You showed up at my place without an invitation, didn’t ask permission, started acting like you own MY kitchen, and then you spoil my show?! Who do you think you are, some kind of king?!”

“You’re too aggressive, Tommy. Here,” he set a big mug of tea in front of him.

Thomas grumbled something into the cup.

“You invited me, remember?”

“Actually, no, I didn’t,” Thomas snapped, glaring. “You invited yourself.”
Not a single muscle on Newt’s face moved.

“Either way… I’m your guest. Where’s the respect? No, don’t look at me like that — it’s not flattering.”

Thomas groaned. Literally. He just howled out of frustration and self-loathing. Why was some arrogant blond sitting in his kitchen, drinking his tea, lecturing him, and why couldn’t he just kick him out?

“Has anyone ever told you you’re an open book?”

“And has anyone ever told you that you’re unbearable, arrogant, constantly grumpy, and have the empathy level of a brick?” Thomas shot back — apparently much to Newt’s amusement. Amusement! He didn’t flinch, didn’t get offended — he smiled. Thomas practically felt his right eye twitch.

“They’ve told me I’m beautiful and graceful,” Newt purred.
Thomas’s jaw dropped and rolled somewhere under the table — metaphorically. Even three minutes later he still hadn’t recovered, just stared at Newt silently. Then he burst into laughter.

“You’re insufferable,” he managed to choke out, the laughter finally spilling out like a long-awaited release.

“My pleasure, Tommy,” Newt replied — right before thunder cracked across the sky and lightning lit up the room. The boys exchanged looks. Newt grinned.

“Well then, where am I sleeping?”

The large black couch disappeared under piles of pillows and blankets Thomas prepared for him. At first he thought Newt was joking, but when the storm outside turned into a nightmare, Thomas insisted he stay. Humanity should be shown to everyone — even arrogant blonds.

When the mugs were washed and they changed into dry clothes (Newt carefully hung his coat and aligned his shoes with unnatural precision), they decided to watch a horror movie.

“I suggest we watch your zombie show,” Newt said slyly.

“Yeah, so you can spoil the whole season?”

“Nerd. No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Well, blond idiots tend to stick to me,” Thomas muttered, expecting a smirk — but Newt’s face was serious. After a few seconds he offered a small smile.

“You’re not my type, sorry, Tommy.”

Suddenly the lights went out, plunging the room into darkness. Thomas cursed loudly and muttered something about candles. Twice he bumped into the couch, and the third time he fell, hitting his knee on a chair leg. The amount of swearing could have filled the whole apartment. Newt could’ve sworn he heard the neighbors yelling, too.

Chuckling quietly, he bent over Thomas.

“Where are the candles? I’ll find them.”

Thomas explained everything in detail, and a few minutes later Newt returned with two thick wax cylinders. He placed them on the table and lit them.

Thomas never forgot that moment. Something about it seemed terrifying — so much so that for many nights afterward he wondered whether he had imagined Newt’s predatory stare, those pitch-black eyes, and that vicious grin. Eventually he convinced himself it was just the storm making his imagination run wild.

“So, what do we do now? Want to have a heart-to-heart?” Newt asked conspiratorially.

“Let’s just sleep, okay?” Thomas yawned. Talking to Newt wasn’t on his list of interests.

“Let’s toss a coin: heads — I win and we talk; tails — we go to sleep like obedient children.”

Thomas hesitated, calculating Newt’s chance of cheating. Deciding he could always fall asleep during the conversation, he agreed. Finding a coin took fifteen minutes, plus several loud knocks against the table — and more cursing.

“Found one!” Thomas handed the coin to Newt and sat across from him. A moment later, the coin was already flipping in the air. Newt caught it smoothly and placed it on his palm — heads. Cheating was simply part of his DNA.

“Oh come on! I wanted to sleep.”

“Not your destiny, Tommy. Can we begin? Tell me about yourself. Short and to the point.”

“I don’t even know what to say. Just an ordinary guy whose life is a mess. Plus I have to deal with some weird guy who annoys the hell out of me.”

“And why do I bother you so much?” Newt bit his lip, and Thomas noticed a faint scar beneath it.

“You act like everything is allowed to you and you don’t care about anyone else. You have no tact, you can’t read emotions, and you’re very good at being irritating.”

“But that’s all true,” Newt shrugged and stared at him. “It’s sad to hear you don’t enjoy our conversations…” he added, way too theatrically.

“I don’t like that we met at all,” Thomas muttered, and Newt smiled faintly.

“Usually, the people you dislike most end up becoming a permanent part of your life. Cosmic irony.”

“Not this time.”

“And they usually pop up over and over, annoying you and annoying you until you end everything.”

“That sounds more accurate,” Thomas nodded and yawned.

“Sleep?”

“What about the ‘heart-to-heart’?”

“What, you enjoyed it?”

“Go to hell, Newt.”

“They stopped letting me in ages ago,” Newt snorted and slipped under the blanket.

Thomas stayed a few more seconds, hoping Newt would say something else. When he didn’t, Thomas blew out the candles and went to his bedroom.

In the morning, he found the couch neatly arranged and a mug of tea — without sugar. Newt was gone. And Thomas finally felt like he could breathe again.

***

The lecture hall was already packed, and Thomas realized he didn’t recognize most of the faces. It felt like the entire group had finally gathered for the first time in ages. Early that morning the class rep had called and delivered extremely depressing news: classes were extended for another week, and attendance was mandatory for everyone — no exceptions. Otherwise, there would be consequences. Thomas had no idea what the point of all this was. They had never studied this long — Christmas was practically here — but clearly something went wrong somewhere, and nobody was happy about it. Even Teresa, who loved studying more than anyone in their group. Brenda, who had already been informed, wasn’t thrilled either and decided to stay in Europe for another week until all this blew over.

So, as one might expect, the mood was far from festive — and apparently, things could get even worse.

Philosophy was one of the few classes he actually had together with friends, which usually made it fun. This time, however, there were way more people than usual, and Thomas kept catching himself staring at strangers he swore he’d never seen before. Eventually he forced himself to focus on the teacher’s monotone voice — and immediately started dozing off. Mr. Kirkman was a great lecturer and usually knew how to spark interest, but today he seemed even more annoyed by the extended classes than the students themselves.

Suddenly the boring lecture was interrupted — no, overridden — by a painfully familiar voice. His drowsiness evaporated in an instant. Thomas wondered whether he was hallucinating. Teresa had told him to sleep more lately. But then the voice repeated:

“I believe you’re wrong when you say that happiness is different for everyone.”

Thomas lifted his head to see who was speaking. He wasn’t sure what he wanted more: for it to be Newt — which would mean he wasn’t hallucinating — or for it to not be Newt, which would mean he actually was hallucinating.

Scanning the auditorium, he spotted a blond head standing out above the rest — and groaned. Was the guy following him or what?

Thomas elbowed the friend sleeping next to him and pointed at Newt.

“That’s him. The blond.”

Minho yawned without enthusiasm.

“I see he’s blond, genius. Why are you waking me up? I was having a great dream.”

Teresa, who sat one row above, joined the whispering.

“Min, he means that blond,” she said in a tone Thomas didn’t like.

“Well, that’s different then,” Minho said with mock importance, then added, “Nah, honestly, I don’t care. Let a black albatross debate our professor about life for all I care. I want to sleep.”

Teresa rolled her eyes and focused on Newt’s argument with great interest.

“…but we can argue the opposite,” the blond said firmly. “Think about it. Why do we do anything? Why do we fall in love, work, make friends, hurt people, jump into reckless situations? All of it is connected by one thing — emotion. Everything we’ve ever done leaves an emotion behind. Happiness, love, fear, sadness, anger, frustration. They’re the reason we take risks. Emotions make us feel alive — and that, undeniably, is the greatest happiness.”

“Young man, who exactly are you?” the professor asked with genuine interest. “You haven’t attended my lectures before. No, you’re definitely new. I would’ve remembered you. Thoughts like yours…” He adjusted his glasses, studying Newt.

“I object,” someone said loudly. It took Thomas two seconds to realize the voice was his. The professor turned toward him. Thomas froze, wondering how he blurted that out. “Object”? Good lord, was he suddenly testifying in court?

Then Newt looked directly at him. With that eyebrow-raise-smirk combo he always deployed. Irritation flared instantly. Thomas inhaled deeply to calm down.

“Then why do we have so many unhappy people wandering the streets in torn clothes with no home to return to? Why don’t starving people look happy? Why do suicides happen? According to your theory, they should all be fluttering around like butterflies, thrilled to feel miserable. That’s an emotion too, isn’t it?”

Thomas lifted his chin proudly and stared at Newt. The professor hummed meaningfully, clearly intrigued, eyes darting between the two like watching a tennis match.

Newt cracked his knuckles — and Thomas swore Teresa tried to cover her ears. Another bizarre entry for the growing list of “Things You Must Not Do Around Teresa.”

“People are foolish by nature,” Newt said calmly. “They understand nothing. They think death will bring happiness. But it won’t. Death only brings relief. Happiness is in living — in feeling.”

Newt smirked, and just as Thomas opened his mouth to reply, the teacher said:

“I would love to hear your discussion, but time is up. We’ll continue next lecture.”

Mr. Kirkman marched out of the room, releasing the students twenty minutes early. It honestly seemed like the professors hated the extended semester even more than the students.

Thomas shifted his gaze toward Newt, but instead saw only Teresa’s long dark hair. She was talking to the blond, laughing at something he’d said.

Confused, Thomas walked toward them.

“So, I see you two are already acquainted?”

“Tom, he’s adorable,” Teresa gushed with excitement.

“He won’t admit it, right, Tommy?”
Thomas narrowed his eyes, trying to understand when Newt managed to charm his way into Teresa’s good graces. The girl enthusiastically waved Minho over.

“I’m not Tommy.”

“Yes, he’s Tom,” Teresa confirmed before Thomas could argue — and Minho materialized out of nowhere to contribute:

“He’s a certified idiot on a stick.”

“That one I like,” Thomas said, patting him on the shoulder.

“You’re seriously a walking chunk of klunk, Thomas. When will you give my flash drive back? Or do you think it’ll grow wings and fly home to me?”

Thomas knew he had about three seconds before the chasing began. Angry Minho was no joke — he’d learned that the hard way.

“Crap, dude, I forgot again, maybe—”

“No maybe,” Minho snapped, ripping off his backpack and tossing it at Newt’s feet. “I’ve been waiting for TWO DAMN WEEKS!”

That was the cue. The golden moment. Thomas bolted from the room at lightning speed, knocking into everyone and everything in his path. Minho sprinted after him a second later, leaving Teresa and Newt alone.

“Does this happen often?” Newt asked, surprised.

“Every week. Sometimes several times a week. The whole university waits for it. And that’s without Gally — with him it’s a full comedy show.”

“Gally is your friend? Is he here?”

“No, he’s skipping today,” Teresa sighed. “As usual. Alright, I need to go find those idiots.”
She bent down to pick up Minho’s backpack — but no amount of effort or swearing helped.

“What the hell is in here, leprechauns?!”

Seeing Newt’s confusion, she quickly explained:

“He really loves leprechauns.”

“They don’t exist,” Newt said, uncertain.

“Try convincing him,” Teresa chuckled — and Newt smiled back.

A normal, friendly smile. Not the smug one he always used on Thomas. Teresa fell for it immediately, unaware that Newt was simply trying to make a good impression. She trusted people too easily — especially those with warm, sunny smiles.

“Let me get that,” Newt said, lifting the backpack effortlessly, as if it weighed nothing, and headed toward the exit. Teresa followed, sorting through questions in her mind.

“So why are you here? I thought you were older, not a student. And you’re definitely more of a physicist than a philosopher.”
She suddenly stopped, tilting her head as she studied him.

Newt rolled his eyes — thankfully she couldn't see it — and when he turned toward her, a polite smile softened his already attractive face.

“I had to drop off some materials for a professor, but I accidentally walked into the wrong classroom and couldn’t resist staying to listen.”

“Are you planning to work here? Or was that an internship?”
Teresa's stare sharpened so much that Newt flinched internally. His brain flashed a red warning light: “Teresa = problem.” Her intuition was significantly better than the average idiot’s. She could become a real obstacle later.

“A voluntary internship, let’s call it that.”
Teresa nodded knowingly, as if that explained everything.

Strike while the iron is hot — that’s what they say. He needed to win her over before her sharp little mind started asking dangerous questions.

“I also want to apologize for my… let’s say, questionable behavior when we first met. I didn’t mean to offend your boyfriend. No excuse for it. Really.”
Newt lowered his eyes slightly, projecting an embarrassed, remorseful look.

Teresa’s gaze softened instantly. She stepped closer to take the backpack, thanked him, and then — with a subtly mischievous smile — asked:

“Newt, are you free on Saturday?”

Newt froze.
He had overestimated Teresa’s logic and intuition — realistically, that was predictable. She was Minho’s girlfriend, after all. One had to take that into account.

He turned to her with innocent confusion:

“Not really. Why?”

“You’re coming over,” she said, crossing her arms — which clearly meant: no objections.

***

“Everything’s working, Jorge,” the man said with satisfaction. “That silly Teresa already thinks I’m her friend and keeps trying to stay in touch. Gally? I’m basically his best buddy now — after I gave him the lighter straight from the heart. The Asian guy is keeping his neutrality; I’m still thinking about how to win him over. Brenda hasn’t come back yet, and she might be a problem. I’ll have to soften her somehow. You’re talented in art, right? Make me a painting. Something strange, but meaningful. She likes that stuff. I’ll say it’s by some famous Australian artist.”

Newt twirled the cigar in his fingers, watching it burn slowly.
“But Thomas himself… he’s the hard part.”

“So you finally found someone who doesn’t fall for your charms?” the Brazilian joked, expecting Newt to laugh — but he didn’t.
“Hey, kid, did I hit the mark?”

“I’m not sure. He’s weird. I don’t know how to get to him. I’ve tried everything, but nothing works. He still doesn’t like me and doesn’t trust me.”

“Why don’t you make your life easier for once? They told you to kill him — so kill him. Why play this whole theater with friendship and trust? I thought you grew out of that several years ago.”

The man swirled his glass, and the amber liquid coated the walls before sliding back down. Newt snorted in annoyance:

“And why don’t you stop drinking like a hopeless alcoholic, Jorge?”

“Everyone has their addictions.”

“Everyone has their addictions,” Newt repeated.

Giving Newt’s full glass a quick glance, the man half-closed his eyes as if recalling something.
“Losing is always unpleasant.”

“That’s not losing!” Newt snapped, stung by the comment.
Jorge went silent, waiting for him to calm down.

“Tomorrow he has to take me to Teresa’s place for tea, and all I can think about is how not to kill him before we even get there. He’s unbearably irritating. Sometimes it feels like just one more push — and I’ll kill him.”

The man smiled slyly and drank his whiskey neat.

“Newt, do you know which couples are happy? The ones who have an equal amount of hate and love for each other.”

“I don’t understand what that has to do with Thomas.”

“Neither do I,” Jorge admitted honestly. “But you have to admit — it’s a great line.”

Newt laughed, slipping back into a good mood, and raised his glass for a toast.

“What are we drinking to, my dear friend?”

“As always — to murder!”

“To murder!”

Chapter Text

The girl sitting at the café nearby was already on her fourth burger — according to Thomas’s count. He watched in disbelief at how quickly she devoured the food and felt a wave of disgust. A drop of ketchup slid down her chin, and Thomas turned away.

Brenda liked to eat too, but she never looked unpleasant. The brunette was a terrible neat freak; even though her house was complete chaos thanks to her love for art, it was always spotless, and every painting was carefully dusted.

His train of thought was interrupted by Newt’s approaching voice, and Thomas frowned. He had begged — no, pleaded — with Teresa not to throw any kind of party, and if she absolutely had to, then at least without that arrogant guy who knew nothing but his own oversized ego. Loyal Minho had taken Thomas’s side — the blond didn’t sit right with him either — but Teresa had been unshakable. She slammed her delicate fist on the table and declared she would decide who to invite into her home — even if it technically belonged to the Asian.

“Why so sour?” Newt asked, stepping closer.

As always, Thomas was surprised by how lightly dressed the blond was. This time he wore a coat again — not black, but emerald green. His long pale neck was completely exposed, and Thomas shivered and looked away. Just looking at that made him feel cold.

“I’m not sour. This is just my face, in case you were wondering,” Thomas muttered. “Let’s go. Teresa doesn’t let people in if they’re more than five minutes late.”

Newt raised an eyebrow but quickened his pace.

Thomas wasn’t joking. There had been an incident when he and Minho arrived late at Teresa’s place, and she had simply refused to let them in. They’d sat outside for half an hour, begging her to open the door, and in the end had to climb through a window. Thomas smiled at the memory. When was that? Two years ago? Maybe three? Time flew so fast you barely noticed. Pulling himself from the memory, Thomas glanced at Newt walking ahead at a brisk pace. Why had Teresa invited him? Why had she insisted Thomas be the one to bring him? And honestly, couldn’t Newton have found the place himself? That’s what navigation apps were invented for.

“Hey, kettle, cool down!” Newt called over his shoulder.

“What?” Thomas shot him an irritated look. He was a kettle? Was Newt trying to provoke him? Did he want that pretty face decorated with a purple bruise?

“I can feel your irritation from back here,” the blond replied coolly. “I don’t like you either, but I’m not making a tragedy out of it.”

Thomas snorted and reached the tall building where Minho lived. They were probably already waiting. He turned to tell Newt they had arrived — but the blond wasn’t behind him.

“Who are we waiting for?” a voice came from directly behind him, and Thomas flinched.

Damn Newt! How did he do that? What was this stupid habit of scaring people?

Thomas clenched his fist and headed toward the stairs. Newt followed, whistling some melody, which made Thomas’s eye twitch. Was he going to be annoying all evening?

***

“And then he fell! Right onto the damn cactus! Can you imagine?! Onto that exact cactus!” Minho was yelling, tears in his eyes from laughter.

It was one of those stories usually told to newcomers — to bring them up to speed and make sure they understood what kind of people they were dealing with. Tonight, Minho was recounting the epic story of drunk Thomas falling onto a cactus — the same cactus Thomas himself had given him as a gift.

Gally was laughing just as loudly, adding commentary that made the story even more dramatic. Teresa chimed in between giggles, occasionally correcting Gally with, “No, that’s not how it happened!” — completely rewriting events until no one could tell where truth ended and bold blue-eyed lies began.

For the first time in a long while, Newt laughed genuinely. His flushed cheeks made him look less like the pale corpse Thomas had imagined him to be. Meanwhile Thomas sat buried in the corner of the couch, turning redder with every word.

Of course. Of course they’d tell a complete stranger all the dumbest stories — all of which, naturally, featured him. Thank God Minho hadn’t mentioned the Bulgarian girl, because in that one Thomas had looked like a complete idiot.

“Ooooh! I haven’t told you about the Bulgarian dancer!” Minho suddenly shouted, shocked he’d forgotten the funniest part.

He took a swig of beer, preparing for a long tale.

“No, no, no!” Thomas yelled, jumping to his feet. “Absolutely not!”

“Oh, come on, Tommy,” Newt interrupted smoothly. “I’m curious.” He smiled at Thomas — calm, relaxed, as if everything was fine. Thomas strongly disagreed.

“Stop making me look like an idiot. Why don’t you, Teresa, tell him how you once got drunk and mistook a tree for Minho and started kissing a Christmas tree?” Thomas fired back.

“Oh no!” Teresa flailed her hands dramatically in protest.

Gally smirked and began:
“It was a cold December night, the twenty-second, if you care to know…”

He glanced at Teresa, who was already lunging toward him, but Thomas quickly grabbed her wrists and pulled her back down. Gally nodded gratefully.

“We were celebrating Minho’s birthday.”

“Yeah! And somehow the birthday boy went missing for two days!” Minho protested. “How do you lose someone this handsome and refined?”

“Asians weren’t given the floor. Quiet,” Gally warned playfully. “So anyway, Teresa claimed she doesn’t drink much…”

They talked nonstop. A flood of new — and not always useful — information poured onto Newt, but he handled it well, listening attentively. Yet Thomas couldn’t shake the feeling that Newt wasn’t fully there — that his mind was somewhere else, running on autopilot. He responded at the right moments, flashed that light smirk when others laughed, cracked jokes occasionally — but Thomas felt something was off. Newt noticed Thomas’s persistent stare and looked back just as intensely. Thomas flushed and looked away.

Closer to two in the morning, Newt left, saying he had something important to attend to. Before going, he promised Teresa they would all meet again soon. She waved sweetly and closed the door behind him.

When she turned, she caught Minho’s dark expression and froze.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” she asked, stepping closer.

He grabbed her hands, holding her at arm’s length.

“Do you like him?” Minho asked seriously, and Teresa burst out laughing.

“You idiot, Min,” she said, stepping back playfully. “Are you jealous?”

“You invited him into our home, took care of him all evening, kept looking at him, and then basically invited him again!” Minho snapped, not caring that Thomas and Gally were in the next room. “No, I’m not jealous,” he muttered.

Teresa smiled softly and wrapped her arms around him.

“Minho, I’ve loved you since kindergarten,” she murmured into his neck, breathing in his familiar scent. “I fought the prettiest girl in school because of you and walked around with a bruise for a week, remember?”

“Purple suits you,” he smirked, pulling her closer.

She shot him a look and continued:

“I like Newt as a person. He’s cool, but that’s all. I just thought maybe…” She hesitated and glanced uncertainly toward Thomas. “I’ll tell you my theory later, okay?”

She kissed Minho slowly, melting into his embrace.

***

Newt had never met people like this. He tried not to miss anything, soaking up every word, every emotion. He memorized all their stories so that later, lying awake at night in the dark, he could replay them in his mind, imagining he had been part of it all.

He didn’t feel anything. Well, maybe irritation.

And if he didn’t care about the others, Thomas was the one he almost hated. Just because these were his friends and his life. His frozen heart demanded payback for all those years of loneliness spent in the company of a gun, corpses, and a drunk Jorge.

Yes, Newt hated Thomas. But he hid it very well. He had a role to play.

Newt didn’t care that Teresa was sick and lying in bed like a vegetable with a fever pushing thirty-eight, but he was the first one to run over with a bag of perfect oranges the size of Gally’s fist. He didn’t care that Brenda was coming back in a week, but like everyone else, he was “eagerly waiting” to finally meet the infamous, reckless, extraordinary, dark-skinned girl.

The only thing Newt was truly good at — besides putting a bullet through someone’s head from a few hundred meters away — was lying.
Oh yes. The finest kind you’ve ever seen.

Today he was on his way to visit Teresa again. She still couldn’t shake off whatever had knocked her down. Minho, of course, hadn’t left her side for a second, but today he’d had to step out for something urgent, and as soon as Newt found out, he offered to help. If he wanted to be a “friend,” he had to act like one and show that he wouldn’t abandon her in a difficult moment and all that.

Newt grimaced at the thought of having to play the caring, gentle type again. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door. That was mostly for formality’s sake — he knew Teresa couldn’t possibly get out of bed. But he also knew she would appreciate the polite gesture.

What he didn’t expect was for the door to actually open.

A wrinkled T-shirt and messy hair made it obvious the guy had been asleep — and very deeply too, judging by the way he was still rubbing his eyes, trying to see who was standing there. Once he recognized the uninvited guest, Thomas frowned. The last person he wanted to see.

“What do you want?” Thomas grumbled, not even pretending to be polite.

“I actually came to see Teresa,” Newt answered as calmly as possible, mentally counting to ten. “May I?” he added, giving a pleasant smile.

Thomas reluctantly stepped aside to let him in.

The apartment was unusually quiet for Minho and Teresa’s place. There was almost always music playing here, or Teresa herself whistling some tune in the kitchen while she cooked dinner for them. Now it was so quiet you could hear every step.

“She’s asleep,” Thomas said as they walked toward the kitchen.

“I’ll wait,” Newt replied with the same calm stubbornness.

Thomas just sighed and started taking out mugs and putting the kettle on. The blond glanced around the kitchen, noting every change, like he always did. They had a few new mugs — probably the ones Teresa had been begging Minho for a few days ago. And their old set now had one mug missing. A small jar of honey had appeared too, which was strange, since neither Minho nor Teresa liked it.

Realizing what he was doing, Newt shook his head. What was that just now? How did he know all this? Who were Teresa and Minho to him that he remembered so much about them? Who was this kitchen to him, that he could recall every piece of their tableware from memory?

“Hey, Earth to Newt,” Thomas said loudly, snapping his fingers in front of his honey-colored eyes. “The usual?” he asked, nodding toward the tea.

Newt just nodded. Thomas put a spoonful of black tea into the mug and then — assuming Newt couldn’t see — added two spoons of sugar, a slice of orange, and poured in boiling water. He stirred the tea twenty-seven times clockwise and set the mug in front of Newt.

The blond frowned, not so much because of the sugar, which he couldn’t stand, but because of the sudden realization that his little tea ritual was no longer his own. Thomas had done everything exactly the way Newt usually did it. When had Thomas memorized every movement?

Newt grew even gloomier, processing that thought. Thomas watched him from under his brows as he silently drank, pinky raised, and smirked. Damn aristocrat. Thomas’s opinion of Newt hadn’t changed in the two-plus weeks they’d known each other. Even Minho had started to warm up to him (and he wasn’t a fan of strangers), but Thomas still couldn’t get over himself. He was just tolerating the arrogant blond at this point.

“Did you finish The Walking Dead?” that same blond asked, glancing at Thomas.

“Nope,” Thomas answered honestly, immediately regretting it.

Newt loved spoilers and always tried to explain everything before you even hit play. When Thomas saw the sly smile forming on his face, he quickly slapped his hand over Newt’s mouth. Newt just raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“I know you’re about to spoil every single episode for me, including the ones that aren’t even out yet,” Thomas said quickly, realizing how weird the gesture must have looked.

He felt Newt’s lips stretch into a wide smile under his palm, and a second later the blond started laughing quietly so as not to wake Teresa. Thomas blinked a few times to make sure he wasn’t imagining it.

Newt. Laughing.
Actually laughing.

That was… beyond reason.

“Wow,” Thomas said pointedly loud. “Did I really just manage to make you laugh?”

“Believe it or not, yeah,” Newt replied. “Doesn’t mean you’re any less annoying.”

“Same goes for you,” Thomas said darkly.

Newt wrapped his fingers around the mug, gripping it tightly to warm his frozen hands. Snow was falling outside, and he shivered. He hated that kind of weather — on white snow red blood stood out too clearly.

Thomas watched him, trying to figure out what exactly was so off-putting about him — and couldn’t find anything truly repulsive. Newt was… good. If he was being honest, Newt was very attractive. Thomas had noticed more than once how girls smiled at him and did weird little things to catch his attention. Maybe they liked his golden hair, which somehow always looked perfect and shone in the light. Or maybe it was that ever-present charming smirk he gave literally everyone — except Teresa, for some reason Thomas still couldn’t understand. Or maybe it was his charisma and that graceful, leopard-like walk?

Newt always looked like he knew everything and could do anything, while Thomas was the guy who once got tangled in his own legs and fell right in front of a very pretty girl. And who do you think got him out of that situation? Newt — who smoothed it over with a joke. That wasn’t the kind of thing that made you hate a person, was it? Newt was perfect — from the tips of his blond hair to the brand-new shoes from some expensive collection.

A horrible coughing fit came from the other room, and both boys rushed to Teresa. Newt flinched when he saw her. She looked worse. Her beautiful, well-kept hair now looked awful — some strands stuck to her forehead with sweat. Her face was pale, dark circles under her eyes made her look almost alien. She looked worse than she had a few days ago.

Thomas glanced at Newt, trying to read his expression, but as always, his face showed nothing. Then Newt stepped closer, brushed the hair back from her face, earning a faint smile from her. He took a jar of soup out of the bag — something Jorge had made — and set it on the bedside table.

“You need to eat,” he said gently, straightening up to leave, but Teresa’s thin hand grabbed his elbow.

“Thank you,” she rasped, still smiling.

Newt left the apartment quickly, without saying goodbye.

***

An hour later, Newt was restlessly tossing in the soft armchair in Jorge’s apartment. He had shown up uninvited, as he always did. Jorge was just as excellent a cook as he was a drunk. His food was genuinely wonderful, and Newt usually devoured everything the Brazilian put in front of him.

Today, though, was different. Newt didn’t touch the cheese soup with croutons, didn’t even look at his favorite juicy steak, and pushed aside the tiramisu Jorge had made with special care.

Unable to take it anymore, Jorge slammed the ladle against the pot — Newt flinched and stared at him in confusion.

“What am I supposed to make of this?” Jorge exclaimed, folding his arms and fixing Newt with a stare that felt like it went straight into his soul.

“What are you talking about?” Newt said tiredly, trying to focus on the large Brazilian in front of him.

The insomnia had started a few days ago. If before he could at least sleep five hours a day, now things had gotten much worse.

“Newt, I’m not blind!” Jorge burst out, panic creeping into his voice. “I can see something’s going on!”

“My insomnia isn’t stopping. It’s getting worse. I think I might actually die from sleep deprivation.”

“Or I’ll strangle you myself if you keep not sleeping,” Jorge snapped.

Newt closed his eyes wearily.
Right now, he’d really rather be annoying Thomas. 

Chapter Text

It was a very important day. Teresa kept repeating that over and over. The girl was rushing around in a panic, not knowing what to do first. If not for the illness that left her a vegetable for five whole days, she would have thrown an amazing party to celebrate Brenda’s return. But now there was no time. Which is why she dragged her friends to the mall. If the party was ruined, then at least they would pick out a great welcome-back gift for Brenda.

Everyone was a little worried about Teresa’s health, but after seeing her run across floors searching for the right store and arguing with salespeople, they relaxed. She really did feel much better now — almost healthy — except for the occasional weak cough. Minho stayed glued to her side, as if trying to shield her from the entire world.

“Oh! Let’s go to that café!” she said, pointing at a small place ahead.

Minho scanned it with his sharp gaze and shook his head disapprovingly.

“Look over there,” he pointed at a guy sitting by the window. “He’s coughing. You just recovered, Teresa. I’m not letting you go in there,” he declared, tightening his grip on her hand.

Thomas laughed, watching the unstoppable couple.

“And what are you laughing at?” Minho yelled at him. “We’ll see how you act when you get a girlfriend, hero,” he added with a smirk.

“No thanks, I’ll pass on that privilege,” Thomas pretended to bow — but slipped at the last second and almost fell. Luckily, Newt caught him by the hood.

“Careful,” Newt smirked and kept walking.

“Maybe the two of you should live together?” Teresa suggested thoughtfully — and both boys stopped dead.

Minho stared at his girlfriend, checking whether she was delirious. But Teresa looked perfectly fine, and, seeing three frozen faces, she hurried to explain:

“What? Think about it, Thomas. Newt saves you from something every five minutes. Your life really got easier since he showed up.”

“Aren’t you going to ask me?” Newt responded and eyed her with amusement.

Thomas could only open and close his mouth in disbelief. How could she even say something like that?! Teresa would be the death of him.

“No need,” Teresa chirped, hugging a baffled Minho and grinning from ear to ear.

Newt turned to Thomas and said:

“Well then… Tommy, wanna move in together?” he joked, watching Thomas’ reaction.

Teresa burst out laughing.

“Are you stupid?” Thomas raised a brow at Newt. Why was he grinning all the time?

“I’m adorable, Tommy,” Newt said with a smug smile and walked ahead, leaving everyone behind — including a very irritated Thomas.

“Speaking of that, Newt,” Teresa began cautiously, “where do you live?”

“What’s with the interrogation?” Newt shoved his hands into his coat pockets and stared at her.

Teresa exchanged a conspiratorial look with Minho, hoping for backup. He only rolled his eyes and raised his hands — meaning don’t drag me into this.

“Well, Minho and I thought…” — Minho muttered something under his breath, and Teresa sighed. “Fine, I thought. Our kitchen is under renovation, Thomas’ apartment is tiny and always a mess… don’t look at me like that, Tom, you know it’s true.”

Thomas puffed up but said nothing.
Newt, realizing where she was going with this, grimaced. Teresa decided there was no point finishing the sentence and simply flashed him a sweet smile.

Newt turned away dramatically, as if that could save him. How did he even manage to be like this?

Suddenly Teresa let out a very loud, raspy cough, then a heavy inhale and exhale. It brought a grin to Newt’s pale face. She was really committing to the performance — and Newt did love games.

“You can stay at my place,” Newt announced, slowly turning back to them.

Teresa clapped her hands happily and reached for her phone to call Gally.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” Minho exclaimed, approvingly patting Newt on the shoulder.

Thomas only scoffed and shot Newt an annoyed glare.
‘You can stay at my place’? What kind of invitation was that?

“I’m out,” Thomas raised both hands and stepped back.

Newt — and his home — were the last things Thomas wanted to deal with, and he honestly didn’t understand why Teresa was so obsessed with him. Especially considering Newt’s constant coldness and sharpness. His communication skills pretty much boiled down to two things: pointing and smirking.

“We’ve hit rock bottom,” Minho muttered, walking over to his friend. “Seriously, Thomas! I don’t recognize you. If you keep acting like such a whiner, I can’t promise I won’t lose it,” he warned, glaring at him in disappointment.

Thomas rolled his eyes at the scolding. What was he supposed to say? If he didn’t go, Minho would sulk and remind him of it forever. He was an adult, sure, but sometimes he acted like a child.

“Fiiine, I’ll go. But don’t try to get me drunk. I need to pick Brenda up at the airport tomorrow,” he reminded them, smiling at the thought of seeing his friend again.

“That’s more like it, rookie!” Minho slapped his shoulder with a wide grin.

“Ugh, Minho, I told you not to call anyone that,” Teresa protested, slipping her phone back into her bag.

“‘Piece of klunk’ sounds better?” Minho asked with a smirk.

“Oh no!” Teresa yelped, hurrying to catch up with the boys who were walking too fast.

“See? The great and glorious Minho always knows best,” he said proudly, pulling her into a side hug.

***

“Alright, so where’s your lair?” Gally asked when they stopped on an unfamiliar street.
Everywhere around them were small beige houses with red roofs, identical to one another, overshadowed by taller apartment buildings looming above. Gally tried to figure out where Newt lived using pure deduction.

“So. You’re blond,” he said confidently, inspecting Newt.

“Brilliant observation,” Newt smirked.

“You’re tall,” Gally raised a second finger and looked at him thoughtfully.

“Definitely,” Thomas added, standing beside the subject of the discussion, who really was taller than him.

Gally spun slowly on the spot, carefully examining all the buildings around.

“I think our friend is an idiot,” Minho whispered loudly on purpose, but all three shushed him.
Gally’s deduction was weird, yes — but also kind of intriguing. Minho pouted and decided to wait.

Finally, Gally smiled and pointed behind their backs. They turned around and saw a tall modern building, designed entirely according to the latest architectural trends. Thomas fell in love instantly because of the glass exterior — the kind he’d dreamed of his whole life.

No way that was Newt’s house! It radiated wealth and luxury. Then again… Newt really did look like someone not short on money: branded clothing, an expensive car (they barely dragged Minho away from it until Teresa threatened to kick him out), the way he paid in cafés without blinking…
Yes, Newt was definitely rich.

“Well then,” Newt cleared his throat, snapping everyone out of their trance. “Welcome to my den.” He gestured toward the building and walked ahead casually.

“And I’m the idiot?” Gally snorted as he passed a slack-jawed Minho.

“What do you mean, den?!” Minho yelled. “These are actual royal chambers!”

“I’m glad you like it,” Newt replied, sounding slightly embarrassed.

“How did you even know it was his house?” Thomas asked, running to catch up with Gally.

“He watched all seasons of Sherlock!” Teresa shouted while catching up. Her cheeks were flushed from running, and her breath rasped lightly — her recent illness still lingering.

“I just saw Newt’s car there,” Gally shrugged.

Inside, the apartment looked even cooler than outside — and exceeded all expectations. Everything was so stylish, modern, and expensive that for a moment it felt like they’d walked into a luxury furniture showroom.

Teresa examined the rooms with awe, afraid to touch anything. Her hands practically itched to run across the fluffy carpet or a hand-made vase, but she held herself back. Minho, however, felt right at home: he headed straight for the fridge, grabbed a sandwich, and only then started exploring. He flopped dramatically onto the soft black couch, shouting “Spartaaa!” which made Thomas laugh and Teresa squeal. In the end he had to stand next to a five-million-dollar Italian painting, pretending to be fascinated by its history. Gally found the game room and got stuck there for over an hour. From inside came delighted screams:

“Holy shiiit! That’s the unreleased game! How the hell do you have this?!”

“And what is— oh gods, the coolest console I’ve ever seen!”

Newt watched his friends run around the house in excitement: Teresa rolling around on the carpet, Gally with headphones on, Minho conquering the kitchen and devouring supplies.

Being surrounded by wealth his whole life had made Newt completely numb to it, so he genuinely didn’t understand their amazement.

But Thomas was nowhere to be found. Newt went searching — with no success.

“Should’ve built a smaller house,” he muttered while climbing to the second floor.

Upstairs there were only a few rooms: a small bedroom, an empty room with a carpet and a huge window, and a library with the door slightly open. Newt headed there.

Thomas was picking out a book when he heard a familiar voice:

“Tommy, I don’t recall giving you permission to enter,” Newt said disapprovingly, leaning against a sci-fi shelf.

“And I don’t recall giving you permission to call me ‘Tommy’,” Thomas shot back, avoiding eye contact.

He pretended to study the book just to distract himself. Newt hummed and stepped closer.

“This is my house,” he said, with an unmistakable edge of authority. “I can do and say whatever I want, Tommy.”

He moved in so close that Thomas pressed himself against the shelf. Thomas swallowed nervously. Too close. He felt Newt’s warm breath against his cheek, those honey-coloured eyes hypnotizing him — he didn’t even blink.

One of Newt’s hands rested against the shelf, the other reached somewhere behind Thomas, making him jerk. His hands were ice-cold. One more step — and Thomas squeezed his eyes shut.

What was he planning to do?
What was even happening?

Thoughts raced so fast his head spun.
Or maybe that was the smell — tea and oranges. A strangely pleasant mix.

Suddenly Newt stepped back and pushed a book into Thomas’s hands.

“You could’ve moved,” he scolded. “Hard to find anything when your gigantic head blocks the view.”

He smirked and left the room. Still confused, Thomas absent-mindedly shoved the book into his bag. He didn’t trust Newt’s taste, but he wasn’t going to refuse a gift.

They decided to watch a horror movie — one Minho carefully selected. Newt and Teresa brought snacks and beer from the kitchen, while Gally and Thomas dragged pillows and arranged them on the carpet at Teresa’s request. When everyone finally sat down, Minho turned on the film and the room fell silent.

Thomas watched the enormous screen as if he were in a movie theater. Minho stared with a stone-cold face; Teresa too — though her eyes occasionally widened and her brows shot up. Gally, on the other hand, squealed at every scary moment, making the others laugh.

Thomas glanced around again and noticed Newt frowning at his phone. The blond stood up quietly and slipped out of the room — unnoticed by everyone except Thomas.

“Jorge, I forgot I was supposed to check on you tonight,” Newt said, staring through the large kitchen window. With the lights off, he could see everything outside clearly.

“It’s fine, kid,” the Brazilian rasped. “Your old man just got bored. Thought I’d call.”

Newt looked out the window again — and froze. Someone was standing across the street. Watching him.

“Newt…” Jorge began, but Newt cut him off sharply:

“Jorge, we’ve got a problem.”
He looked again — but the watcher was gone.
“I think someone’s following me.”

“What’re you scared of?” Jorge asked. “It’s not the first time. Rich clients do that sometimes.”

“Yes, but…” Newt pressed his lips together, choosing his words. “I’ve got a bad feeling. Dig deeper into our client, okay? Something feels wrong.”

He hung up immediately. Footsteps approached the kitchen.

“Newt?” Thomas asked uncertainly.

“Newt,” he confirmed flatly.

“What are you doing here?” Thomas tried to find the light switch but couldn’t, so they remained in the dark. “Everyone’s waiting for you. Minho’s picking a new movie because Gally’s too scared. He wants a comedy.”

“Alright, let’s go,” Newt said — this time without even a smirk — and walked ahead, still thinking about the unseen watcher.

The second they returned, they realized the new movie had already started, so they sat a little farther from the others. Newt pulled two pillows over and placed them by the wall. Thomas did the same.

“What is this movie?” Newt whispered, eyes fixed on the screen. “Never seen it.”

“Seriously?” Thomas answered with genuine delight, sensing the perfect moment for revenge. “I’ve already seen it.”

Newt glanced at him, understanding exactly where this was going.

“You’re not going to—” he began.

“Oh, I am,” Thomas cut him off, grinning.

“To-o-o-ommyy,” Newt whined pitifully — and Thomas’s heart skipped a beat for a split second.

***

Thomas reluctantly opened his eyes. The bright sunlight forced him to wake up and let go of the pleasant dream he’d been having. He couldn’t remember what exactly he dreamt about — only that it was something good. For a few seconds he blankly scanned the unfamiliar room. Looks like he fell asleep during the movie. He smiled, remembering that he did manage to spoil a couple of scenes for Newt before knocking out. A few more seconds — and he fully came to his senses. Before that he couldn’t even turn his head: his neck was stiff, and his shoulder felt completely numb and heavy. When he finally managed to look around, Thomas froze in surprise.

Newt was peacefully sleeping on his shoulder, probably not even realizing he’d dozed off right on top of him.

The brunette stared, almost mesmerized, at the blond’s long eyelashes, gently fluttering. His light hair fell over his forehead, and for once his mouth wasn’t twisted into a smug grin — making him look almost defenseless.

“Seems like you’re only nice when you’re asleep,” Thomas whispered and shifted a little.
He didn’t want to wake the guy who looked so calm and peaceful, but his shoulder was starting to ache badly.

The clock showed 13:33, and Thomas jolted upright — he had to pick up Brenda in an hour! He tried to slip away quietly, but as soon as he moved, Newt opened his eyes and looked at him in confusion.

“You fell asleep on my shoulder,” Thomas explained quickly. “Sorry I woke you, I tried to be quiet.”

“Asleep?” Newt repeated in disbelief, glancing at the clock.
When did he even fall asleep? He clearly remembered laughing with everyone around the thirtieth minute, and then Thomas spoiling the plot again… That must’ve been around one in the morning.
Newt shook his head — he’d slept ten hours, when lately four had been the absolute limit.

“Well yeah, what’s so strange about it?” Thomas yelled from the bathroom.

“No reason,” Newt replied contentedly and got up with startling energy.
Had his normal sleep finally returned?

Moments later Teresa walked out of another room — wearing one of Minho’s long T-shirts, lace underwear visible through the thin fabric. It seemed she completely forgot what she was wearing.

“Ahem, Teresa, I think you should get dressed,” Newt noted calmly.

The brunette looked down, realized her state — and blushed.

“Damn, one sec,” she muttered and darted away.
Fifteen minutes later, Teresa and Newt were already sitting in the kitchen discussing plans.

“After Thomas picks up Brenda, we should all go clubbing,” Teresa said, spreading cheese on her toast.

“The club opens at night,” Newt reminded her.

“I know that,” she took a bite, enjoying her breakfast.

“You said ‘after Thomas picks her up’,” Newt insisted.

Teresa laughed:

“Well it’s not literal. Brenda will rest at home for a bit, and then we’ll all go.”

She was about to add something when Minho sprinted past them toward the bathroom, tossing a quick “Hi!” over his shoulder.

“It’s occupied!” Newt shouted, remembering Thomas was in there.

Minho immediately turned around and bolted to another door.

“This one’s taken too,” Gally replied from inside just as Minho grabbed the handle.

“Daaamn it!” Minho wailed, looking around in panic. “Where am I supposed to go?!”
Without waiting for an answer, he darted into a different room.

Teresa rolled her eyes.

“Why did he run in there?”

“There are plant pots,” Newt said with a tiny smile.

“I’m so ashamed of him,” Teresa muttered, rubbing her nose bridge.

A moment later Minho waltzed back into the room — pleased and clearly relieved.

“What’s for breakfast?” he asked, opening the fridge as if he lived there.

“And remind me why I fell in love with you?” Teresa sighed.

“Well, I have great hair,” Minho pointed at his perfect hairstyle — which, even after sleep, looked better than everyone else’s.

“And he’s very charismatic,” Newt added playfully.

“He’s a narrow-eyed gremlin!” Gally yelled from the hallway.

“Thanks, man, that really helped,” Minho grumbled and began eating.

“Alright boys, breakfast — now,” Teresa stood up and headed toward the door. “Gally and Minho, go home. Thomas and I will pick up Brenda. Newt, you’re cleaning your house.”

“Yes, captain!” Gally snapped a salute like in a movie and burst out laughing.

Chapter Text

“Thoooomaaaas!”

A tanned girl came running headlong out of the airport, grinning from ear to ear. Her hair, which had grown a little longer during a month of wandering around Europe, flew in the wind, giving Brenda that familiar careless charm that had long become part of her.

She tossed her suitcase aside and launched herself at Thomas, wrapping her arms around his neck so tightly that he winced.

“Hey, Brenda, you’re going to kill me!” Thomas rasped, carefully prying her tight arms off him.

Brenda just smiled, as if it didn’t bother her in the slightest that she had nearly strangled the guy. Taking her by the hand, the brunette spun her around, studying all the changes that had happened to her.

“Breeeenda!” Teresa shouted, already climbing out of the car, and pulled the girl into a hug. “I’m so happy to see you!”

“Me too! I missed you guys so much!” Brenda grinned and hugged them again. “Where’s Minho? Did His Majesty not bother to come see me? And Gally? I’m going to kick that idiot’s ass!” she muttered, frowning as she looked around.

“They’re recovering from last night,” Thomas explained.

“Yeah, turns out they found some whiskey somewhere and, while we were watching the movie, they finished half the bottle,” Teresa said cheerfully, remembering how she’d been yelling at a drunk Minho sprawled on Newt’s couch while kicking him in the side.

“Looks like you’ve been having fun without me.”

“That’s all thanks to Thomas’s new friend,” Teresa said with a sly smile, nudging him in the side.

“Friiiend?” Brenda stretched the word, throwing Thomas a curious look.

“Hey, what are you two doing?” Thomas didn’t like the tone the girls were using.

“It’s just that you, Thomas,” Brenda said, pointing a long blue-painted nail right at him, “are a complete hermit. And then Teresa calls me and says you brought some handsome blond guy into the group.”

“Very handsome,” Teresa corrected.

“More handsome than Min-Min?” Brenda smirked.

“I have no desire to listen to your girl talk,” Thomas grumbled, instantly losing his good mood. The conversation about Newt irritated him.

“Okay, okay,” Brenda raised both hands, signaling that the subject was closed, and climbed into the car. Teresa followed.

“Oh, by the way, Thomas, I left another suitcase at the airport. Could you grab it?” Brenda said sweetly, leaning out of the car window.

“Are you serious?!” Thomas groaned and, without even looking back at the girls, ran toward the building.

“There isn’t actually a suitcase there, is there?” Teresa asked, surprised.

Brenda smirked.

“When was the last time he ran? I bet all his morning runs stopped the moment I left.”

Teresa pressed her lips together and shook her head. She had no intention of betraying her friend.

***

Teresa decided to gather everyone at the coolest club in town — after all, they were celebrating Brenda’s return. Thomas was pretty surprised when he received a text from her saying they were meeting an hour earlier because “we need to discuss something very important.”

The brunette rolled his eyes immediately, already imagining what Teresa would say: “Guys, we all know that in two days (!) it’s Christmas! So we need to discuss how we’re going to celebrate.”

Since it was still very early, Thomas decided to watch a show while eating popcorn. And really, what could be better? He had earned these holidays, after all. He turned on his favorite show, The Walking Dead, and was about to start watching when he realized he’d forgotten his phone.

There was one strange thing: Thomas always texted Newt while watching The Walking Dead. It all started when the blond began mocking him for how slow he watched the show. Thomas could stretch one episode over several days. Newt genuinely couldn’t understand how that could possibly be enjoyable, so he made Thomas text him every time he started an episode. That way Newt could annoy him constantly until he actually finished it.

Surprisingly, it worked. So Thomas grabbed his phone and typed a short message.

From: Thomas
Watching.

From: Newt
You know who dies in this episode?

From: Thomas
Don’t you dare!

From: Newt
Bob. Cannibals cut off his leg.

From: Thomas
For fuck’s sake, Newt! If you were here I’d rip your fingers off!

Thomas pressed the screen so hard he almost wished he could actually strangle the insufferable blond through it. But Newt hadn’t replied for about fifteen minutes now — which felt strange. The blond loved arguments.

Someone knocked on the door.

Thomas froze.

No. It couldn’t be Newt. He couldn’t have gotten here that fast… Or had he already been nearby? And why did it have to be Newt at all? Most likely Minho had come again to empty his fridge.

“When will you learn to lock your door?” Newt asked irritably as he stepped inside.

He shook his head, and tiny snowflakes fell from his hair onto the floor, making Thomas shiver. Newt had brought the cold in with him.

“What are you doing here?” Thomas tried to look annoyed, but failed miserably. The surprise, however, was completely genuine.

“Well, you said you’d rip my fingers off,” Newt smirked, walking toward him.

For some reason all the anger Thomas had prepared for him instantly disappeared. Newt calmly sat down on the carpet and pressed play on the laptop.

The situation was absurdly strange, but Thomas had no choice except to sit down next to him.

Watching the show in his own apartment with Newt right beside him felt weird. One thing was texting, but another was having Newt sitting there, occasionally narrating the characters’ actions, laughing, or snorting loudly in disapproval.

If he were honest, Thomas actually liked that Newt was here.

The familiar smell of tea and oranges dulled his alertness, but he stubbornly kept watching the episode. At the same time he couldn’t help noticing Newt’s quiet sighs whenever something interesting happened, the way the blond brushed stray strands of hair aside, or leaned closer to the screen to see better. Newt was completely absorbed.

“Look,” Newt whispered suddenly, grabbing Thomas by the hand.

Goosebumps ran across Thomas’s skin from the surprise. He glanced down at the thin fingers still holding his hand. Newt had probably gotten so caught up in the scene that he forgot.

Are his hands always this cold?

Thomas stole a glance at him. The blond was sitting with his mouth slightly open, eyes glued to the screen, barely blinking. Why was he so fascinated? He’d already seen these episodes. Thomas’s gaze drifted again to the messy blond hair that looked almost golden in the sunlight.

“Hey. Are you watching?” Newt snapped his fingers in front of Thomas’s face, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Thomas nodded and looked back at the screen, but a few minutes later he was studying Newt again.

His thoughts kept jumping around.

What is he thinking about right now? Probably about the guy who’s about to get eaten.

Who else does Newt even talk to? Teresa? Definitely. They had become really good friends — at first Minho had even been jealous, but eventually Newt was the one who managed to reconcile them during one of their fights.

Gally? Sure. They often discussed consoles, games, and technology.

Anyone else? People Thomas didn’t know about? Probably not. Newt had never mentioned anyone except Jorge, who Thomas had gathered was a close friend.

Newt wasn’t a very open person, even if it didn’t seem that way at first. He could easily keep a conversation going, his laughter was infectious, and he knew a ton of interesting things.

But he never talked about himself. The only thing they had managed to squeeze out of him was that he was from England. That was it. That was everything Thomas knew about the guy he had been spending so much time with for the past few weeks.

He suddenly froze. They really did spend a lot of time together.

Teresa constantly dragged everyone together so no one would be bored. Besides, he and Newt sometimes texted about the weirdest things. Thomas smirked, remembering the time he asked Newt if he knew that grasshoppers had their ears on their legs. What Thomas didn’t know was that Newt had laughed about that message for a very long time.

The blond looked at him questioningly, as if he could feel Thomas thinking about him.

“I know I’m handsome, Tommy,” Newt said sternly, “but that’s no reason to stop watching the show.”

He paused the episode and turned toward him, sitting cross-legged on the carpet.

“Go on,” Newt said calmly.

“Ask.”

Newt moved a little closer, rested his chin on his hands, and closed his eyes.

“Why are you here?”

“I told you already — so you could rip my…” Newt started, but Thomas cut him off.

“And seriously? I threaten Minho almost every day, but for some reason he never rushes over for his execution,” Thomas said and fell silent.

“So I wouldn’t think,” Newt answered, a little too seriously, and Thomas immediately grew alert.

“About what?”

“Less curiosity, Tommy,” Newt waved it off and gave him a sweet smile — but Thomas didn’t believe that smile for a second. Something was clearly bothering the blond.
“Ask something I’ll actually answer.”

“Do you like the weather outside?”
Brilliant, Thomas. Just blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. Now he’ll definitely think you’re an idiot…

But Newt took the question seriously. After a brief pause, he said:

“No. I don’t like winter. All these holidays, presents, parties… And the white. White everywhere. Snow everywhere…”

Newt stared off into the distance thoughtfully, making Thomas shiver slightly. Why did he suddenly look so… small?

“You don’t like that color?”
Newt shook his head and pressed his lips together.

“So what color do you like?” Thomas couldn’t stop himself from asking.

“Purple,” Newt replied without hesitation — then immediately cursed.

“Damn it, that’s way too personal!”

Thomas burst out laughing. Newt could be funny when he wanted to.

“So now that’s the only personal thing I know about you,” Thomas said, still smiling as he closed the laptop. “We should get ready, or Teresa will lose it if we’re late.”

He jumped up.

“You stay here, I’ll be right back,” he said, running off to his room and leaving Newt alone.

***

“Teresa, one question,” Gally rasped, looking like he’d just run several kilometers. His cheeks were burning, and his heart was pounding as if it might burst out of his chest any second. “Why the hell did you call us here an hour early?! I was working out at the gym!”

“We need to discuss something,” Teresa said importantly. “As soon as Brenda gets here, we’ll start.”

Newt shifted in his seat, unsure whether he was going to like Brenda. From what the others had said, she was hyperactive — already a warning sign. Whatever. He wasn’t the one who had to kill her. The best he could do was switch into Jorge mode and relax. Everyone except Newt himself, unfortunately.

At that moment Brenda burst into the room, practically bouncing and beaming the second she spotted Newt. She ran straight up to him and wrapped him in a hug.

“Hi! I’m Brenda!” the brunette shouted directly into his ear.

Newt grimaced. Yes. Classic Brenda.

“You’re quite loud,” he muttered, stepping back a little. The girl didn’t seem bothered at all and happily moved over to Teresa.

Way too cheerful. Did people like that actually exist?

Thomas dropped onto the leather couch beside Newt, who was frowning while typing something on his phone.

“Something important?”

“You could say that,” Newt rasped, slipping the phone into his pocket. “When will all of this finally end…”

He lowered his head and sighed heavily.

“What will end?” Thomas asked impatiently. Did Newt have problems? The blond’s personal life had always been locked behind a heavy chain with a sign on the door reading “Do Not Open — Angry Newt.” Which only made it more interesting.

“Nothing, Tommy,” Newt said with a tense smile and absentmindedly placed his hand on Thomas’s knee, as if to reassure him.

The effect was the exact opposite. Thomas jerked his leg away as if he’d been shocked.

“Alright, citizens — alcoholics, addicts and smokers — I’d like some silence and attention,” Teresa announced, glaring at the guys. “We all know that in two days it’s Christmas! So we need to discuss how we’re celebrating.”

“Oh come on, Ter. Why are you stressing so much?” Gally blew a cloud of smoke right in her face, deliberately provoking her. Teresa waved her hands and coughed.

That was Gally for you.

“It’s Christmas! A holiday you spend with friends, drinking champagne, exchanging preeeesents,” she said dreamily, taking Minho’s hand in an extremely obvious hint that she expected a gift. “And we have two days left, and nothing is ready!”

Thomas glanced at Newt, who was still texting someone. Who was he writing to?

Thomas leaned slightly, trying to peek — but Newt smoothly shifted the phone away.

“Newwwt,” Brenda sang sweetly, giving him puppy eyes.

Newt acted like he hadn’t heard a thing and kept typing. Something about it made Thomas uneasy. Maybe something really had happened?

Minho called him again, and this time Newt looked up. For a split second Thomas caught the contact name on the screen.

Jorge.

“You want to destroy my house?” Newt crossed his arms. “Just to remind you — we’ve known each other for barely three weeks. We haven’t even survived a single funeral together yet, which means you don’t have rights to my property.”

He had just received an urgent job message from Jorge.

And it had to happen today.

“I haven’t even been to your place yet,” Brenda scooted closer with a wide smile.

Thomas frowned at his friend. It was obvious Newt didn’t want this. Why push him?

Newt noticed Thomas’s look and smirked.

“It’s fine, Tommy,” he said calmly.

Thomas bit his lip nervously and looked away. He was starting to get used to that version of his name. Teresa studied him carefully, nudged Gally in the ribs and nodded subtly toward Thomas, whispering something.

“I don’t want to hear it, Newt,” Minho said loudly, fixing his perfect hair. “We’re going to your place and that’s final. Hope your fridge is fully stocked.”

“I see you’ve all decided everything without me,” Newt sighed, mentally cursing the universe before forcing a weak smile.

“Yay! Now let’s go party,” Brenda jumped up and grabbed Thomas’s hand. “You need to loosen up. You look so grumpy.”

She dragged him toward the bar. A tall guy — clearly the bartender — quickly mixed something and slid a green drink toward Brenda.

“Compliments of the house,” he winked before moving on.

“Being a girl has its perks,” Brenda said, sipping through a straw while watching Thomas.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Spit it out. I know that look.”

Brenda shifted awkwardly on the stool.

“I come back to my home country after wandering Europe for months, hoping to see my crazy friends and hit a bunch of parties… and I find you — a grumpy miserable guy suffering from something unknown.”

“I’m not suffering!” Thomas waved the bartender over and asked for “something strong.”

“You spent an hour sitting there thinking and barely talking! You should see your face — the same one Minho makes when wind ruins his hairstyle.”

“That’s strong,” Thomas corrected after gulping his drink.

“Come dance,” Brenda nudged him.

“Nope. I’m fine right here,” he waved her off and took another sip.

Brenda rolled her eyes, wished him luck and left.

Minho appeared at the bar.

“One mojito and a beer,” he said, then glanced at Teresa, reconsidered, and added, “Actually… make that something stronger.”

“Won’t Teresa kill you?” Thomas smirked.

“I’m a grown independent man and I can drink whatever I want,” Minho said before noticing Thomas’s glass. His eyes widened. He grabbed it and examined the liquid in the light.

“What the hell are you drinking?”

“Blue Lagoon,” the bartender replied while handing Minho his drinks. “Hits pretty hard.”

“You trying to kill yourself?” Minho muttered, dumping the drink straight into the trash. “You can’t even drink.”

“Go back to your Teresa,” Thomas said, turning to the bartender. “Another one.”

“If you end up unconscious in some bathroom later,” Minho warned while putting the empty glass on the bar, “your Newt can deal with you.”

“Why is he suddenly my Newt?” Thomas shouted after him — but Minho had already walked away.

“So Newt is your love?” the bartender asked casually while pouring another drink.

“No!” Thomas snapped.

“Relax, I was just asking.”

“And he’s a guy,” Thomas muttered, more to himself than to the bartender.

“So what? Things happen,” the bartender shrugged.

Thomas downed the drink and ordered another.

“Thooomas!” Gally yelled from across the room and dropped onto the stool beside him. “I’ll have whatever this idiot is having. What are you drinking?”

“Oh God, don’t start too! ‘Thomas don’t drink! You can’t drink!’” Thomas slurred drunkenly, waving his arms.

“I just asked to see if it actually works,” Gally protested.

“Oh it definitely does,” the bartender said, placing the drink down.

Gally glanced nervously at the increasingly irritated Thomas and moved away before he caught the wrong end of the mood.

Thomas stared lazily at the dance floor, wondering why everyone seemed to be having so much fun.

He was getting sleepy.

The bartender noticed.

“First stage,” he smiled. “You’ll feel sleepy for a bit. Give it a few minutes — then you’ll feel amazing.”

He was right. Ten minutes later Thomas was already ranting to his new bartender-friend:

“He just showed up out of nowhere! Who even is he? That Newt… I don’t even care about him, but he completely charmed my friends!”

Thomas slammed his glass on the counter demanding another.

That’s when he noticed Newt. The blond was dancing with some girl. And the way he danced…

Rolling his hips, wrapping around her like a snake, pulling her close with his hands on her waist, whispering something in her ear that made her blush.

Thomas stared at the scene, glued to it, and drained his glass in one go. The alcohol churned in his stomach. Feeling sick, he left money on the bar and stood up to leave.

“Jack, whiskey,” a voice said calmly right next to Thomas’s ear. Even through the loud music, he recognized it instantly.

Newt dropped onto the stool beside him, looking almost pleased. Thomas had never seen him this cheerful before — if that word could even apply to the blond. Was it because of that half-naked girl? The alcohol had turned Thomas’s brain to mush, but one thing finally clicked: Newt knew the bartender?

“Tommy?” Newt said in surprise, leaning closer.

Thomas stared at him blankly. Suddenly Newt began to blur. The brunette giggled. First Newt shrank and turned into a gnome, and then his ears grew long.

Newt frowned in concern.

“Hey. What’s wrong with you?”

“I don’t think he’s in any condition to talk, Newt,” the bartender said.

“What did you give him?” Newt shot the bartender an irritated look, then glanced back at Thomas.

“He wanted to black out,” Jack replied calmly.

Newt shook his head and looked at Thomas again. The brunette was trying to say something, but the music swallowed his words. Scanning the room, Newt spotted only Brenda — flirting with some random guy. Right. No help there.

“We’re leaving now, okay?” Newt said, lifting Thomas under the arms.

Thomas grumbled something in protest, but Newt ignored it. The task now was simple: get him out of here. It would be ironic if he died of alcohol poisoning in the arms of the hitman hired to kill him. Quite the punchline.

They somehow made it out of the suffocating club and stood outside for a few minutes, enjoying the freezing air. Right now, the cold was a blessing.

“Why did you get this drunk?” Newt asked, bending down to look into his eyes.

“Because… you… because… I don’t know,” Thomas slurred.

Newt sighed. That answer was useless.

“Alright. At least let me walk you home. Otherwise you’ll get hit by a car, and we definitely don’t need that.”

He wrapped an arm around Thomas’s waist and slung the guy’s arm over his shoulder. Thomas didn’t resist, so Newt began guiding him down the street.

This turned out to be the longest night of Newt’s life. He used to think long meant hours of surveillance, preparing the plan, waiting for darkness just to make one small hole in someone’s forehead.

He had been wrong.

Drunk Thomas was both incredibly funny and unbelievably irritating. He kept falling over, laughing at his own hands, lying down in the middle of the road — one car nearly ran him over, and Newt actually panicked.

For a moment he imagined a grim-looking Jorge looming over him — wearing a Santa suit for some reason — yelling:

“Did you forget the bullets at home too?!”

while Newt tried to justify such an unprofessional murder by claiming he had forgotten his gun.

Eventually they reached Thomas’s building, and Newt sighed in relief. Then he remembered there was no elevator, which meant dragging him upstairs. He lost count of how many times Thomas collapsed. A couple of times Newt almost slid down the stairs himself, but eventually they reached the apartment.

“Where are the keys?”

No answer. Thomas slid down against the wall, barely staying upright, muttering something under his breath. Newt sighed, stepped closer, slipped a hand behind him, and smoothly pulled the keys out of his pocket. He unlocked the door and pushed Thomas inside.

The brunette stumbled into the bedroom, and Newt followed to make sure everything was fine.

“You still alive?”

No answer.

Thomas sat on the bed, staring straight into Newt’s honey-colored eyes.

“You know your eye color changes?” he said casually.

“You know drinking isn’t your thing?” Newt replied.

As if proving the point, Thomas slowly toppled onto the bed. Within a minute he was already breathing softly in sleep.

Newt quickly checked the apartment, looked out the window, and — seeing nothing suspicious — headed for the door.

He didn’t forget to lock it.

Newt had his own key.

***

Newt really doesn’t like smoking. The smell of smoke has always made him nauseous. Besides, smoking is bad for your health. And it turns your fingers yellow.

But Newt smoked — often, and still without any pleasure.

This time it was tolerable. Sitting on the edge of a cliff was his favorite thing to do. From here you could see the entire city, while no one could see you.

He released a cloud of smoke and thoughtfully looked at one of the apartment buildings. In one of those very apartments Thomas was now sleeping peacefully, the memories of the day slowly fading from his mind.

Newt turned his head and stared at a window glowing with bright light. It wouldn’t go dark until morning. Later, people would come.

Friends.
Or relatives.
Or someone else.

They would find the body of a young, rather attractive woman who had a puppy, a good job, and a lover — the same lover who had arranged all of this.

Newt didn’t feel disgusted by what he had done an hour earlier. It was part of his life. He was used to it.

The problem was that he felt absolutely nothing. Not the slightest emotion. That wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

Newt liked killing. In his understanding, death was a fascinating spectacle. It was so easy to take someone’s life — a couple of seconds, and there was a corpse.

And it would be the same with Thomas.

He lifted his head toward the starry sky. The wind ruffled his hair.

He wished he could kill him sooner.

It felt to him like Thomas’s death had to be something special.

Thomas — the one who had been ordered.

Thomas — the one who became a bridge between the bloody world of a hitman and the life of an ordinary student.

Thomas — the one who helped Newt find friends.

Thomas — the one who texts him during TV shows and makes him miss half the episode.

Thomas — the one who irritates him just by existing.

Thomas — the one who notices every shift in his mood.

Thomas — the one who loves black tea with two spoons of sugar.

Thomas — the one who said Newt’s eye color changes.

Thomas — the one who must be killed.

Chapter Text

No one ever knocks when they come to Thomas’s place.

Whether it’s Teresa, who shows up after another drinking night to properly scold him and then feed him; or Brenda, who drags him out of bed early in the morning to go for a run; or Gally, who suddenly decides to drop by and talk about life; or his beloved, best friend Minho, who comes to destroy his food supplies. And now Newt has been added to the list too — always without asking, without knocking, and without warning.

This time it was the second-to-last option. Through the haze of weak sleep, Thomas could hear Minho busily setting the table in the kitchen. Why had he arrived so early anyway? Did Teresa ask him to come?

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty!” Minho’s voice slammed into his skull, and Thomas grimaced under the blanket.

“Rise and shine, shank!” the Asian yelled right into his ear, yanking the blanket off him.

Then he yelped and immediately threw it back.

“Jesus, you idiot! Are you trying to blind me?! Why the hell are you sleeping naked?!”

“So you’ll finally go blind and won’t be able to find your way to my house anymore,” Thomas grumbled, turning to the wall and trying to fall asleep again.

Minho had arrived just in time to interrupt a dream that had felt far too real.

A massive building with marble columns. A dark red puddle of hot blood slowly spreading across the stone floor, steam rising into the air.

Thomas couldn’t remember whose blood it was. But he clearly saw the blond Newt bending over him.

It was his blood. It was slowly draining away, taking his life with it.

Thomas wanted to live. He tried to take a breath of fresh air, but his lungs only rasped. His senses were fading. His eyes were closing. And the last thing he remembered was the weightless touch of soft lips.

The taste of black tea with a hint of orange.

Wait. What?

“Did HE kill me?” Thomas suddenly blurted out.

He had completely forgotten that Minho was standing next to the bed calmly chewing a sandwich. The Asian choked immediately and began coughing violently, waving his arms and gasping for air.

Thomas jumped up and rushed over to help, completely forgetting he was still naked. Minho, however, remembered that very well. He started waving his arms even harder, refusing to let Thomas come near while still choking. Thomas finally lost patience and delivered a quick punch somewhere into Minho’s stomach. The Asian dropped to his knees and spat the unfortunate piece of sandwich onto the carpet.

“Damn it, Minho! That carpet is new!” Thomas wailed, staring at the stain on the beige rug.

Minho was still breathing heavily, staring blankly at one point in space.

Finally, he whispered:

“No one. Ever. Finds out about this.”

Then he looked at Thomas.

“Will you put some clothes on already?! How long can this go on?! I almost died because of you, you piece of klunk!”

Thomas smirked and disappeared into the other room to get dressed. From the kitchen he could hear Minho sighing dramatically.

“My poor eyes… Why is everyone always bullying poor Minho? I never did anything bad to anyone! Well… maybe once. Or twice. But that’s no reason to treat me like this! What kind of people are you?!”

A few minutes later they were both sitting at the kitchen table, drinking tea and listening to the news on TV.

Thomas reached for a second sandwich and offered one to Minho.

The Asian refused.

Minho was clearly thinking about something. A sly smile lingered on his lips, and every now and then he glanced at Thomas, who was studying his sandwich with suspicious concentration.

Fourth one already. And Thomas never eats this much. So he’s stalling.

That was Minho’s conclusion.

He knew his friend like the back of his hand. They had survived everything together: childhood fights, bad grades, punishments, the teenage years when hormones drove them insane. They knew everything about each other — from the name of Thomas’s mother’s cousin to that terrible night when Minho had been the first to find the unconscious brunette lying in a pool of blood.

Minho shook his head, chasing away the thought, and looked at Thomas.

“Soooo,” he drawled, clearly waiting for the story.

Thomas shoved a fifth sandwich into his mouth and mumbled something unintelligible.

Minho rolled his eyes.

“Thomas, stop playing games. I’ll crack you anyway. You’ve never been good at lying for long.”

“What games?” Thomas mentally cursed himself for his sleepy loose tongue.

Minho narrowed his eyes and mockingly imitated a high girlish voice.

“Did he kill me?!”

Thomas pressed his lips together, desperately planning an escape route.

But you couldn’t escape Minho.

“Go on. I’m waiting. Time is ticking,” Minho said, tapping his wrist where imaginary watches were.

Thomas sighed deeply, realizing he wasn’t getting out alive.

“It was just a stupid dream,” he muttered.

Minho smiled slyly and shook his head.

“There’s definitely something in that ‘stupid dream.’ I can see it.”

He leaned closer and placed a hand on Thomas’s arm.

“You can tell your best friend Minho anything that troubles your foolish little heart.”

At the last second the Asian almost burst out laughing but somehow managed to keep a serious face.

Thomas pulled his hand away and spoke quickly:

“Why are you even pushing this? There’s nothing there. It’s just your wild imagination, Minho.”

Minho smiled wickedly and pulled out his phone.

“Either you talk…” he swiped his finger across the screen, “or I call Teresa and tell her that…”

He paused.

“That you and Newt slept together. For some reason, she can’t stop talking about you,” Minho added thoughtfully.

“You wouldn’t do that,” Thomas said, though he wasn’t entirely sure.

Minho simply raised an eyebrow.

When he realized Thomas wasn’t going to give in, he pressed Call.

“You’re bluffing,” Thomas said nervously.

Then he heard Teresa’s voice and flinched.

“Minho, is something wrong?” she asked worriedly. “You said you were going to Thomas’s place. Is he okay? No, Brenda, we are not cooking that, don’t even ask!” she added firmly.

Minho looked at Thomas in surprise as the brunette started laughing. Apparently in that relationship it was only Minho who got scolded.

“You’re with Brenda?”

“Yeah, and also—”

Teresa suddenly changed tone and barked:

“Newt! We’re decorating the tree tomorrow. Put the ornaments on the floor. Newt!”

“Teresa, what’s going on over there?” Minho tapped impatiently on the table.

“We’re getting ready for the holiday. Gally will be here soon too.”

“Newt, what did I say about the ornaments?!”

Teresa sighed and adjusted a strand of her dark hair. She always did that when she was annoyed.

“He’s impossible. The moment he saw the tree he completely lost it. He just keeps walking around it touching the needles.”

“I’d appreciate it if you and Thomas came over to help.”

“Okay… but I still haven’t told you the reason I called,” Minho said slyly, looking at Thomas.

Thomas began wildly waving his hands and mouthing silently: Don’t.