Archive of Our Own ^beta

HOLLYWOOD CEMETERY // THE NIGHT THE STARS ALIGNED

If sunshine could be a person, it was him, and he didn’t even know him. If life could erupt from the eyes of one person, from their smile, it was him, and he didn’t even know his name. Every wall, every belief, every inkling of skepticism is decimated with that smile: how his lips are slightly turned, how his eyes are soft because of it, the slight wrinkles on his face. The whole world crumbles beneath his feet. He’s never seen anybody so gorgeous before- anybody so perfect.

It’s like his beauty blocks out the rest of the world because Thomas can’t hear anything, can’t see anything but this guy. He doesn’t hear the car coming, notice everyone else moving out of the way, hardly processes the guy reaching for him, eyes blown wide. He thinks he hears “look out!” before he’s seen some sort of light, some vision of the future.

It’s him and the guy, in a bedroom somewhere while he smokes. It’s them on a train, on the phone, laughing together, kissing while the sun sets. He sees a door open, and there’s the brightest light shining through and this accented voice…You okay? He falls to the curb.

“You alright?” The guy asks in an eerily similar voice, his eyes wide with fear.

Thomas has these wide, scared eyes, lips tilted into a frown. “Yeah, I… I feel like my whole life just flashed before my eyes. Like uhm, what’s that movie called? The one where the guy dies in the beginning and then retells his life?”

“The Sixth Sense?” The guy provides.

“Yes! No… shit, that’s the twist everybody is talking about? I really wanted to see that movie.”

The guy hesitates, fingers threading for a moment before he goes to gesture, but they just fall to his sides again. “I’m really sorry, I just figured everybody had already seen it.”

“Well. I haven’t.”

“I… got that. I’m really sorry, mate.”

The blond turns to leave, and Thomas scrambles to follow him. ( Idiot , he thinks, because for once he doesn’t have an explanation. He doesn’t know why this guy’s attention matters so much.)

“I’ll get over it,” Thomas rushes to say.

“I’m glad.” the guy squints at him for a moment, estranged in a way.

He takes a deep breath, “I mean, I’ll harbor resentment towards for you for a few months, but then I’ll… get over it.”  Why did he say that? What was he even saying?

The guy nods, lips pressed in a tight smile and turns to leave again, walking towards his date.

“Wha- do you have like a London fetish or something?” Thomas blurts out, though he blushes after realizing what he said.

The blond raises an eyebrow and the guy’s date laughs. “Does he have a London fetish? Look who’s talking,” his date tries to defend.

“Just… never heard of a Londoner who liked LA before.”

“Well, I’m from London, so…” the blonde raises on his toes for a moment before lowering slowly, arms crossed tight over his chest as he shrugs. Jeez, what was wrong with him?

“Right sorry… I shouldn’t have said anything. Sorry,” Thomas apologizes.

He gets back in line, ahead of them, and the guy keeps calling him Newt. Strange name, Thomas thinks, but nothing wrong with it. He thinks Newt would taste good on his lips- not physically, but in that way that sometimes a person leaves a taste in your mouth by saying their name. Newt would taste good. He’s compelled to turn around and ask him for his number. Newt doesn’t say much; his date ( Gally is the name he gets from the guy’s constant self referencing and the few times Newt spoke it was in a scolding usage of the name. At least, that’s how it was perceived,) is awfully full of it. He has decided football is out and soccer is in. He’s also decided that LA is so full of substance, whereas New York City, one of the most culturally induced cities of the world, is lackluster and boring.

THE TRAIN // THE BEGINNING OF SOMETHING RENEWED

It’s early February when they meet again, jackets and hair billowing in the wind. Newt’s outside at Union Station in Los Angeles, waiting for the AMTRAK train to San Diego. He has no idea why his ex is here.

Thomas looks… different. Not a bad different, per se, but Newt’s never seen the man like this before, even during their two years of dating. The brunet’s hair is grown out— not quite long enough to be shoulder length, but grown out nonetheless.

(It curls at the end, Newt notes. He didn’t know it did that.)

Thomas is sporting some stubble, though the rough look only adds to his allure. Perhaps they’ve both gone a little edgier, Newt himself in a denim jacket, grunge white band shirt, and black chinos. But, in his defence, at least he’s got colour; his ex looks like he’s about to pull some assassin shit, decked out in a leather jacket and dark-wash jeans and— Christ, combat boots. Really? They’re pushing thirty, for heaven’s sake.

“Newt?” The man is staring at him in uncharacteristic shock. “What are you doing here?”

Newt can’t really resist pulling his old shit, so he levels Thomas with the most deadpan stare he can muster. “I’m stalking you.”

The unspoken walls between them start to collapse, slightly.

-

It’s said that to change the world, one mustn’t do what the world tells one to do. Newt lives by that philosophy, more or less.

So, when Thomas presents him with the first inkling of inspiration, revolution, Newt takes it. He clings to it with every fibre of his being.

In hindsight, he should have known better.

-

Love that is hoarded

Molds at last

Until we know

The only thing we have

Is what we hand away.

-

“I hated you, you know,” Newt says, though his voice no longer carries his age-old vexation. “With every fibre of my being, I hated you, that night in Paris.”

Thomas doesn’t know how to reply to that.

Thomas can’t help it, this guy is too pretentious and too much. Maybe one day he’ll rationalize this as him saving Newt from something catastrophic, that Gally isn’t good enough for him. So, as if he’s truly heroic, he spins around and looks Newt dead in the eye. “Can I have your number… Newt ,” he says, tone raising in just the slightest bit of question, as if his certainty was faltering, and Newt’s eyes widen. He staggers, verbally, stuttering for a moment before Gally (what a gross name) cuts in.

“You seriously just going to ask my guy out like that?” Gally spits out.

“No- I mean- I don’t really think he’s your guy, this is so a first date at best,” Thomas rambles. Gally grabs him by the shirt collar and shit shit shit, Thomas really needs to learn to shut his mouth more often. This guy was mad now. “I mean- shit, I’m sorry,” Thomas says, eyes glancing to Newt then the space around them. “Really, I didn’t- you’re so right, that was wrong of me.” He pauses. “Shouldn’t have done it in front of you,” he mutters, eyes still unfocused and the guy follows his eye movement.

“Do you have issues or something?”

“I mean… probably.”

After another minute of trying to de-escalate the situation, Gally scoffs. “I got it. You don’t have any real issues, your only issue is that you’re a chickenshit.”

“Gally, let him go,” Newt say quietly. “Put him down…”

Gally releases him and shakes his head. “Next time, ask out someone who’s in your league,” he tells Thomas, pushing past him with his date. Newt pulls away for a second, just watching him for a second.

“Are you okay?” Newt asks.

“Yeah… yeah I’m fine,” Thomas says. “I’m just… nervous, that’s all.”

“Oh, don’t mind him,” Newt says, smiling warmly, as if he really was the sun’s one true child.

“I’m not… It wasn’t because of him,” Thomas calls out before Newt can leave and Newt’s eyebrow raises, confusion painting his features, a small frown on his face. “I mean… He’s not why I’m nervous.”

This confused little smile perks up his features, and his eyes sparkle with surprise. “Well okay… I uh… sorry, I never got your name.”

“Thomas…”

“Thomas . I should go.”

“Yeah,” Thomas agrees, and Newt leaves, never giving him his number. Thomas sighs, not entirely sure what he’s thrown himself into.

PARIS // THE BEGINNING OF THE END

Decaying.

That’s all they’d ever be. Like the ash between his fingertips, blown away by the slightest breath of wind.

It’s a beautiful night.

Comfortable. Warm enough for him to sit in his boxers, staring at the Parisian high-rise as he inhales deeply, feeling the smoke tingle in his lungs. He exhales. The skies are a light indigo, streaked with the faintest of stars and setting sun. In a cruel twist of fate, perhaps, their room faces La Tour Eiffel . An otherwise romantic sight for a loveless couple.

With a finger, he absentmindedly traces patterns on the banister over which he’s slouched on their balcony. He’s lost in empty thoughts as they swirl around in his mind. Like the clouds before him, they spiral and warp around the idea of mundanity, of life, and of love.

Putain, he needs a drink.

“Newt?” Thomas’ footsteps are quiet against the dark hardwood floors as he approaches. “Newt, c’mon. Wedding’s in two hours.”

The man in question doesn’t bother turning around. Instead, he takes another drag of the cigarette, watches with mild disinterest as the plumes curl and dissipate. He doesn’t want to talk to his boyfriend. The possible replies settle uncomfortably on his tongue. Swallowing down all but one, he rolls the words in his mouth, relishing the oncoming damage. There always seemed to be damage— something broken between them.

“So… question. Have you ever dreamt of me?”

He rearranges his facial features to something he hopes looks coy and pushes off the banister, meandering his way towards the floor length mirror, where Thomas is struggling to fix his tie.

Thomas huffs. “ Dreamt of you,” he repeats, voice dripping with condescension.

Newt wills himself to calm down as he props himself up against the chairback of their room’s loveseat. “Yeah. You know, in the two plus years we’ve dated?” Thomas pulls the end of his tie through the knot and gives a bored look at Newt through the mirror.

“Seriously?” He deadpans. Newt feels the familiar tendrils of rage curling around his broken heart.

Merde , Newt’s patience is running thin. To his surprise, Thomas volleys back with his own question.

“Have you ever dreamt of me?”

Newt falters. “So, well,” he starts, hesitant. “Yeah, actually.” More times than he would like, and always of them. Different universes, different scenarios, where they make it, where they’re in love, where they’re together. Together, because for some reason, they went awry. Together, because they don’t feel together anymore. It’s sort of like they’re just drifting. Pretending.

“What, sex dreams?”

Because of course, the first thing his boyfriend jumps to is sex. Typical. Newt decides to humour him.

“I mean, I used to,” he smirks. “Then we had sex, and that stopped.”

Thomas looks genuinely concerned. “Are... are you sure you wanna put it like that?”

“Sure. You had me dying to get my pants off, but that’s old news.” Now, Thomas’ expression is one of mild discomfort, and Newt savours the moment.

He stands straight again, walking towards Thomas to fix the back of his collar. “So, but—” Newt folds the fabric down with delicate fingers. “—That’s not what I meant. Like, not sex dreams,” he says. “But dreams of us. Ambiguous tableaus of what we are, what we mean, y’know?”

Thomas has the audacity to laugh. Glowering, Newt grabs the brunet’s hands, tugging them away and pulling his arms back. Newt can see their reflection over Thomas’ shoulder, and their expressions are nothing but mirrors of despondency— what humour and affection they had, vanquished. With a hollow shell of their old relationship dynamics, the blond halfheartedly grips his boyfriend in a loose chokehold, silently begging for retaliation that never comes.

He lets go.

His eyes dance on Thomas, watching him from a distance. He had bumped into him, and after an awkward discussion, Newt felt this pang of fascination, this need to look back. The guy was… good looking. Like in this weird way, he was… kinda cute. He just looks as Thomas gestures to himself. He’s speaking, Newt can tell, but he’s not speaking to anyone. He watches Thomas drop his shoulders and look up at the sky for a moment before glancing over and catching Newt’s eyes.

This is a moment of fight or flight, and Newt is not willing to explain himself, so he takes off, speeding off in the direction opposite Thomas towards a set of stairs belonging to some big building. He’s walking as fast as he can, even as Thomas calls out to him to wait. Newt just walks faster, climbing up the steps as Thomas catches up to him, a few feet behind. He stands at the top of the landing and turning around.

“I just… I saw a friend-” Newt begins, gesturing behind Thomas. “Behind you.” Thomas glances behind him and Newt shrugs helplessly, hand waving dismissively. “Obviously they’re not there now! I wasn’t staring at you or anything, if that’s what you thought,” Newt says, the words tumbling out quicker than he can process them.

“You were watching me,” Thomas says and Newt shakes his head.

“I wasn’t. Why would I- anyways, you were talking to yourself,” Newt defends.

“Sometimes you just have to.”

“That’s- weird!”

“You don’t know what I was saying.”

“So?”

“So- hey, aren’t you on a date?” Thomas prods, switching the topic.

“Yeah, I… I just needed to make a phone call.”

“On your date?”

“It’s important.”

“So you stopped to stare at me instead of making that phone call?”

“No I-” Newt sighs defeated. “So what? It’s just a date.”

“What? He’s not the one or something?” Thomas mocks.

“Is it bad if he is?”

“So you believe in true love?”

“You don’t?”

“How am I supposed to believe that when love always fails?”

“Love doesn’t always fail!”

“Yeah? What's your proof?”

“My parents have been happily married for 35 years.”

“They’re not happy,” Thomas states bluntly, and Newt gapes. This guy was absolutely full of it! How can he just say something so infuriating so flippantly?

“They are very happy!” He retaliates, trying to sound venomous. (And Newt is fully aware that he doesn’t sound venomous at all. He sounds more desperate, if anything.)

“Oh please, after 35 years? Trust me, they probably hate each other. It’d be no surprise if they had lukewarm feelings about you, too.”

Newt rolls his eyes- he’s not looking to waste his time. “Well, thanks for the psych eval, but I think I’m going to go,” Newt informs and turns on his heel. This time, Thomas lets him go, and Newt realizes he’s holding a breath, waiting for Thomas to chase him again. What is he doing? Waiting on this asshole? God, this is stupid.

LA VS NYC // THE FINAL BREAKUP

There’s a certain anger washing over him that feels a lot like heartbreak when he realizes Newt hung up on the phone. He was comparing their relationship to cellular growth and regeneration, had been talking about how mutually supportive and loving they’ve become, how much more mature they are now. But Newt hung up, and that really got Thomas right in the heart as he stands outside a bar, phone to his ear.

“So, you hung up,”  he mutters before putting the phone down and sighing. “Cool, I guess.”

-

Newt turns the volume dial in his car up, using the same hand to run through his bangs as he screams out the lyrics to Lorde’s Royals. His phone is haphazardly balanced on the edge of the passenger seat where he tossed it aside, its persistent buzzing ignored. Thomas can wait.

He’s on his way to the local shooting range in LA. Goggles are propped on his head like a careless high school chemistry student, and he’s dressed in the laziest grey on grey attire he owns. Thomas would throw a fit if he were here. He’d throw a fit about a lot of things, like how Newt is off to hang out with The Boys, how he’s got his mind on something other than his second term boyfriend, and how he’s relatively content with his life. It’s not that Thomas wants him to be unhappy—  he just has a habit of spreading his pessimism unto others. Honestly, being three thousand miles away from each other is a much-needed break.

Thomas stands, bouncing his leg slightly as he speaks on the phone with his mother’s doctors again, trying to get information from them on medications and what not. He was no doctor, not yet anyways, but he wanted to be. He was aiming to get his masters soon, and having taken a fast track through his first 3 years of college, he was now 23 and terribly pessimistic. His (now fired ) therapist suggested he had Narcissistic Personality Disorder, and he thinks that’s bullshit.

He glances around aimlessly as the scientist or Doctor or whoever drones on through the other end of the phone, and behind the ledge, against the brick wall, a red light shining on him, is Newt… also on the phone. He doesn’t know what he’s saying,  but God, he looks beautiful.

“Listen, I gotta go- what? no seriously, something came up- Igottago,” Thomas rushes, before hanging up the phone. He doesn’t know what comes over him, but he rushes to Newt who’s still on the phone. Newt’s eyes widen as he glances up, before he walks away, leaving Thomas to catch up to him.

“I’m on the phone,” Newt says, one arm crossing over his chest.

“Okay, but I just-”

“I’m on the phone,” He repeats, still trying to shove past him, but Thomas persists. Newt sighs heavily. “Hey, dad?” he says into the phone. “Something weird is happening, I’ll call you later… yes, I promise. Love you too, bye.” He snaps his phone shut and looks up at Thomas with sharp, unwelcome eyes.

“I just… it felt important.”

“What you had to tell me?”

“Yeah…”

“Okay, so I was on the phone.”

“Right, but I… I just- it was important.”

“More important than my phone call?”

Thomas flexes his toes, rising on them a moment, before his hand goes to run through his hair but gets caught by his hat. He sighs after a moment and nods. “Right.. Sorry.”

Newt rolls his eyes and shoves past him and Thomas rushes in front of him.

“Have you cried at one of these things?” He asks Newt.

“At… what things?”

“These… natural occurrence things. Shooting stars, comet showers…”

“Uh… no, I’ve never cried at one of these things.”

“Yeah, I uh- I haven’t either.”

Newt seems unamused.

“I just want to keep talking to you,” Thomas insists before Newt can go again.

“You only want to talk to me because you think I’m hot.”

“You don’t want to talk to me because you think I’m not.”

“Well maybe we can talk when I’m less superficial,” Newt says, sarcasm dripping from his lips, and God, Thomas wants to kiss him, but he can’t even really explain why.

“Besides, I said you were beautiful, not hot.”

Newt scoffs, though Thomas can see his eyes soften for a moment before he tries to walk away again, and Thomas is rooted to his place, looking down before he calls out, “Don’t miss him !” Newt stops, and Thomas can hear a very faint what? “Earlier, when I was talking to myself, I was saying don’t miss him,” Thomas clarifies.

Thomas looks up, and Newt is standing closer. He turns to look at Newt who steps back, by the wall. The alternating blue and red lights on the ledge shine on him, half blue and half red. He looks at Thomas expectantly.

“I… I always feel like I miss the good things in life, because I’m so caught up in what’s going to happen in the future, that sometimes I tend to miss what’s right in front of me.”

“Well… I don’t really care about the future,” Newt offers, and Thomas nods with some clarity.

“So you’re a now person.”

“True.”

Newt squints at him, but there’s a comedy to it, a playful glint, a small smile that is begging to show through. “Well, I’m a five minutes from now person…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, well… five minutes from now, a volcano could explode, and we would all suffocate from the ashes.”

“That’s not possible,” Newt dismisses.

“Or a toxic gas could be released, and we all go into shock.”

“Also highly unlikely.”

“Or a giant earthquake could shatter the ground and swallow us.”

“That’s-” Newt starts before remembering that they’re in LA, and if anyone knows anything about LA, it’s that earthquakes love it more than the tourists. “Wait… that is possible.”

“See? Anything terrible could happen five minutes from now,” Thomas says, as if he’s made his point, watching Newt cross his arms, lean against the brick wall of what’s probably a family mausoleum or a small chapel. Thomas couldn’t quite remember but they were in a cemetery after all. Either is possible. That’s besides the point; Newt was leaning against the wall, and his eyes light up as he smiles, this cryptid smile, something hidden.

“What did you think was going to happen five minutes before you met me?” Newt asks, eyes shining with daringness, asking Thomas to tell him the terrible thing he anticipated, begging him to compliment him while acknowledging that he knew Thomas was already falling for him.

Thomas falls silent and just stares at Newt, who really was so beautiful. He had this aura about him, and Thomas felt his heart swell. He’d never felt so infatuated with somebody. Newt’s coy, beautiful, smart, and God he had to be a little crazy. He’s perfect, in a way that Thomas hardly understands.

Thomas glances at the sky a few times and says, “I’m just afraid I’m going to miss it,” he says, before looking to Newt who watches him with sympathy.

“I don’t care if I miss it-”

“Because you’re a Now person, got it.”

Newt laughs, and his head dips for a moment in this most wonderful way. When his eyes flick back up, Thomas melts. His whole world crumbles into Newt’s hands. He’s hooked, his heart racing. He wants Newt, he wants to Newt to be his, he wants Newt more than anything. The words come out before he can stop them:

“I think I’m going to fall in love with you,” Thomas says, and Newt’s eyes flick up at the sky, eyes widening in amazement, lips parted delicately as he holds his breath in awe. The comets above painted the sky behind Thomas, and yet, what Thomas said held more of his attention.

“Wow…” Newt whispers.

“That’s it?” Thomas asks, disappointment tinting his voice.

“What did you want me to say? I think I’m going to fall in love with you too?”

“Well… I don’t know. Don’t you at least want to find out?”

“What?” Newt asks, incredulous.

“Well, you said it yourself- you believe in love, and I don’t, so why not put it to the test? Find out? You agree to date me, and we can see for ourselves if love is real or not.”

Thomas sticks his hand out, and Newt’s eyes narrow, a small frown of concentration on his face before he sucks the bottom of his lip in between his teeth. Finally, he nods and shakes Thomas’ hand.

“Deal,” Newt whispers, his mind racing. Is this reasonable? Logical? Stupid? God, this is stupid, it’s dangerous, it’s a feeling he couldn’t control but something about Thomas made him want to stay here, with him, holding his warm hand. Never letting go. The stars don’t matter when someone has such deep, whiskey colored eyes. He refuses to admit, though, that he could fall in love with such a pessimistic asshole.

“That’s crazy.” Thomas turns to place his hands on Newt’s shoulders. “Listen, babe. The brain doesn’t distinguish between dreams and reality.” Fondly, he smiles and runs his hands down the blond’s thin arms, clasping their fingers together. “Get your head out of the clouds and go get ready.” He presses a light kiss to Newt’s forehead, a rare gesture of affection.

Newt purses his lips, biting his tongue so as to prevent himself from lashing out. Instead, he pushes Thomas away, striding towards the door, where the sound of knocking echoes conveniently.

“Newt?” Thomas frowns at Newt’s animosity, but decides to ignore it all the same. “What’s that?”

Morbidly fascinated, he watches his boyfriend saunter back, triumphantly holding Asian take out in one hand and disposable chopsticks in the other.

“Thai,” he pops a tofu cube in his mouth. “Obviously.”

It’s not that Newt’s hungry, per se, but he rather enjoys spending Thomas’ money. He has the luxury of room service and the motives of a self-destructive dreamer.

“Newt, what—“ the brunet’s jaw opens and shuts comically while he shrugs on his suit jacket. “We just had afternoon tea,” he eventually gets out, words slow as he works through his stupor. His arms slowly settle into the sleeves of his suit.

“Correct. So?” Without so much as a glance at Thomas, Newt shoves a few noodles in his mouth.

Flabbergasted. Newt has Thomas flabbergasted.

“So this, so that, will you shut up—“ Thomas sighs, lowering his arms from their frustrated gesturing in the air. He doesn’t want to get mad at Newt, but sometimes, the blond can be so infuriating . “No. There’ll be food at the wedding, The wedding we’re going to be late for.”

The thud of the little takeout box against the top of the dresser signals Newt’s breaking point.

Thomas continues, insistent. “C’mon, babe, you made me promise to get you down there on time no matter what. This is me keeping my promise. Now let’s please be on—“

“Time?” Newt spits, eyes narrowed and emanating fury. “Fucking hate time. I wish it didn’t exist.”

The other man steps back, hands twitching at his sides. He’s wary now. Bien fait, imbécile, Newt’s thoughts hiss, and the blond takes advantage of the tense silence to regroup.

“I just meant—” he exhales, tersely picking up the box of takeout again and making his way to the loveseat, where he plops down in stifled frustration. “Not that I hate its existence,” he chooses his words carefully, silently willing Thomas to take them the right way. “But I hate that we’re so bound to it. You know, like time-based art?”

Thomas is silent, but he shakes his head hesitantly and carefully sits beside the blond.

Newt suppresses a scoff and looks down at his food. “Time based art, like movies, books, stuff we’re supposed to see linearly. We see a beginning, middle, and an end, and that’s it,” his eyes flit up briefly, gauging Thomas’ reactions. The man remains stoic, mouth shut for once.

“As opposed to like, you know,” he pauses. He knows how Thomas will take this. Bloody hell. “— a painting.” The brunet snorts and stands up again, walking to the closet, where he pulls out a box of cigarettes from his coat pocket.

“A painting?” Thomas mocks, betraying nothing but his initial disdain, and Newt’s skin crawls with irritation.

“Yes, a painting.” It takes every ounce of his being not to snap. “With a painting, you’re not bound to time. You can look at what you want, when you want.”

Thomas’ smartass mouth is probably going to say something patronizing— Newt can see it on his features. “Babe,” the other man starts. “Get off whatever shit you’re on.”

And Newt really can’t stand this anymore.

“Ta gueule. Does it bother you?” Frowning, Thomas sits back on his heels.

“Does what bother me?”

Newt wrings his hands, seething. “Does it not bother you that you make me unhappy?” And Thomas flashes a cocky smile, of all things.

“No , because that’s a lie,” he stands up, adjusting the lapels of his suit. “Now get ready. I don’t want to be the couple that’s always late.”

The takeout box is slammed onto the coffee table, chopsticks clattering to the floor. With resentment present in every orifice of his being, Newt stalks towards his boyfriend and shoves . Thomas scrambles for balance against the dresser.

“Fuck you ,” Newt erupts. “How do you do that?” Thomas’ mouth is a tight line. The blond balls his hands into fists, body shaking in anger. Weakly, he steps back, tears threatening to spill from his eyes as he squeezes them shut. “How do you do that?” His repetition sounds pathetic, even to his own ears. He should have just shut up. When Thomas doesn’t respond, Newt whips around into the bathroom and slams the door shut.

They’re on the train, sitting across from each other in one of the many passenger cars as the scenery of San Clemente passes. The silence between them is tense, filled with age-old unasked questions. And yet, they sit comfortably, just regarding each other. Newt wonders just how long it’s taken to them to come to this point.

“So,” the brunet breaks another wall between them. “Down to San Diego?”

Newt nods slowly, book hanging loosely in his grip. “You?”

Thomas also finds himself nodding. “Yeah,” he inhales sharply. “USCAP conference. Gonna give a talk.”

“Ah,” the blond offers. Then, almost against his will, his traitorous mouth opens again. “Pathology stuff, okay... Are you seeing anybody right now?”

Across from him, the other man almost looks taken aback. “I,” he splutters. “Yeah, no, just a talk on the research I was starting before Paris.”

They fall silent again.

“What,” Thomas clears his throat. “What about you?”

Newt raises an eyebrow. “Research?” He’s being a little shit at this point, but in all honesty, he’d just rather not answer.

His ex almost visibly flounders on the spot. “No, like,” he flushes. “Are you seeing someone?”

Newt shuts his book with a soft snap. “Yeah.” Thomas’ expression crumbles, and another wall erupts between them.

“Oh.”

The blond shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Oh is right. He hadn’t expected to run into Thomas ever again, what with their different professions and social circles. Meeting Minho during an interview three months ago was a blessing, and so different from how he and Thomas met. The guy seemed to know exactly what made Newt tick, even as an almost complete stranger.

Across from him, Thomas licks his lips and chuckles awkwardly. There’s a rose-gold tint on Newt’s memories that paint the man before him in a hazy, nostalgic light. He did that a lot, during their relationship. That awkward laugh. Was it really so bad, being together?

Newt swallows. “How’s research going?” The other man squints, a thousand silent questions attacking the barricades between them. Miles of a complex, unsolvable maze rest amidst their unresolved issues, their tattered love forming concrete skyscrapers and trapping them in a desert of isolation.

“Good, yeah. I—” he cuts off, mouth opening and closing. “It’s going well. Reviewer is gonna get back to us in a few days. Who are they?”

And oh no, they’re doing this thing now. He knows the brunet will be relentless.

“That’s good to hear. Anything exciting?”

“The person. We’re trying for a few different publishers.”

“Sounds fun. I’m sure they’ll love your work.”

“Newt,”

“Minho Lee. MTV executive.”

“MTV? ”

“What?”

Thomas eyes him, exasperated. “I thought we agreed that MTV’s a waste of time.”

“No,” Newt huffs. “You decided MTV was a waste of time.”

And that just about summed up their relationship, didn’t it?

They walk between the gravestones, fingertips dragging along the ridges of each one as they pass by them. “How do you think they were in bed?” Newt asks.

“Hm… I dunno,” Thomas says, the two leaning against a headstone and staring at another. “Olga,” he says. “I’ve always wanted to fuck an Olga.”

“Yeah?” Newt says and he nods. “I would totally marry Tupac,” he admits.

“Tupac?” Thomas snorts, and Newt nods. A beat of silence passes before Thomas nods too, the two getting up and walking between the graves, judging various names, and debating how good they'd be in bed. They finally reach an archway of sorts made of branches and small trees.

“I saw the Sixth Sense,” Thomas admits.

“You what?”

“I saw the Sixth Sense.”

“You lied about that? Why would you lie about that?”

“Well I believe every relationship has one major lie, and well, I figured I’d just get mine out of the way.”

“Who said we were in a relationship? Or even going to be for that matter, because technically I am still on a date.”

“What? Come on, we shook on it!”

“Yeah, well, I was leading you on. I should probably get back to said date,” Newt says, head tilting, eyes coy.

“Oh, come on,” Thomas says, squinting at him. Newt lifts his chin, challenging the other man, before turning on his heel. He walks slow, silently taunting Thomas to chase him- to stop him. “Maybe a friendship… actually wait no, what am I saying? I definitely don’t want to be just friends with you.”

“Why? Because I’m hot?”

“No- because your nuts.”

Newt laughs, and their hands lace, natural, easy as they walk on away from the arches. “And you still want me? I could be a serial killer.”

“Well, I just have to take my chances then, don’t I?”

Newt’s eyes shines as he stops in his slow steps, right in front of a fountain by a large wall leading back to the comet showing. “Fine, but before you commit to this, I have to tell you something,” Newt says, looking upset suddenly.

“What’s wrong?” Thomas asks. Newt looks down before looking up with tears shining in his eyes.

“In high school, I was at a party and I… I was raped by the captain of the football team,” he says, swallowing visibly, their hands still laced.

Thomas let's go and laughs, Newt looking up confused. “That is such a bad lie, come on.”

“What? How did you know?” Newt asks, devastated Thomas saw through it.

“Well, to start, we just talked about it, so it was totally predictable! And, second, raped by the captain of the football team? You couldn't even pick, like, a cornerback? Or a... I don't know, catcher, or something?”

Newt rolls his eyes. “Fine, but- shit.” Newts eyes are wide as he smacks Tommy’s jacket. “Shit!”

“What?”

“Run.”

“What?”

“Run! Come on!” Newt gasps out, and Thomas follows the blond's line of sight to find Gally looking straight at them from a platform above, some distance away. Newt tugs his sleeve and takes off, Thomas right at his heels, breathless laughter filling the air. “Where are we going?”

“Anywhere! Far from here!” Newt yells, and they laugh, stumbling as they run aimlessly, just away from Gally. It feels like a million colors burst between them, the soft wind coaxing them far from the wall where Gally was.

Newt’s momentum slows as they reach a building, opening the doors to a morgue. They halt, still beaming at each other.

They talk a lot about nothing as they wander the dark halls. Newts fingers trace the handles as they pass each one. “How strange is it that dead people are in these.”

“Intensely?” Thomas whispers back.

“Why are you whispering?” Newt asks, whispering now too.

“Because… they’re dead. That’s the right thing to do, isn’t it?”

“Do you think they were anyone important?” Newt asks, this dreamy lilt to his voice, and Thomas finds it endearing.

“Maybe…”

“Yeah. Maybe…”

Their eyes meet, and the world halts, stuck in time between them. It's like time itself is trapped between their chests. Like they're timeless art. A painting.

Thomas offers him a blunt, and Newt passes.

“I don’t smoke weed. I do this thing, when I get high, where I think people can’t hear me? It’s really weird.”

“Are we old?” Newt muses loudly. Smoke coils from his lips, his high skin to perpetual flight. He’s laying on their queen-sized hotel bed, surrounded by pillows and messy blankets, waving a blunt around wildly.

Thomas lies beside him, hands behind his head as he stares at the ceiling. “Eh,” he offers. He takes one arm out and grabs for the blunt. Newt rolls to his side and moves his hand down in dramatic slow motion towards Thomas’ open mouth, blowing a short raspberry when it lands between his lips.

They spend forever in that moment, Thomas enjoying a long drag and Newt watching his cruel features relax into something almost human. He’s shed his suit jacket, while Newt has undressed down to his undershirt and boxers.

It’s like this: when they’re high, they can pretend they’re in love.

“This is why I hate time,” his voice has that awful, dreamy lilt he knows he gets when he’s about to say something stupid. Thomas doesn’t respond, lost in his own thoughts.

In the silence, they linger.

Newt brings up a hand to turn Thomas’ face towards his, fingertips delicate against the skin of his boyfriend’s jaw. The brunet is looking at him like he’s created another sun and propelled it into the sky, eyes wide in wonder and pupils blown from his high. With a sigh, Newt edges forward, planting a chaste kiss against Thomas’ bottom lip.

And then they’re devouring each other, deep kisses and heavy sighs and touches that resemble a caricature of affection, something that Newt once thought was there, something Thomas believes still is. Newt’s tugging off Thomas’ tie and is working on unbuttoning his shirt when the latter freezes, grabbing the sheets behind him.

“C’mon,” he coughs, putting out the blunt as he rolls off the bed and buttoning his shirt again.  Newt watches him pocket something. “We’ve got an hour.”

The blond bites the inside of his cheek, inhaling slowly to try and calm himself down again. “Seriously?” He snaps, sitting up. “I thought we were gonna make it.”

Thomas gives him an unamused look and taps the watch on his wrist with a finger. “Alby’s going to hate us if we’re late,” he says.

With a few choice expletives, Newt swings his legs off the edge of the bed and storms to the bathroom, furiously plugging in the hair dryer and digging out his hair products.

The brunet glowers at him, a storm of annoyance almost visibly forming above his head. Newt thinks he can see a railroad map of Thomas’ mind (train, of course, veering everywhere off course and blasting through the surrounding shrubbery). The hour nearly having fully passed, they’re nearing Oceanside now.

Newt’s long since returned to his book. Thomas’ being there isn’t as uncomfortable as he thought it would be, though he’ll admit that the on-and-off glaring burns mildly through the pages of The Death Cure . As if to break through the tension, the conductor’s nasally voice projects from the intercoms above, announcing their next station.

Thomas stands abruptly just as Newt reaches page 249.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” he says, stiffly. Newt merely nods, internal self screaming as his favourite character begs for death. He swears Thomas’ gaze burns little holes on his skin, though any thoughts of his ex are quickly pushed to the back of his mind when the chapter ends.

The phone buzzes again, different this time.

Minho.

Any text from Minho is one worth answering, but opening his phone now means opening Thomas’ messages, and he does not want to deal with his boyfriend right now. But… Minho. He takes a chance at the next intersection, praying for the best.

M: Hey Newt, just wanted to check in with you and see how you’re doing! You’re at the shooting range today, right?

It’s little things like this that make his heart melt and make him all gooey inside. Showing that they care— why can’t Thomas do something like that? A car honks behind him, and he slams his foot on the pedal after noticing the green light. He’s got his phone in one hand and the wheel in his other, diving precariously around LA traffic. Like the nuisance he’s starting to become, Thomas calls again, and Newt accidentally presses the answer button.

“You hung up on me!”

No hi babe, no what’s wrong, just you hung up on me.

“Is that any way to greet your second term boyfriend?” He says, keeping as much irritation as he can out of his voice.

“Are we second term?” Though Thomas is 3000 miles away, Newt can still imagine the man frozen mid-arm wave, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he tries to think. His thinking face annoys Newt more than it should, though it has its endearing qualities. Namely, the way his’ nose scrunches up, the way his eyes glimmer with far too much intelligence for his own good…

“Newt? Babe, can you still hear me?”

Thomas’ voice through his earbuds draws Newt out of his stupor, and he slams the brakes just in time for a light change.

“Yeah, you’re—“ he coughs as his back hits the seat. “You’re good.”

THE ROOFTOP // THIS IS NOT A DREAM

The hall is narrow, with grey, green, and yellow patterns painting the walls. The wallpaper is somehow both outdated and modern, his heart racing a mile a minute as he observes it, just standing in the doorway of the hallway. It had been 3 years since they were last together. Since they last even saw each other. Thomas’ entire world stands behind the door before him, and somehow, it's so distant.

The hallway seems to narrow further as he walks towards the door. He holds the flowers to his chest, then sighs and tosses them aside. Then he picks them back up, and fidgets with them. This is not a dream, he whispers. This is not a dream. Was it too ridiculous to bring flowers? God, the flowers were a stupid idea. What if he doesn't want them? What if hates them? He adjusts his tie, struggling to breathe. This is not a dream. This is not a dream.

Thomas frowns.

New York is a lovely place, far from the pretentious vibes of Los Angeles. It reeks of industrialization and imported domesticity, both physically and metaphorically. He can’t say he’s in love with the city— it’s too early to tell for that— but he can say with absolute certainty that he vibes with the place on a metaphysical level.

As he takes shelter from the frigid rain in an alley behind his new favourite bar, he thinks. And thinks, and thinks, and thinks. Which is saying something. He’s not one to overthink things, but Newt’s been acting up, and he’ll get to the bottom of it if it’s the last thing he does.

“Yeah, you’re—“ Newt coughs on the other end. “You’re good.”

Genius that he is, the right words finally click. “Are you okay? Newt, baby, you know you can talk to me about stuff, right?”

The silence in his ear is more telling than Thomas would like to believe.

Then: “What?”

Thomas frowns harder, moving inside the building when the rain comes down harder.

“You. Are you okay? Do you wanna talk about something?” He takes a seat at the bar and just waits. For a long moment, he pauses and waits for something to come, but it never does. “Okay… now you’re starting to freak me out. What’s going on?”

Silence.

“Jeez, this is catastrophic. It has to be.”

“It’s nothing,” Newt excuses.

“Nothing?”

“Yeah. Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing… I’m here for you because I love you. Had you stayed tuned to my phone call-”

“Just- Stop.”

Thomas’s heart falls to his stomach, and it clicks in his head that Newt might be seeing somebody else. That all this distance isn’t because they’re in two separate cities, but because somebody else might be involved.

“Did you sleep with someone?” Thomas finally asks, and he hears Newt breathe in. “You did… didn’t you?” He hopes his heartbreak isn’t too audible.

“No, I didn’t- I didn’t sleep with anyone, Thomas.”

“You didn’t? Because I definitely heard a silence there,” Thomas says, rushing out of the bar and back into the rain.

“It was… only texts,” Newt admitted softly.

Stepping forward, he finally knocks on the door. And he’s blinded by the white light that washes through when the door opens, Newt right there, as beautiful as ever, in his slick black shirt and nice pants. “You okay?”

Faintly, Thomas can remember the day they met, can hear Newt hovering over him, offering a hand. You alright? “Yeah, I just… I missed you, that’s all,” Thomas says and Newt smiles shyly.

“I missed you too,” he admits, and Thomas isn’t sure if it’s just sentiment to make him feel better, or if Newt really did miss him. He looks gorgeous, glowing almost ethereally, skin clear. Thomas thinks it's funny how they're both dressed up to see each other, even though they're in Newt's apartment, not going anywhere of importance. It wasn't like this, before.

They used to go over, in sweats or pyjamas, and kiss on the couch until they became dizzy, or they'd bicker about whatever irrelevant film they were watching, the shows so saturated with stupidity that they somehow passed as comedy, or drama, or whatever. How Newt always liked them, and even though Thomas always sort of hated them, he grew to love them with time, solely because they made Newt happy. And now, they’re in suits to drink coffee together. They don’t kiss hello anymore. There’s no ring on Newt’s finger but he keeps twisting the skin there, as if there should be one. In another universe, it would’ve been the ring Thomas had bought him all those years ago in Paris.

He recalls telling Newt that he would kill to be at his wedding, entertaining the sheer absurdity of the idea. Newt had, fuming, told him it was sad that Thomas didn't think it would be theirs. God, he felt so stupid now. He missed Newt so much.

“How have things been… for you?” Newt asks, offering him a chair at the dining room table in front of big, looming, industrial windows. Both suns shone soft golden light into the apartment. Thomas felt his head spin in an anxious fog.

“Well, after the funeral, uhm… I guess I sort of just learned how to move on. I knew I couldn’t save her… but that’s just life right?”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” Newt soothes. “Coffee?”

“Yeah, coffee is— yeah, that’s fine.”

Newt nods, going to the kitchen some few feet away, and Thomas glances at the wall by the door. He can see Newt’s thesis framed, pictures of Newt and Minho on the wall. He misses when the dreamy collages were of him and Newt. He glances at Newt in the kitchen, his head spinning with the anxiety still, a slow, steady storm building inside him.

Funny how Newt could still make his coffee perfectly, after all these years. He stares at him for a long moment, before looking down, brow furrowing.

“What?” Thomas asks.

“Nothing… just for a second, I uh… I forgot what you looked like.”

Thomas pauses, watching Newt. “For the record… I’ve never forgotten what you look like.”

“It was… only texts,” Newt says, trying to convince himself as much as Thomas. Suddenly, he feels like absolute shit. Suddenly, the pain he’s causing feels real because he’s almost certain he heard Thomas’ voice crack, like he might cry. Thomas never cries, Thomas hardly sees anybody as equal to him, and okay, maybe he has issues far out of Newt’s own capacity, but no, Thomas rarely ever hurts.

Maybe it’s just in his head. That he hurt Thomas. Maybe Thomas is just fine, maybe Thomas is more worried about having sex with him again than their relationship.

“Texts?” Thomas repeats, rising horror evident even through the tiny speakers.

Newt runs a hand through his fringe and turns a corner. “Just texts, Thomas. Nothing like… that .”

“You can’t just tell me nothing like that, what—” he breaks off, struggling to keep his voice even. “How long has this been going on?”

The ambient noise of Los Angeles traffic is the only thing that comes through the phone before Newt exhales. “A month. Maybe a little more.”

Thomas slams a fist against the brick wall behind him. “A month?” Pacing, he tugs at the ends of his hair. “Oh, I’m sorry to ruin the honeymoon period. Heard those are the best times.”

“Look, maybe—” Newt honks at the slow car in front of him. “—Maybe we should get off the phone. We’re both upset, and anything we say now will be bleak at best.”

“You want to get off the phone now? Funny, you never used to want to get off.”

“Was that a—? Actually, no, forget it. I did want to get off, I just… didn't’.”

“Yeah, and now you’re dying to get off.” Thomas storms back inside, where he plops himself down on worn-out upholstery. “My God, what did I do to deserve this?”

“Thomas…” Newt’s knuckles whiten as he grips the wheel tighter. “I— holy fuck!” He narrowly avoids a car crash when he swerves, struggling to regain control. The sound of a dull thump and sight of a clumpy red dripping down his windshield confirms what he hoped he imagined.

Thomas splashes water onto his face in the bathroom, the cool liquid dripping off his chin and landing on his shirt. His eyes are reddening from the rubbing around his irises, nearly black in the disgustingly amber lighting. Disgusting, he’s disgusting for thinking he could just stalk Newt onto this fucking train and get him back. With a coarse scream, he balls his right hand into a tight fist, drawing back as far as he can within the confined space before making contact with his reflection. In the mirror, his image splinters into blood-stained fragments. Newt’s probably still sitting where he left him, enjoying his book, oblivious to Thomas’ intentions. And, if Thomas really examines himself, that’s probably for the better. He’ll leave the blond alone with his MTV executive and go on with his life.

God, he was stupid for thinking Newt, perfect, gorgeous Newt, would still be single. How could he move on so easily? How was Thomas was still a mess? Wasn’t he supposed to be the emotional one of the two?

A knock at the door draws Thomas out of his thoughts, and with a passing glance at the broken mirror, he sweeps out.

He’ll try one more time. One more time, before Solana Beach. If they get there and he still doesn’t have Newt, he’ll eat dinner alone in San Diego.

-

His return to their seats is markedly different from his exit, determination exuding from every step. Newt doesn’t look like he’s moved at all- the perfect picture of content , with his fringe falling in front of his face nose buried in a trashy YA novel. Thomas clears his throat, looking down at the other man.

“Yes?” Newt flips the page. From this angle, Thomas can’t tell if there’s a smirk pulling at the corner of the blond’s mouth or not.

“I’m hungry.”

“Then eat something.”

“Come with me.”

Newt’s head whips up to look at him, incredulous. “Come with you? Why would I do that?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” It takes every ounce of willpower for Thomas not to grind his teeth at Newt’s old antics.

The blond’s face breaks out into an old smile.

“Touché.”

-

"We won't have to go between cars to get there, right?" Newt peers over Thomas' shoulders as they make their way through the car.

“Well, yeah,” Coming to a stop in front of the door, Thomas turns to face the other man. “It’ll be okay, though.”

A face of disapproval greets him. “Thomas, you know how I’m scared of these kinds of things.”

Thomas wants to smack himself. How could he have forgotten?

“Right,” he flounders for a good second or two, debating whether he should take the chance or not. Go big or go home , his mother used to say to him. “You can hold my hand. I promise—” he swallows. The blond looks at him expectantly, eyebrows raised.

“—I’ll never let you go.”

Newt’s eyes seem to soften, and Thomas offers his hand. Still, with reluctance, he says, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Any reply Thomas can think of comes to a screeching halt when he feels the weight of Newt’s hand on his.

Instead, he turns back to the door, pushing the button to open it. Outside, the suns are high in the sky, and the tracks blur beneath them. Newt tenses as he sees the flimsy railing tethering the cars together, and with a reassuring squeeze, Thomas steps out and onto the next car. He opens the door with one hand and gently tugs Newt along with the other. They feel like they’re racing along the tracks. Newt’s hair musses up with the wind, and with an exhilarated eep, they close the door behind them.

They’re walking, slow steps outside the morgue now, hands brushing past each other but not quite lacing. Newt glances at him, and he sort of feels like he’s dreaming. Thomas is dreamy. He kind of wants to kiss him.

“So… sometimes when I’m just… I dunno, having a bad day, I guess, I do this thing-”

“This thing?” Newt stops Thomas. “This isn’t pervy, is it?”

“What? No! It’s kinda funny, kinda jerkish.”

“And all you’ve been is ‘jerkish’.”

“Can I finish?”

“No,” Newt teases before grinning and nudging Thomas. “Go on.”

“Just sometimes… you bump into people whether you know them or not and go: ‘give me your fucking money!’ With a little shove. Makes you feel better.”

“Yeah? What if I did that right now?”

“Do it, you’ll feel a lot better.”

Newt shifts uncomfortably, looking to see if Thomas means it. When he shows no signs of hesitation, he lightly grabs the lapels of the other man's jacket. “Give me your fucking money,” he says tamely.

Thomas laughs, shoving Newt slightly. “Give me your fucking money.”

Newt pushes him back a little harder. “Give me your fucking money,” he says more assertively.

“Oh fuck you, give me your. Fucking. Money!”

Newt shoves back, yelling it this time, and they both seem startled before he’s laughing he's laughing, and Thomas is shocked. At first because Newt yelled like so, but then because he was just so.. beautiful. Because his smile was so infectious, because he was so fun, so wild, just a little crazy. God, he knew he was a little crazy.

They fall silent for a second, and Thomas almost says something. Almost. “Wait- actually- say what you were going to say first, but then I was just- no, really, say what you wanted to say first and then just… I thought maybe we could have a moment, of like, silence between us.”

“I… I was just thinking I’m really going to miss you tomorrow.”

Newt’s eyes light up, watching him and they do fall quiet for a long while. Newt has never wanted to kiss somebody so much, but in this moment he wants nothing but to kiss Thomas.

He doesn’t.

“You know… I needed you in this life,” Newt says, putting the cup in front of him. “And I am so sorry… for everything I’ve ever done to hurt you. For… my lie.”

“It’s fine,” Thomas says. “I was trying for you. I really was trying to be the man you wanted me to be, Newt.”

“I know… and I’m so sorry. I… I’m happy now, though.”

“Good… he uh… he still works for MTV?”

“He’s leaving actually… Soon. Moving onto bigger and better things.”

“You hated MTV. It’s ironic he works there.”

“I did not hate MTV.”

“The shows were bad, you described them as mind numbing.”

“They weren’t that bad.”

“Some of them were okay,” Thomas reluctantly agrees, and Newt seems to appreciate it, smiling softly. It felt so subtly like the past, so much like they were together. He can’t shake the dreams he has of Newt, the dreams where they still were together, where he was here with Newt, kissing on the rooftop. But this was not a dream, and they weren’t on the roof. Newt was real, and engaged, and so far out of his reach it was like a galaxy had formed between them.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I just… I keep having this dream about us.”

“What?”

“Yeah… uhm… well it’s sort of a dream, but really it’s this… tether of memories, of you and me together. These… key moments in our relationship. The night we met, the train, the hotel room in Paris…” He trails off, so vividly able to see Newt in that soft purple lighting, half naked, shaking his head upset. ‘I give you everything… why don’t you love me?’ God, how does he tell Newt now that he never stopped loving him? Why is it he forgets how selfish Newt can be? “Our second breakup,” Thomas finishes.

“What happens in the dreams?”

“What happened when we were together… or how I remember them.”

And Newt looks so sad. “I saved your life… I saved you,” Newt repeats. Thomas tries to tell him he’s just high but he can’t. Thomas just sees how sad he looks, how much that sadness reflects the man in front of him.

They’re sitting on steps somewhere, neither really even sure where they are anymore. “So… what’s your favorite word?” Newt asks.

“My favorite word?”

“Yeah, your favorite word.”

“Celestial.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah…”

“It’s so simple. It’s not like… kerfuffle or dichotomy or something?”

“No, just celestial.”

“Okay… what word do you hate the most?”

“Well, I don’t really hate any word. Well.. okay, I have a love hate relationship with ‘fingerfuck’, but technically that’s two words, and- or like, ‘shitfaced’? I kind of hate that too.”

Newt laughs, the two falling silent for a moment. Newt stares at him, and Thomas stares back, this cocky glint in his eyes. Newt nods for a moment.

“You think you’ve won me,” Newt says, equally cocky.

“What do you mean? I have won you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, my friend.”

“You left that guy for me.”

“Hm… I still could be leading you on.”

“No way, you like me. I’ve totally won you.”

They’ve got twenty minutes on the clock before they need to be downstairs, and Newt finally emerges from the bedroom portion of their suite.

Thomas’ eyes widen as he takes in his boyfriend. Newt’s in a sharp burgundy suit, his hair styled in that perfect swoop he knows drops jaws. To complete the outfit, he dons a cute, matching bowtie and… cowboy boots. This might be the closest Thomas has ever come to starstruck. Newt chuckles nervously.

“I know, I look like a fool,” he mumbles. “It’s the boots, isn’t it? Alby loves his Western movies, and I just figured—” Thomas cuts him off, pulling him by the waist with one hand and using the other to grab Newt’s hand. They sway on the spot to the music of their crumbling love.

Thomas has been thinking. Of life, of the future, of them. He tells Newt this much. He doesn’t tell Newt about his trip to the jeweller. Doesn’t tell Newt about the times he knelt on one knee, mouthing the words to forever on his lips. Doesn’t tell Newt about the money he spent on a ring, partly because the amount was absurd and partly because he doesn’t know if he wants to commit. For as long as he can remember, he’s been allergic to commitment, and the last thing he wants to do is wreck the blond in his arms. In an unfortunate turn of events, this trip has only proven to him that he’s pushing Newt to his limits.

He wants to say it. He wants to scream it to the heavens as far as the wavelengths will go. Wants to commit to Newt the way the man craves commitment.

So he swallows and presses a light kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead.

The dining car is cozy, with people scattered around in various forms of conversation.

They order, and Thomas admires Newt from his seat. The blond looks out the window at the passing scenery. It’s a blur of purple and pinks, but Newt seems to find a certain beauty in it. To Thomas, Newt is the best view of all. His sharp jawlines and cheekbones are highlighted by the rose gold of the suns.

“Doesn’t looking out the window get boring?” He asks, if only to fill the silence while they wait for their Croque-madames. Newt doesn’t respond. When Thomas opens his mouth again, another voice is heard instead, and they turn to look up at a stern-looking attendant.

“Sir, were you the one who broke the mirror in the previous car’s bathroom?”

Newt’s lips purse as he fixes his stare on the window behind the attendant.

Thomas splutters. “Well, I—“ he shrugs helplessly. “I’m obviously going to tell you I didn’t.”

The attendant raises an eyebrow at him, and he feels something inside him shrivel at the stranger’s gaze.

“I want you off the train at Solana Beach,” he states, emanating no-bullshit. “And I don’t want to see you on here after, you hear?” After a guilty nod from Thomas, the attendant strides away.

Carefully, Thomas steals a glance at the man beside him, who’s still pointedly looking away. “Newt, listen, I—“

“Nope.” Newt snaps. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“C’mon, please—“

“No, I said— what the bloody hell happened to your hand ?”

Thomas pauses mid-gesture, following Newt’s line of sight to his bloodied knuckles.

“Actually, you know what? I don’t even want to ask. I’m sitting somewhere else.” The blond shifts to his right, out of the chair.

“Wait,” he flounders again. “Newt, Newt.” Thomas doesn’t realize he’s grabbing for Newt’s wrists until he feels the thrum of the other man’s pulse beneath soft skin. “Come with me. Get off at Solana.”

“Why would I do that? Don’t you have a talk to give?”

It’s like he’s got déja vu. “Better question is why wouldn’t you. But also,” he squeezes his eyes shut. “There’s… I’m not actually giving a talk.”

Newt’s old look of annoyance and anger is plain as day on his face. “Why would you lie about that? I was actually happy for you, what the fuck? Are you going to tell me the paper’s fake, too?” Thomas winces, noticing the stares of the other passengers around them. With one swift movement, he moseys around Newt’s small frame and tugs them towards the door at the other end of the car, where the double doors give them a small bubble of privacy.

“It wasn’t a complete lie,” he starts, warily gauging Newt’s reactions. “I’m still going to USCAP, I’m just not gonna give a talk. And—”

“What the fuck, Thomas. That’s still a lie. Is this another one of your stupid mind games?”

“Mind games? I- no,” Thomas runs his hands through his hair. “I just thought it would make it easier to talk to you.”

“Easier? What? How would that make it easier, wh—”

“— I thought you wouldn’t want to talk to me if you knew I was trying to get you back.”

They stare at each other, Thomas’ desperate eyes meeting Newt’s cold ones.

“You never, in all these months, you never contacted me.” Newt bites out. “You have my phone number, my email address, and you—” he jabs a finger into Thomas’ chest. “—you never even tried to contact me.” Thomas’ jaw opens and closes as he tries to find the words to respond. “How did you even know I was going to be on this train?”

Newt’s face contorts in anger as Thomas stutters his way through incoherently. That’s all he needs, really; he could always read Thomas better than others. Just not well enough.

“I don’t believe this,” he huffs.

“Listen, I know this great library in Solana. We can sit down, chat for an hour or two,”

“You wanna go to a library to chat? Isn’t that counter-intuitive?”

“That’s not the point, Newt.”

“No, I know that’s not the point. You want to talk for an hour? Two? That’s a very long time, Thomas.”

“Yeah, no, I know, I just..”

A tense silence fills the air between them, broken only by a passenger squeezing by to get to the dining cart.

Newt clears his throat. “Answer my question, then.”  Thomas nods. “Why didn’t you propose?”

A heavy sigh escapes Thomas’ lungs. “You broke up with me, remember?” Exasperated, Newt blows his fringe out of his eyes.

“Yeah, but why didn’t you fight for me?”

An excellent question. Why didn’t he fight for Newt? Memories of late nights surrounded by tissues, empty ramen packages, and a constant marathon of shitty rom coms run through his mind. When Newt left, Thomas’ world fell apart. Why didn’t he fight harder for them? He knew what to say, then. He just couldn’t.

I love you.

“This is me fighting for you now.”

Come back to me.

Newt hums, leaning into Thomas’ touch. He is the sun and all things blooming beneath its rays, skin pleasantly warm beneath dry hands. When he speaks, Thomas can feel the reverberations under his fingertips, can feel hot air settle near his collarbone.

“Don’t you want this forever?”

Don’t ask me that, Thomas wants to say. What kind of question is that? Of course he wants forever. Instead, he looks at the wall behind Newt, memorizing the intricate patterns on the wallpaper.

“Technically,” he can feel the bullshit pouring out of his mouth, smartassery coming full force as he protects himself from overwhelming emotion. “Forever isn’t a thing. I’ll die, you’ll die, everybody dies.”

Newt stops swaying and gazes at him, eyes glistening. The sounds of their previous fight echo loudly between them. Unasked questions demand honest answers that can’t be given, and Thomas silently begs for reprieve. Yielding, Newt gently steps away.

“We’re going to be late,” the blond chokes out. “Let me grab my phone.” Thomas’ hands drop limply to his sides, and he watches helplessly as Newt disappears back into the bedroom.

His heart is breaking. He can feel it, from the way the goosebumps prickle beneath his skin to the burn in his eyes.

From the bedroom, a crash sounds through the suite, and Thomas finds himself at the door, face to face with the ring he picked out and Newt’s tear-stricken face.

Shit.

Thomas feels claustrophobic. “And… there was one thing that hasn’t happened.”

“What’s that, Tommy?”

“You and me… we always met after however many years it’s been, you’d show me around, we’d sit to talk-”

“Like right now?”

“Yeah except… I’d always ask you to leave and you’d go out that door with me.”

“I-”

“I know you’re engaged to him now.”

“What?”

“You keep fidgeting with your ring finger.”

“I’m-” Newt starts, before realizing he was doing it just then and drops his arms to his side. “It… the wedding is in a few weeks,” he admits.

“Yeah? Does he know I’m here?”

“Trust me…” Newt says, sounding irritated. “He knows you’re here.”

Thomas raises an eyebrow. “You fought about me coming?”

“No,” Newt says quickly. “It doesn’t matter,” he tries to amend.

Thomas nods, his head spinning as the chances of getting Newt become slimmer. The more he thinks about it, the more he feels like he can never find happiness again, the more he feels that he’ll never find anybody so wonderful. It’s supposed to be him and Newt in every universe, every timeline, every world. This can’t be happening.

“Tommy…?” Newt says carefully. “Tommy, you look sort of pale, would you prefer we go up to the roof?” Thomas doesn’t respond, not right away. He finally looks at Newt, and Newt has those kind, urgent eyes on him, pleading him to say yes. “Come on… let’s go to the roof.”

Thomas complies, and he follows Newt up to the roof. In his dream he would kiss him, the sun their background. Newt walks out the door with him, Newt takes his hand, Newt tells him he loves him again. Thomas would beg him to stay, never leave. Thomas would say he loved him every second of every day if that’s what Newt really wanted.

“Holy fuck? What happened?”

“Holy fuck, a bird just crashed into my fucking car is what happened,” Newt’s eyes are blown wide, pulse thrumming and blood roaring in his ears.

Thomas suppresses a snort. “A bird crashed into your car?”

“You know what? Fuck you, Thomas. A bird just committed suicide on my fucking windshield, and you don’t believe me?”

“Well, how can I? It seems awfully convenient— wait.” His voice changes, suddenly taking a musing lilt.

“Wait? Wait for what? You to analyze the situation?” Newt sits up in his seat, peering above the blood splatter at the road.

“Analyze? No, I’m just giving you my initial reactions. What if the universe is trying to tell us something?” Thomas shifts forward, elbows on the table as he aggressively presses his phone up to his ear. “Like, maybe that bird is us, you know?”

With an almost inhuman squawk, Newt cranks the wheel to his right, making a final turn to the parking lot of the shooting range. “Thomas. I’m going to tell you this one. Fucking. Time. And I need you to listen very carefully.”

“Oh, no. You’re going to be mean, aren’t you,” he slouches and cradles his head in the crook of his sopping wet elbow.

“You are very, very— there aren’t even enough ‘very’s in the world to convey the amount of them, so just imagine an infinite number of ‘very’s preceding the word sick.” He angrily snaps his goggles over his eyes. “S. I. C. K. You’re sick, Thomas.”

“I fucking knew it. I knew you were going to be mean.”

“Seriously, what’s your problem—”

Thomas slaps the surface of the table, loudly enough that some of the surrounding patrons turn to give him an odd look. “My problem? I should be asking you that. You hurt me. For a month, you’ve been going behind my back and texting somebody else. You hurt me, Newt.” Then his voice softens.  “You really hurt me, this time.”

Newt’s anger quickly dissipates, a hand flying up to his mouth while he tries to silence a building sob.

“You know what, Newt? I don’t love you.” Thomas can’t control himself. Against his will, tears are welling up in his eyes, and he takes a shaky breath. It’s vengeance. “I don’t love you. I don’t think I ever did.”

“No, you don’t m-mean that,” Newt’s sob escapes, a guttural whine of pain. “You don’t, you’re mad, you’re not thinking straight, don’t—” he gasps. “—Don’t say that.”

“I do mean it. I don’t love you. Knowingly hurting someone you care about? You wanted me to find out about the texting. That’s not love.” A single tear makes its way down Thomas’ cheek, but he refuses to wipe it away. He’s not crying. Not for Newt. “That’s not love.”

“Why would I want you to find out?” The blond’s voice is utterly wrecked, hoarse with heartbreak.

“Because—” sighing, Thomas finally sits straight. “—maybe your feelings for them are real.”

“I..” Newt curls up in the driver’s seat, drawing his knees to his chest and letting the stream of tears soak his sweatpants.

“Newt?”

“T-Thomas..”

“I’m breaking up with you.”

An incessant beeping in his ear tells Thomas he’s got another incoming call. And, with his heart falling into a black abyss, he ends the conversation, Newt’s betrayal like a stab to the heart.

-

“Thomas? No, you can’t do that. We can talk it out, I’ll stop texting him, please Tommy, please, I lo—”

The sound of a dead line in his ears is all the response he gets.

They’re close, so close that Thomas could easily lean down and taste Newt again. The small area seems to fill with an indigo-blue light, and the porthole window offers a view to the endless stretch of space, galaxies behind Newt’s eyes reflected in the smattering of stars beyond. In this tiny confine, only the two of them exist.

“It’s strange,” Newt says, voice low. “This isn’t how I envisioned spending my train ride.”

Thomas peers at Newt behind long lashes, his head bent down at an awkward angle to get closer to the blond’s lips. “How did you envision spending your train ride?” Newt shrugs.

“Reading my book.”

“You know the ending already, though,” he steps impossibly closer, almost pinning Newt to the wall. He can feel the blond’s exhale on his skin, the hot damp making his hair rise. Space continues to revolve around them.

With a sharp inhale, Newt lifts his head slightly, looking Thomas dead in the eyes. “Sometimes, it’s not about knowing the ending.” They’re mere centimeters apart from each other. Thomas waits for permission, and the other man regards him carefully.

“If we’re going to do this, it has to be different.” Newt’s voice raises a few decibels as he glances down. “It can’t be the same as last time, or we’re going to end up right where we started.”

With a reassuring smile, Thomas pulls back slightly. “I know. I know,” he silently begs the blond to understand. “I’ll change. I’ll be better, I promise. Hey,”

Newt looks up at him, wonder and hope and millions of stars in his gaze.

“I’ll never let you go.” He breathes, leaning in to close the distance between their lips. Newt leans to the side, opting to rest his forehead on Thomas’ shoulder.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

He placed the ring in the top drawer of their dresser after Newt went to get ready, hoping the blond wouldn’t find it.

Behind Newt, one of their luggages has toppled to the floor, clothes spilling out. A loud sniff brings Thomas’ attention back to his boyfriend.

“When were you going to tell me?” Newt gasps, voice breaking. “You fucking hypocrite.” He’s visibly shaking from the intensity of his agitation, and Thomas feels ice freeze his veins. “You engraved ‘so, forever?’ onto the inside? Like it’s some sort of joke?”

He looks on helplessly, hands raised to take the ring back. Newt doesn’t let him, and hurls it at the wall, where it bounces off and rolls away.

“Newt,” Thomas tries. “Newt, please listen to me.” Slowly, he falls to his knees in front of the blond, hands clasped. Newt looks incredulous, torn between his outrage and his suffering. He, too, kneels down, floor quaking under the weight of his wrath.

With a cold determination, so unlike the sun and its flares in the sky, Newt responds, voice low and raspy from sobs. “No. You listen to me, for once.” Thomas looks up. Delicate fingers grip white-knuckled around his hands. “Believe me, Thomas, when I say this,” he says, slowly, deliberately.

“You almost had me.”

With a deceptively calm face, Newt rises and steps around Thomas where he’s crouched in the doorway. The sound of his heels clacking on the hardwood floor disappear as the suite’s door shuts.

And Thomas falls apart.

The sun is rising up behind them as they walk down the boulevard lined with trees. Newt turns to him, and they just stare at each other. They’re in the middle of the road, lacing hands.

“Can I at least get your number?”

Newt presses his lips together, just staring at Thomas.

“What?” Thomas asks, confused. “Did I say something wrong?”

“You said you thought you were going to fall in love me.”

“Yeah… I uh-”

“I think I’m going to fall in love with you too.”

Newt doesn’t think, just steps forward and closes the space between them, placing a solid kiss on Thomas’ lips.

The rooftop is open air and Thomas trails off away from Newt, who follows him, but keeps a distance. “You know we can’t be together… don’t you?”

“It’s supposed to be me and you.”

“What?”

“In this life, in every life, it’s supposed to be me and you.”

“Thomas… Thomas, I am so thankful for what you’ve given me. You made me realize so much about people. That… it doesn’t have to look good on paper to feel good. You always made me feel good.. You know, minus a few telling time periods in our relationship.”

Thomas forgets how selfish Newt was. How Newt cheated on him, how sometimes the things Newt said hurt, deep in the flesh of his bones, and he didn’t even realize that he was being hurtful. That sometimes Thomas’ bitter anguish was to protect himself from the verbal lashes. Thomas forgets all the downs as he stares at Newt.

“I could make you happy again… You’re not happy with him, I could tell.”

“Thomas… I am very happy.”

“No, you’re not-”

“Tommy, please…” Newt whispers.

“It was meant to be us… in this universe, in this life, in the next and any other universe. It’s you and me.”

“You can’t base our destiny off of your dreams.”

“Even if we pretend that we’re dreaming?”

Thomas steps closer, and Newt does too. He knows Newt isn’t afraid, that he’s intrigued. Newt has always been intrigued by Thomas.

“You’re not dreaming…”

“But what if I was? What if you never saved me… this is some afterlife fantasy.”

Newt squints at him, standing a few feet apart.

“What if I kissed you?”

“I’m engaged.”

“We could be happy together. I could give you everything.”

“But if it’s all just a dream…”

“It wouldn’t matter if I kissed you then… if we left together…”

Newt and Thomas stand there for a moment, staring at each other. There’s a universe between them, a static force of electricity.They're drawn to each other, yet they stand apart. Newt didn’t make a move to kiss him, and Thomas tilts his head. Newt never opposed. Maybe it was okay, maybe Newt would leave. This is not a dream, this is not a dream. The world spins between them.

“No, it wouldn’t matter at all… if you kissed me, or if I left.”

And then Thomas steps forward.