Chapter Text
If the classroom had been a little noisier, Newt thought it would probably made him shout in frustration. The whole blackboard was filled with numbers and small mischievous letters, and all Newt could do was to stare and stare and stare, trying to find something, anything that would make at least a little sense.
All he saw was a mash up of an utter nonsense. Unmerciful rubbish that Newt could only call as “mindfuck”, mocking him from afar, from under teacher’s chalk that had been writing and circling and underlining all those small numbers and letters in a chaotic maelstrom.
His notebook seemed similar. Nothing made sense there; it had no form or order. It didn’t matter where he stared to, the blackboard was laughing at him and his notes cried in despair.
“This bloody formula is ridiculous,” he grumbled towards Minho, clicking his pen impatiently. “I’ll be solving it in my grave still.”
Minho chuckled, his notes actually looking neater and more confident and Newt wondered if it was worth it to copy the result for now and try to understand later on his own. Minho was surprisingly always better at math – being the notorious jock and all. Not that Newt considered him stupid, no way. The Korean boy was actually pretty smart for how he usually presented himself (a macho guy, all big talk and boosted ego, but they loved him for it – hell, even Newt loved him for it, it just felt right), and could balance his sport activities and study at the same time. It was definitely worth his respect, because even though Newt’s grades were pretty good, math gave him a hard time with those things. He knew he could always ask Minho for help, he was laidback with explaining equations and all math-related problems, but lately it had been a little more difficult. Especially thanks to another chuckle, this time coming from a seat next to Minho, where a brown haired youngster sat with an amused smirk on his face, because such reaction – and the person in general – made Newt see red quite often.
He felt his blood boiling at the sight already – this guy was a nightmare. He would consider himself lucky if a stupid remark hadn’t had landed on his account in next five seconds, because that was Thomas’ forte, like a distinguishing mark, always ready to shoot some fucked up notion. He must have this patented somewhere, because he represented even biggest asshatsy than Gally, and that was enough said. The only difference was that Gally had been actually smart about it, and using it only when the right moment and enough idiocy represented itself. Thomas, on the other hand, acted like a 5 years old with a plastic gun and a deathwish.
“That’s beyond your skill level,” Thomas snorted, unsurprisingly, and all hopes for one peaceful day disappeared somewhere in a deep shithole. Day by day Newt wished Thomas would swallow his tongue and stop talking altogether, or maybe tripped and bite that annoying piece of muscle off, just because he used it in such irritating fashion. Newt gave him an annoyed look, but kept his mouth shut, even though he gripped his pen stronger and heard it crack a little.
Beyond his skill level. What did he think it was? A game? A skill level. It was just a stupid math problem, not a bloody RPG or whatever this moron thought. If he even thought. Most of the time his brain process reminded him of a ping pong of two sloths, waiting for a hit for years.
Sometimes Newt really couldn’t understand Minho’s friends. He acknowledged the tolerance of Teresa or Brenda, they were at least cute. But Thomas? He was like a hyperactive hamster without a proper brain. If Minho was a girl, Newt would say he got swayed by this guy’s big brown eyes and pretty smile he loved to flash around like a weapon of mass destruction. But Minho definitely hadn’t fancied those types, and yet here Thomas was, sitting with them every day, making smart (aka absolutely idiotic) remarks, and today he just killed it.
Newt gave up. He was not going to comment it anymore, just to get insulted in another different “nerdy” way about a bloody skill level. He already had several battles with him, insulting on each fronts, and it never gave him the proper satisfaction worth the effort. He doubted today was going to be different, if he really engaged him again, because they would only clash without keeping a score and left with a draw once more. And Newt usually considered himself very sharp with words – his dry humour could shut up any jerk in a closer vicinity.
Well, at least until Thomas, that is. This guy just bounced back, smiled wider, and shot another salve, as if his poor little brain couldn’t catch the proper meaning.
“No comeback?” Thomas sounded surprised and Newt bit his tongue, staring into his paper stubbornly. He was not. Going to. Comment. Or talk. To this. Huge. Colossal. Idiot. “Aren’t you sick? You feel alright?”
Not. Going to. Say. A bloody thing!
“Minho, I think he’s broken.”
“Nah,” Minho reacted with a shrug. “He’s just absolutely done with you.”
Touché.
“Aww,” Thomas cooed, and it was the worst sound out of everything Newt ever heard. It made him want to punch him. With a chair. Repeatedly. “Hey Newt. Hey. Don’t be mad.”
He even had the nerve to reach above Minho and actually ruffle Newt’s hair, and that was the last straw that made Newt snap.
“Will ya shut your bloody trap already!” he barked at him with a deadly glare, ready to use his pen if needed, even if he was going to be framed for stupid murder. The world would be a better place anyway, it would count as contribution to society, getting rid of this much stupid Thomas represented. They would make him a hero after, no doubt.
“Oh good, he’s talking again,” the brunet grinned, that bloody loon, and sat back on his place, looking annoyingly pleased with himself. “Was afraid you swallowed your tongue or somethin’.”
“Alright, that’s enough,” Newt bit out and stood up, taking his bag and a notebook. “My IQ drops drastically just listening to your bloody voice.”
“Aw, you say the sweetest things,” Thomas smiled happily, and Newt had to hold himself by his sheer will not to pounce him and punch the living shit out of him.
“Keep him away from me,” he hissed at Minho, his eyes screaming murder, and Minho just snorted.
“Whatever you say, lovebird.”
Newt didn’t have the strength to comment on it, so he just left the desk and found another free spot, far from those two dorks.
“Noo, come back, Newtie!” he heard Thomas whine, and then a mass of giggling followed, and that was the moment Newt decided he bloody hated this guy. He didn’t click with him well from the first moment he set his eyes on him, and each passing day this antipathy grew stronger and more jaded, until he felt like exploding if he had to spend another minute only with him.
Thank god for small miracles when Minho actually caught up on Newt’s murderous mood and decided to entertain Thomas with something different, to give the blond some space and breathing room.
And more importantly – blessed silence.
***
Jumping from raging mood into silent awe was pretty normal when Newt actually spent time around Gally. He must have admitted that this big, a little intimidating guy was able to reconnect his thoughts from murder to wonder in seconds, just by a moment of listening to him.
Gally was a good guy. He was popular, and he was also hated – with him, it usually meant you either loved him, or despised him to death. He had his way of dealing with problems, as much as he had his way of creating new ones, more complicated and usually a little unsolvable, just for his own amusement. Freshmen had always respected him from the first hello or a glare, and seniors either tried to get out of his way if they weren’t fans, or actually stuck close to engage interesting conversations.
Newt liked Gally. They clicked perfectly, especially when they teamed up on someone they both disliked. The poor person had a very rough life after, Newt admitted, but he usually had it coming. Newt wasn’t a hateful guy, surprisingly as it may seem after his burning animosity towards Thomas, and those team-ups were minimal, but they happened. And they were fun.
“I don’t even think you need my help in this, Blondie,” Gally remarked while fiddling with his fork, not really eating or planning to, judging from his utter disinterest in what he had on the plate. “Just a little more and you’ll kill him yourself.”
“I’m trying not to,” Newt offered as if it was enough of consolation. “But he makes it so damn difficult.”
“Oh that I can understand,” Gally nodded, his own displeasure in the big eyed Bambi very well known. They even clashed physically just few days after Thomas got to this school, and even though Thomas hadn’t been a weakling, Gally’s physical superiority made itself known, and he basically sent the brunet flying (Newt hadn’t really remembered the reason why, at least not as clearly. Thomas wasn’t really an antagonistic person at first, he hadn’t been trying to piss off someone who was bigger than him, but there had been an argument, and it got heated pretty fast, and the next thing Newt saw was this greenie flying from where he stood down the floor and sliding few more metres before the momentum disappeared, leaving him completely dumbfounded and gaping). Since then Thomas and Gally circled each other like two predators defending their own territory. They hadn’t tried to breach the other’s boundaries, but if there had been a chance, it had been a salve of displeasuring nicknames and curses, until one of them just waved it off, leaving it for another day. If they didn’t need to talk to each other, they happily seized that opportunity and just put on ignore mode.
“Minho likes him though,” Newt added, sipping his drink thoughtfully. He never understood why or how Thomas managed it, but he was actually quite popular in a short time. Like the all-people guy, getting along with everyone. Well, except Newt and Gally it seemed. What a duo they made. It was true that Thomas seemed to be different at first, even towards Newt. Smiley, friendly, not ironic like now. But that changed gradually and it only fuelled Newt displeasure in dealing with him.
“Minho likes everyone,” Gally snorted. “If they show enough testosterone, or boobs.”
“Brenda never really showed boobs though,” Newt pointed out, making Gally grin wickedly.
“Might be cuz Brenda doesn’t really have any.”
“Burn,” Newt snickered, even though it was a really mean thing to say. Brenda was an alright girl, usually easy-going and maybe also a little boyish with her short-cut hair and punk fashion sense.
“Going straight back home after school?” Gally asked, pushing his tray away and Newt nodded with a hum. He planned on studying in the library at first, but it seemed unappealing each passing second, so he left it out of his mind.
“Gonna tag along?” he asked and Gally tapped his fingers against the table.
“Yep,” he drummed along the edge. “Have a meet up with Ben in the city, so I’ll just bother you until then.”
“Makes me feel so special,” Newt smirked and followed Gally to the stand and out of the cafeteria.
***
Newt was never good with cold weather. He hot chilled easily and warmed up slowly, and the fact it had been snowing the whole day today and the temperature hadn’t really treated them nicely the so far, made him more miserable than he thought at first.
He was ahead of Gally’s schedule, so he had to wait, and just watching the whiteness everywhere, and more whiteness dropping from the equally coloured sky made him chilly already, even though he still stayed inside the building. He waved most of his friends off already, even Minho jogged away with a big smile on his face (probably a date), and the hallway got quiet again, making Newt only silently watch the falling snowflakes melt on the window.
“What keeps you here?”
Newt froze, immediately recognizing the tone, and the one who it belonged to, and cringed, chiding himself for not waiting somewhere more seclude.
“Definitely not your charming personality,” he responded without glancing back, and he didn’t even needed to, because Thomas was suddenly standing next to him, already dressed up to leave, and Newt wanted to shout at him to move already, to just get out.
“Of course,” the brunet said with a sigh, and Newt grew more wary. He was not falling for such act, he had his standards. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry for today.”
“Yeah, I think you should have stayed at home too,” the blond bit back, stealing a short look at his face, and it was worth it – he made him speechless.
One for me.
“Well… at least I wouldn’t need to deal with the snow?” the brunet pointed towards the window, and his attitude bothered him – it was weird and unnatural for him to try to engage in a normal conversation for once. Newt sensed a terrible conclusion coming, and he really, really wasn’t in the mood for it. Gally still had several more minutes of class, so Newt stepped up his game, adopting a meaner approach, because that was what always worked – on anyone.
“You know, the snow always reminds me of you," he said, smiling sweetly, and immediately saw the wariness in Thomas’ brown eyes, which was good.
"Because it’s pretty?" the brunet tried, all cocky, and Newt just offered even a sweeter smile than before, a cutting edge that meant to slice his head off if needed. He led the score for now, and he definitely meant to keep it for today.
“Because it’s cold and always in my damn way.”
Scored.