Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

What was it about the open road that was so appealing to Thomas? He was never quite sure, but it called to him. It whispered his name in the passing breeze, tugged eagerly at his hand, talked dirty in his ear at night while the cars crunched their wheels on the gravel. Whenever he was stuck, or unsure, or just plain bored, he took to the road. The second he had that itch, he was behind the wheel before he knew it.

Of course, he was almost never alone on these impulsive getaways. There was always at least one other person there with him, and that honor typically went to his former roommate Newt, accompanied by a playlist recently made and a camera dangling from the strap around his neck. The other usual suspects include Brenda getting high in the backseat, Teresa pretending that she doesn’t want to get high in the backseat, Minho shoving some sort of food into his mouth, Alby playing backseat driver to Thomas, or Harriet silently resting her chin against the open window. Any combination of these things was a given but three things were absolutely certain;

1. Thomas was the driver.

2. They did not have a destination.

3. Newt gets shotgun.

When these things became established patterns, Thomas wasn’t sure. He vaguely remembers Newt calling shotgun sometime freshman year on their first group outing, and it was never questioned since. The few times Newt isn’t on one of their trips, Thomas’ friends just leave shotgun empty and take their positions in the backseat, as if it would be sacrilegious to take his spot. They always seem to have more fun teasing Thomas from the back, anyway. He doesn’t mind.

Speaking of, Thomas suddenly feels a sharp kick through the seat.

“I want Wendy’s,” Brenda whines. “I’m fucking starving.”

Thomas eyes the receipt lying in his cup holder from, oh, ten minutes ago.

“Really?” Thomas asks, shooting Brenda a quick glance in the rearview mirror. “You’re starving?”

“Yes,” Brenda says at the same time Teresa says “No.”

“Oh, come on,” Brenda grunts, nudging Teresa with her shoulder. “Side with your girlfriend, please.”

“Brenda, as your girlfriend, I’m telling you that if you eat any more fast food you’re going to vomit,” Teresa calmly explains, a hint of softness in her voice. “You just have the munchies.”

“Do not,” Brenda retorts.

“Oh?” Newt pipes in, slowly reaching towards the steering wheel. He rests his hand on it without moving it, and Thomas doesn’t object. “So if I rock this wheel back and forth right now, you’re not gonna feel sick?”

“...no,” Brenda answers unconvincingly.

“You sure?” Newt continues. “Because I’m tempted. I’m really tempted.”

“Be my guest,” Thomas invites, taking his right hand off the wheel. “There’s no one around. We can totally do it.”

“Do NOT swerve the car,” Alby chimes in. “I may not be high but I’m not crashing into a tree just to make Brenda vomit.”

“Pfft, whatever,” Brenda mumbles. “Can’t prove nothin’.”

Thomas laughs and places his hand down on the steering wheel a second before Newt pulls his away. Their hands brush for just a second and somehow, amazingly, it sends a small zip through Thomas’ fingers. Four years and every accidental touch feels like a small lightning strike. You’d think he would have adjusted by now.

***

Brenda flips Thomas the finger as she shuts the back door and walks with Teresa to her apartment. Thomas feels a slight sense of relief followed by an immediate pang of guilt at the now empty backseat. As much as he loved his friends, having to handle them and drive at the same time was a bit exhausting sometimes.

Newt, somehow reading Thomas’ mind as always, chimes in from the right.

“Four years and they haven’t lost their energy yet,” he chuckles.

“Yeah,” Thomas manages, the words four years replaying in his mind. Somehow it feels like it went by in a flash and also the longest period of his life all rolled into one. How the hell was he supposed to graduate when he couldn’t even get his bearings on the concept of time?

“Hey, speak of the devil,” Newt continues, looking down at his phone. Thomas intrinsically looks down at the screen and sees a text from Gally. He ignores the sinking feeling it gives his stomach.

“Jesus, him?” Thomas groans before he can stop himself. “How long has it been?”

“Two years, I think?” Newt mumbles, reading the message with furrowed brows.

“You hooked up with him, what? One time?”

“Uh, twice? Maybe? Can’t say I remember.”

“So what the hell does he want?”

“What do you think, Tommy?” Newt laughs. It’s not meant in a mocking way, but it makes Thomas feel very small. “It’s the last time he’ll get a night with me before we graduate. Guess it’s a now or never sort of thing, right.”

Thomas gives a half-chuckle and looks away as he backs out of the parking lot.

“I guess so. But why didn’t you ever go on a date with him? Or anyone? You know, instead of just hooking up. It could have been nice.”

He cheats a glance over at Newt and sees his features fall, ever so slightly, before quickly being placed back in position.

Newt shrugs. “What’s the point? I would just be putting a time bomb on it anyway. No use getting attached to someone just to hurt them.”

Thomas holds back a sigh. “You’re really set on staying in England, huh?”

A ghost of a laugh escapes Newt’s mouth, more a breath than anything. “I came to California cause I got a scholarship. That’s it.” There’s a moment of silence before he adds “This isn’t my home. No use making anyone think that it is.”

A mix of emotions stir in Thomas at that statement. These are all things he already knew, but for a moment, he feels a profound, inexplicable sadness. It consumes him, darkening his vision and gripping his throat, but only for a moment. Quickly, he brings his attention back to the road.

He doesn’t know why he indulged Newt. He doesn’t like talking about Newt’s many, many experiences with guys in their four years at college. Newt talks about them so easily, so effortlessly, as if leaving these guys on read and ghosting them after one or two hookups was something that came naturally to him, something without consequence.

(Thomas definitely doesn’t like thinking about his own experiences with men at college. And he certainly couldn’t talk about them as casually as Newt does, if he ever could at all.)

“Besides,” Newt pipes up, his tone happier. “If I had a boyfriend I wouldn’t have all this free time to drive around with you, right?”

“Right,” Thomas answers, offering Newt half a smile. He hides the thought of Well, if I was your boyfriend, you wouldn’t have that problem.

So here’s Thomas’ problem. He knows.

Thomas knows it so deeply in his bones he does not remember a time where he did not know. Even his memories from before are tainted with thoughts of what that experience would have been like if he had known then. What he would have avoided doing if he had known who was coming into his life. He has hidden it every day and known every day and he has never known anything else.

He remembers the first day moving into his dorm, of opening the door and immediately seeing a skinny blonde boy hanging a rainbow flag on the wall next to his bed.

“Oh, hi,” the boy said once he finally turned around. “I’m your roommate, Sam? From the email?”

Thomas was immediately floored by his British accent but was too overwhelmed by, well, everything to process that.

“Hi Sam,” Thomas greeted, his eyes glued to the rainbow flag. “I’m Thomas.”

“Thomas. Nice name. How about you call me Newt, and I’ll call you Tommy, yeah?”

Thomas couldn’t help but laugh. “Newt?”

“Yeah. That’s my name. I only said Sam so you would know some weirdo hadn’t broken into your room. But I go by Newt.”

“Cool, man. You do you.”

Newt followed Thomas’ gaze to the rainbow flag on the wall. “Like that? My sister Sonya just got it for me as a moving-in gift.”

“It’s nice,” Thomas answered, not sure what else to say. He knew what it meant; he had spent enough time staring at the pink, purple, and blue flag and feeling the rightness of it seep into his bones that he knew the power of those colors. He just didn’t have one of his own to hang, nor would he likely ever.

“Don’t worry, Tommy, I’m not gonna flirt with you or anything,” Newt assured him. “Unless you want me to.” He ended it with a wink, and then another laugh. “I’m kidding.”

Thomas laughed but was overcome by an itching in his fingers, and suddenly felt the familiar, comforting heaviness of his keys in his left pocket.

“Hey…” He started, putting down his suitcase. “Do you wanna go for a drive?”

Surprisingly, Newt would go with him on that drive, even though they hadn’t finished unpacking yet and most of Thomas’ stuff was still in his car. In fact, Newt had barely questioned it at all, just started following Thomas as if it was the most natural thing he’d ever done. Soon the two were spending more time in the car then they did in their dorm, doing everything from late-night fast food runs to playing video games projected onto blank walls. Thomas barely remembers the time before Newt molded his body to the shotgun of his car.

Thomas knows. It’s all he knows, it’s all he’s ever known, and when they graduate in a few weeks and Newt moves back to England, he will not know anything at all.

Thomas can’t sleep that night. The open road is talking to him again, whispering him sweet nothings and teasing him mercilessly. He can feel the aura of his car in the parking lot, haunting him from a distance. His hands are magnetized to his car keys, and he’s using all the strength he has to pull them away. He shakes like a leaf in his bed, suppressing a scream with a pillow.

He wishes he knew a better solution to his problems than running. Ever since he was a kid, the second something was wrong, he took off running. It scared the shit out of his parents. Honestly, he’s surprised he never got kidnapped. But old habits are hard to break, and his instinct to drive away is only growing louder the longer he lays in bed.

He sits there in the silence, thinking about all the feelings that he’s hidden (and run away from, literally or figuratively) for the last four years. He remembers when Newt first hooked up with Gally back in junior year, which he found out when Newt came stumbling back into the room at 4 A.M. with noticeably disheveled hair.

“You’re not gonna like who it was,” Newt chuckled as he kicked off his shoes.

“Don’t tell it me was that Gally prick.”

Newt snorted. “Yeah.”

“Oh, gross, dude. That guy’s a total asshole.”

“You don’t want to KNOW about his ass, Tommy,” Newt slurred as he collapsed face-first onto his bed.

“You’re right,” Thomas agreed, shoving his headphones back in his ears. “I really don’t.”

The next day, he told Newt he wanted to live in a single the next year, and pretended not to see the knowing and hurt look in Newt’s eyes when he did.

(He also pretended not to see the look in Gally’s eyes a few months later, filled with a different kind of knowing that spread a sick burning of shame through Thomas’ blood.)

He thinks about when Brenda and Teresa first started dating, how their eyes were wide and electric, the way their hands slid into each other like silk, how the simple act of them being together caused goosebumps to rise on the back of Thomas’ neck. He’s happy for them, extremely happy, but he’s also poisoningly jealous.

“You don’t know yet?” The boy said, looking down for just a moment.

“N-no,” Thomas lied. “Not really.”

“ Huh. Alright then,” the boy exhaled, moving on.

Thomas thinks about everything. He thinks about finals, and parties, and drinking, and smoking, and girls, and England, and cars, and boys, and Sonya, and papers, and keys, and Minho, and June, and fast food, and laughing, and Teresa, and knowing, and wanting, and Newt, and driving, and running, and Newt, and Newt, and Newt.

A strange paradox builds in Thomas, two opposing ropes tearing at his lungs. Part of him feels what he can only describe as “pre-missing,” longing for things that hadn’t even left yet. He is still in his bed, in his dorm, in his college, and yet he feels like he is not there at all. He feels very far away, and he suddenly misses his friends and his classes terribly. He’s almost heartbroken over the thought of it.

The other part of him, the insane, stubborn, and immature part of him, wants to get as absolutely far away from this college as possible. Within a few weeks, he would be gone from this place forever. And the longer he lays in bed, feeling both here and not here, the harder it will be to leave.

So why not leave now? He finds himself thinking. The less time I spend on campus, the easier it will be when I actually go. Maybe I should just sleep in my car.

(But then he goes back to Newt, because that boy has a rope tied around Thomas’ brain that he lazily tugs on whenever Thomas hasn’t thought about him for more than 10 seconds.)

I can’t leave campus. I’ve only got a couple more weeks before he leaves. At least all my other friends will still be in California. I can’t fly to England. And I know he isn’t coming back here.

Thomas suddenly finds himself with his keys in his hand. He doesn’t remember getting out of bed, and he certainly doesn’t remember how he got outside Newt’s apartment complex.

“Guess it’s a now or never sort of thing, right?” Thomas hears Newt’s voice ring in his ears, vibrating against his skull like church bells.

Sorry, Gally, Thomas thinks, a sick sort of smile spreading on his face.

He locks his car and marches up to the shabby brown door of Newt’s apartment. He knocks on it so loudly that he startles himself by his aggressiveness. Newt will probably think he’s the campus police. Thomas is almost embarrassed but feels too much of a confidence and familiar stubbornness trembling in his fingers that he can’t be bothered with that right now.

A couple rounds of knocks later, Newt finally opens the door, his hair matted on one side and fluffed up on the other. Thomas is grateful that Newt answered instead of one of his roommates, who he’s convinced hate him.

He decides to speak before Newt can start asking questions.

“Road trip.”

Newt blinks. “What?”

“Road trip. Right now. Let’s go.”

“Wait wait wait, hold on a minute,” Newt starts, dragging his hand across his eyes. “Slow down. What time is it?”

“Um,” Thomas stutters, unsure. He clicks his phone and sees the bright white numbers 4:37 stare back at him. “Like 4:30 ish.”

“Four thir-...are you trying to fall asleep at the wheel?”

Thomas deflates slightly, realizing the romanticized version of this in his head where he and Newt drive off into the sunrise never to return was probably not going to happen.

“I’m-I’m awake,” Thomas insists. “I can drive.”

“Have you slept at all?” Newt crosses his arms and leans against the door in what Thomas suspects is mock irritation.

“Yes. Maybe. Well, no, but who cares! Let’s just...drive somewhere. Fuck it.”

Newt’s features soften as he sighs, lowering slightly. “Look, Tommy, you know that normally I would love to meet you and the gang for a fun trip to the town or something. But I’m bloody exhausted and I’m not about to have you pass out at the wheel.”

“Okay,” Thomas compromises, gears turning. “Then we’ll leave later. I’ll get some sleep and come back.”

“Well, I’ve got a final due on Tuesday. That mean anything to ya?”

“I’ve got finals due, too. That’s never stopped us before.”

There’s a moment of silence as Newt stares at Thomas, eyes lasering in on him with emotions that Thomas can never read. If he could have one wish, it would be to have the ability to know what Newt is feeling, and not just on a surface level, or the vague answers Newt gives. But he’s convinced no one could do that.

Newt gives another sigh. “Okay. How long will we be gone?”

Forever? That work for you? “Two days?”

Newt blinks back. “One day.”

Thomas doesn’t even flinch, long used to compromising with Newt when dealing with his impulsive ideas. “Done.”

“You tell the others yet, or am I the first door you’ve knocked on?”

The others. Oh. Newt thought this was a group trip.

Thomas briefly considers lying, claiming that all of the others couldn’t make it. Normally he couldn’t lie to Newt, but he’s got too much pride in him, too much sick and stubborn pride, to admit the true reason. So he tries a neutral approach.

“You remember how we took that drive together the first day of school? How we kind of just drove around, not knowing where anything was?”

Newt gives a soft, yet confused, smile in return. “Yeah. What about that?”

Thomas clenches his fists so he stops shaking. “Well, it’s kind of like that. First I was scared about school starting, and now I’m scared about it ending. So I wanna drive. You know how I get.”

It’s a nothing answer, and Thomas knows that. But all he cares about is that he said the right words to get Newt to give in, which he does like clockwork.

“Alright. Fine. Let’s go on a road trip. That’s all we do, anyway.”

Chapter Text

Thomas feels as giddy as a child going to Disney as he lovingly tosses his backpack into the backseat. His (unknown) destination was not nearly as exciting, but that wasn’t what mattered. He cared about the company quite a bit more.

“Coffee,” is all Newt says as he drags his hand down his face. Thomas looks over at his obviously tired eyes and feels a quick thud of guilt hit his chest.

He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want to be, Thomas tells himself. It works for now.

“Typical spot?” Thomas asks, even though he knows the answer.

“Sure, if we’re going that way,” Newt offers.

“We are now,” Thomas remarks before setting out of the parking lot.

It is now 9:30 AM. Thomas knows that Newt only got in the car because he thinks Thomas got enough sleep to drive. Thomas knows he can drive; he’s certainly awake enough to do that. But sleeping...that wasn’t something he was able to do so well.

Part of it was because he still felt that itch to leave immediately. And it’s oh, so hard for Thomas not to impulsively act on all of his urges. But, for Newt, he shoved his car keys into his desk drawer where he couldn’t see them and attempted to get some semblance of sleep. Normally he wasn’t a fan of waking up early in the morning but again, for Newt, he was willing.

Thomas pulls into the parking spot next to the closest gas station to campus. It’s one of those fancy ones that’s connected to a coffee shop.

“I’m gonna get myself a cup,” Newt says, one hand on the door handle. “You get us some snacks, yeah?”

“Easy,” Thomas dismisses as he exits the car. “My specialty.”

“Something with a hint of nutritional value would be nice.”

“It would be, wouldn’t it?” Thomas smirks as he closes the door.

Five minutes pass before Thomas plops his bundle of goodies onto the counter, relieved of the weight off his arms. The cashier looks down at his haul with a hint of a smirk on her face.

“Another trip, huh?” She remarks as she rings up the first bag of Hot Cheetos.

“Probably the last,” Thomas simultaneously says and realizes. This must be the last gas station snack stop he’ll ever make, at least under these circumstances. He’s immediately filled with a whirlwind of other potential lasts; last time taking a test, last time going to their favorite bar, last time seeing the $2 movie on Tuesdays. He starts longing for the things he hasn’t lost yet, then remembers that he’s in a social situation and needs to not have a breakdown in front of his favorite cashier.

“Can I also get a pack of Marlboro’s?” he asks. “Almost forgot.”

“Almost reminded you,” the cashier quips back. She grabs them from somewhere where Thomas knows she had them ready as soon as he came in. “He’s gonna need them with all those finals coming up, I bet.”

“Hell, maybe I’ll even steal one,” Thomas jokes. The cashier laughs with him, but both of them know it’s not true.

The cashier finishes bagging all of Thomas’ items and hands him the receipt. He’s sure he’ll stop by here once more for gas or a quick drink before graduation, but something about this trip feels so final, so definitive. He’s not sure if that’s reality or if he’s just dramatizing everything again. He still decides to make his goodbye seem a little more personal.

“Thanks a lot, Mary,” he settles on, knowing she isn’t wearing her nametag today or any day.

“Any time,” she responds with a kind smile.

Thomas walks outside to see Newt leaning against the wall, sipping his black coffee out of his favorite, sticker-covered thermos. He turns to Thomas and eyes the bulky plastic bag in his hand.

“I’m afraid of what you’ve picked out,” he jokes. “It might kill me.”

“The only thing that’s killing you are these,” Thomas replies, tossing him the Marlboro’s.

“Oh, thanks, mate,” Newt smiles as if surprised. Somehow he is every time. “I’ll square with you where we stop next.”

It’s so routine, so intrinsic, that it hurts. Is this the last pack of Marlboro’s he’ll toss Newt? And why should that even matter?

“Alright,” Thomas says, getting back into the car. “Let’s drive.”

Newt rolls down the passenger window as Thomas pulls out of the parking lot. The stale, warm breeze hits the side of his face, not exactly comfortable but comforting none the less. He hears the ripping of plastic and, not soon after, the click-click of Newt’s lighter.

(Thomas used to hate smokers. Abhorred them. Never understood how anyone could date a smoker. Now all he craves is to feel the smoke in his lungs, taste the ash on his tongue. He never thought he’d be jealous of a cigarette.)

“Suppose there’s no point in asking where we’re going,” Newt asks, hand tapping on the window’s glass.

“Well, you could help with that,” Thomas suggests, stopping at a red light. “Get the map.”

Thomas is aware that using a paper map in this day and age is a little ridiculous. But when Harriet excitedly pulled out a map that she found at the college gift shop and thrusted it lovingly into Thomas’ arms, he made a solid vow to use it as much as possible.

Newt lets the cigarette hang out of his mouth as he grabs the map from the glovebox and unfolds it. Thomas doesn’t have to look to know that it’s creased, folded, and taped together with tenacity. The center of the map, their college town, is noticeably marked with highlights, circles, and checkmarks, an almost indecipherable scrapbook of the journeys of the last four years. The outside of the town, however, is noticeably blank.

“Okay,” Newt murmurs from the corner of his mouth. “What am I looking for?”

Thomas starts the gas again as the light switches to green. “I don’t know. I’ve got some exits coming up, though. How about you pick one for me? We’ll start there.”

“Shit,” Newt mumbles again. He lets go of the map with one hand to finally take the cigarette out of his mouth. Thomas hears him blowing smoke towards the window. “Um. Alright. Let’s take the 405.”

“Okay.” Thomas switches lanes and gets into the 405 exit. “Classic choice. Very Californiain of you.”

“I’m not from California, Tommy.” He lets out another blow of his cigarette.

“Dude, you’ve been living here for the majority of the last four years,” Thomas says. “You can at least pretend you like it.” It comes out more bitterly than he intended, but he can’t help it. Newt being eager to leave California is something Thomas takes personally, as if he were solely responsible for making California exciting enough to stay in. As if he could do that.

Newt doesn’t answer. Instead, he snubs out what little is left of his cigarette on the ashtray he left in one of the cupholders and pulls out his phone, connecting it to the AUX cord.

“I didn’t have much time,” Newt says, “but I did what I could.”

An atmospheric bass starts before a male voice enters, harmonizing with himself. It reminds Thomas of the choirs he used to hear when his mom took him to church. Soon, that voice starts to sing above his own choir background.

“I look about seventy years older… It feels like minutes, but really, it’s hours… The cooling pavement’s calling my name, and the zooming street signs don’t look the same, no…”

The song continues on. It’s no one Thomas has heard before, and he’s not surprised. Newt had a much wider music knowledge than Thomas could ever imagine having. But Thomas loves every song Newt chooses, somehow. Impossibly.

They finally break out past the edge of town, not far from the college yet somehow farther than they’ve ever driven before. There’s not much but the road, now, with dead grass and sand on either side. There aren’t many other cars on the road, either.

Thomas steps on the gas a little, just enough to really feel the road beneath him. He can see Newt smile through the corner of his eye. Thomas’ left hand is hanging through the window, so he slaps the door a couple of times. He looks in the rearview mirror and sees the tall buildings fading into the distance.

“We’re fucking out of here,” he says, more to himself than Newt. Regardless, it gives Newt a chuckle before he turns up the volume of the song.

“We made it out, it seems… I made it out, it seems… I think I’m ready to…”

***

“Okay,” Thomas said, eyeing the joint with wide eyes. “I think I’m ready.”

“Are you sure?” Brenda asked, passing it to Thomas slowly from the backseat. “I mean, fuck. This might kill you.”

“Shut up,” Teresa groaned, lightly shoving Brenda. “You’re not helping.”

“It’s okay,” Thomas assured, watching as Brenda gave Teresa a sly grin back. “I’m fine. I got this.” He grabbed the joint in his hand and eyed it for a moment before slowly bringing it to his lips. He tried to ignore the hawk-eyed stare of Brenda and Teresa while he inhaled, trying to get it deep into his lungs. He held it as long as he could, trying to ignore the hot, scratchy feeling in his throat.

“Jesus christ, Tom, exhale,” Teresa exclaimed, waving her hand. Thomas coughed out a long breath of smoke, then quickly calmed his throat with a sip of his old iced coffee.

“I’ve never heard of someone needing a chaser for weed before,” Brenda giggled, popping a Hot Cheeto in her mouth.

“Oh my god, Brenda,” Teresa sighed again, although Thomas could tell she wasn’t really annoyed at all. Sort of like how Newt pretended to be mad at him. But he didn’t do it with as much softness in his eyes.

“What? It’s cute,” Brenda retorted, smiling at Thomas. “How you feeling?”

“Uh, fine,” Thomas shrugged. “I mean, how long does this take? Usually?”

“T hat depends on a lot of things,” Teresa started. “How intense the strain is, how packed the joint is, how much you breathed in, how many hits you take, how much you’ve eaten, your weight…”

“Okay bio major, we get it,” Brenda chuckled. “What she’s trying to say is that it’s different every time. Take another hit.”

Thomas took another deep inhale of the joint, more prepared now that he knew what it would feel like. He could weirdly feel it settle in his lungs, and exhaled without needing to cough.

“Beautiful!” Teresa clapped. “You’re practically a pro.”

Thomas chuckled. “Thanks.” He passed the joint back to Teresa. Brenda’s phone suddenly lit up, and her eyes flared wide in panic.

“Oh, fuck,” she snapped. “It’s my mom. Fuck. Shit.”

“Can’t you just ignore her?” Thomas asked, even though it seemed rude to suggest. Not everyone could just run away from their problems like him.

“No,” Brenda answered. “If she’s FaceTiming it must be important. Shit. I have to look...not high. I’ll be back.” She quickly exited the car and walked off towards the streetlights.

Teresa laughed as she exhaled and passed the joint back to Thomas. “More for you.”

A few minutes later, Thomas found himself reclined completely in the driver’s seat, with Teresa resting her head on his shoulder from the backseat. His eyes felt strained, as if someone was pulling at their muscles, and his brain felt fuzzy, like TV static. He watched his hand move in front of him, the movements slow. He giggled.

“It’s like, I wanted to minor in singing but I feel like that’s stupid, you know?” Teresa rambled. “Like, that wouldn’t mean anything for my career so why waste time on it?”

“ I’m in love with Newt,” Thomas found himself saying. He was almost not even sure if he said it out loud before Teresa chimed in with a “What the fuck?”

“Shit,” Thomas said. “Did I say that?” He giggled again, a very snort-y sort of laugh.

“Yes, you did, Tom.” Teresa sat up and Thomas laid on his side so he could see her. Any effects of being high seemed to have left her completely. She took a quick breath. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Thomas said with another laugh. “Oops.”

“Who else have you told?”

“Uh…” Thomas racked his brain for what felt like ten minutes trying to think. “No one.”

“Wow,” Teresa smiled. “I’m honored.”

“I don’t think I’d even told myself!” Thomas exclaimed, laughing again. His head drooped off the side of the seat. “Oopsie.”

“Well, shit. That’s a big realization.”

“Is it?” Thomas asked sincerely. Teresa’s eyes softened, and Thomas suddenly felt embarrassed.

“Yes,” she said in a way that almost made Thomas cry. “Yes, it is.”

“Oh,” Thomas mumbled, all traces of giddy laughter gone.

“Have you always known you liked guys?”

Thomas paused for a moment before answering, even though he knew the truth.

“Yes.”

Teresa smiled. “It makes sense. I think all queer people have a way of finding each other. Even before they’re out.”

Thomas gave a small laugh. “It’s like we have a mental link.”

“Yeah,” Teresa said.

They sat there for a few more moments, Thomas watching some bugs flying outside the window.

“Why do you love him?” Teresa suddenly asked.

Thomas looked over with creased brows. “Huh?”

“I asked you why you loved him.”

“Why not?” he answered on instinct. Teresa waited for him to continue. “I mean, why wouldn’t I? It’s hard not to.”

“I know. I love him too. But I’m not in love with him.”

“Well you’re a lesbian,” Thomas retorted. “That doesn’t count.”

Teresa laughed and rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine. But you know what I mean.”

Thomas sighed as Teresa slowly played with his hair.

“It doesn’t matter why,” he concluded, scratching at the car floor. “Because nothing is ever going to happen.”

“How do you know?” Teresa asked. “I’ve seen him look at you like you’re the only thing in the room.”

Thomas’ heart skipped a beat. “You have?”

“Mhm,” Teresa replied. “Sure have.”

“I don’t believe you,” Thomas grumbled, looking away.

“It’s true!” Teresa assured, squeezing Thomas’ ear. “It could totally happen.”

“No way,” Thomas said. “Even if he did...which he doesn’t. He’s not staying here after we graduate. He wouldn’t…”

Teresa sighed. “You can’t decide that for him, Tom. If he decides he wants to be with you, he’ll let you know. In some way or another.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, he’ll...buy you something you like. Tell you that you look nice. Offer to clean your car. I don’t know. But you can’t say that he never will. That’s his decision.”

“His decision…” Thomas repeated to himself.

“His decision. And if he really does love you, I know he’ll have to make it eventually.”

***

“I know the point of these trips is that we don’t know where we’re going,” Thomas starts, “but if you don’t tell me where to turn soon I’m genuinely going to have a breakdown.”

“Relax, relax,” Newt chuckles, looking back down at the map. “We’re almost there.”

It’s been almost an hour and a half since Thomas and Newt left their campus. When playing the license plate game became increasingly hard the less cars they saw on the road, Newt decided to actually try and find someplace to stop.

“And I don’t mean like, a gas station,” Thomas had said. “Or the world’s biggest thermometer. Something interesting, please.”

The fear that Newt actually was taking him to the world’s biggest thermometer had not entirely left his mind.

“Well I’m getting pretty hungry,” Thomas mentions. “Those Hot Cheetos are calling my name.”

“You wanna eat Hot Cheetos at 11 in the morning?” Newt asks, a hint of amusement in his tone.

“Why not?”

Newt looks over at Thomas and rolls his eyes. “Well, with a great point like that, how could I say no…”

“It’s settled. Pass me the bag.”

“No, not yet,” Newt insists, pointing to a large sign down the road. “We’re here.”

Thomas follows Newt’s hand and sees the sign; it reads Redflare National Park. He smiles.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to come here,” Thomas says.

“You’ve never been?” Newt asks, genuine surprise in his voice.

Thomas shakes his head. “Nope. It’s too far from my house for my family to travel to, and it seemed too far from campus to ever suggest it to anyone. I sort of gave up on it.”

Newt gives him a light slap on the shoulder. “Well, that’s not the Tommy I know. You’re not one to give up easy.”

You’d be surprised, Thomas finds himself thinking.

“I’m here now,” Thomas decides on. “That’s what matters.”

They pull into the parking lot and make their way through the entrance. Thomas takes a moment to look up and absorb the beauty of the tall, green trees looming above them. He takes in a deep breath, feeling the pureness of the air in his lungs, free of any city smog or car exhaust. Almost cleansing.

Thomas hears a clicking sound and turns to see that Newt has already whipped out his camera, snapping photos of fellow park-goers as they walk by.

“Well, you can take the kid out of the darkroom…” Thomas starts, chuckling to himself.

“I can’t help it,” Newt counters. “It’s gorgeous here.”

“Why don’t we go up the hiking trail?” Thomas suggests, pointing to a nearby sign. “Bet the view up there is killer.”

Newt smiles as he looks at Thomas over his shoulder. “Sure, babe. Come on.”

(Although this is far from the first time Newt has done this, Thomas is still startled. He’s surprised to admit he doesn’t actually remember when it started; it was probably early on in their friendship, before Thomas realized that his jitteriness and curiosity around Newt wasn’t just freshman nerves. But it was something Newt said every now and then, seemingly at random to Thomas. He didn’t think Newt realized the weight that word carried, how he could practically feel the mass of it as it left Newt’s mouth. How the most casual of nicknames could send Thomas stumbling to the ground. How could he know?)

Thomas tries to rattle his heart back to a normal rhythm as they head up the trail, Newt pausing what feels like every ten seconds to take a new photo. This bothered Thomas more when they first became friends, but with enough exposure (pun intended) he came to find it endearing. The almost child-like excitement that Newt had when he was out photographing was contagious; Thomas only wished he used a digital camera so they could see the photos right away.

Thomas squints at a tree up ahead, noticeably different from the rest. The leaves came down around all sides of the trunk, making it look more like a large bush than a tree. He feels himself being pulled forward towards the tree, almost by an invisible force. He moves the hanging leaves to the side and walks forward.

Now he is in what he could only describe as a tree dome. The leaves come up from the center and down around all sides of him, the tree trunk standing sturdy in the middle. He wonders what caused all the branches to be weighed down, and why it didn’t happen to any of the other trees.

He continues walking towards the tree and sees the bark has been carved in almost every space available. Some carvings are shoddy drawings, some have curse words, but most are initials. Some have hearts around them, some have been crossed out and replaced with other letters. He’s surprised park rangers allowed people to do this.

He runs his hand gently over the wood, feeling his fingers rise and fall within the crevices of the markings. Where are these people now? Are they still together? Are they happy? Are they even alive?

He pauses over the letters T +, his hand covering the last letter. It would be ridiculous for that letter to be N. Almost impossible. It would be a waste to even look.

He lifts his hand. T + N. Carved over and over, sharp blade into innocent nature. A taunt, whispered to him in the wind through the leaves. You will never have this.

“Geez, mate,” Newt calls from somewhere behind Thomas. “Thought I lost you.”

Thomas jumps slightly, moving his hand away from the tree, feeling guilty for something he never did.

“Sorry. This tree is just so...weird. And cool.”

“It’s like a secret lair, or something.” Newt walks forward, holding his camera at his chest with one hand. “Feels like it doesn’t belong here.”

“I know,” Thomas agrees.

Newt walks up the tree, Thomas becoming increasingly more anxious each step he takes. Why does he feel so guilty?

“This tree’s taken a beating, eh?” Newt chuckles, eyeing the tree up and down. “Seems kind of mean.”

“Yeah,” Thomas breathes, keeping his hands balled up, nails digging into skin.

Thomas watches as Newt’s eyes glaze over the carvings, feeling the heat of the T + N like radiation. He thinks that if Newt sees it that he’ll somehow read Thomas’ mind, know what it means, see his guts all spilled out and carved and left to rot.

He knows the exact moment Newt sees it. He watches his eyes stop, pupils flickering. His finger, fluttering over the camera shutter. A pause, a moment, an eternity of just silence. And then, a laugh.

“Bloody hell,” is all Newt says, revealing nothing to Thomas, who suddenly feels the need to move.

“Let’s keep going,” Thomas pushes, already walking towards the opposite way he entered. He doesn’t check to see if Newt is following, but can hear a few more clicks of the shutter as he walks through the leaves.

***

At some point, Thomas isn’t sure how much longer, they reach the top of a hill. There’s a stone bench where an elderly couple sits in silence. A plaque next to it details some of the history of the land.

Thomas watches the couple, the woman resting her head on the man’s shoulder. The finite amount of time that Thomas has been allotted with Newt suddenly hits him, deep in his chest, in places he can’t reach. He never realized the limit of it all when they first met, and wishes he had sooner. He can feel himself falling through the middle of the hourglass, just a grain of sand.

Newt comes up next to him, lifting his camera and snapping a few photos of the couple. Thomas wonders what they’ll look like when they’re developed.

Newt lowers his camera as his gaze fixes on something in the distance. He chuckles and turns to Thomas.

“Take a look at that,” he says, tilting his head towards where he was looking.

Thomas takes a few steps upwards onto the ledge and looks ahead. He sees a massive rock wall that hosts a relatively small waterfall. The water cascades down the rocks into what looks like a small pond below. He can see some dots of people swimming in the water and hears the distant screaming of excited children.

“Wow,” Thomas manages as he watches the water. Him and Newt look towards each other at the same time. “Race you there?”

Thomas barely catches a smile from Newt before turning and racing down the hill towards the direction of the waterfall. He holds his backpack straps close to his chest so it doesn’t bounce on his back and narrowly avoids tripping on some rocks. Once he reaches the bottom of the hill, he runs down the sandy path, not entirely sure of where he’s going but continuing confidently none-the-less. He hears the running footsteps of Newt not too far behind him.

Eventually the path clears and Thomas sees the waterfall, even more beautiful up close. The pond underneath the waterfall is surrounded by pointy, wet rocks, and then grass. There’s a sign warning people not to walk on the rocks and instead points to the right, where there is a long stone pathway leading up a grassy hill. More rocks decorate the hill leading down to the pond.

He hears Newt arrive next to him and turns to the right, where Newt has his camera clutched to his chest. His breaths are a little heavy, and Thomas suddenly feels guilty for making him run.

He could have walked if he wanted to, he tells himself. It works for now.

“What do you say?” Thomas asks, giving Newt a light slap on the arm. “Care for a swim?”

“You had to ask?” Newt rolls his eyes with a smile before walking towards the stone steps.

Thomas follows Newt up the path, gliding his hand over the mossy rock wall to the right. He looks towards the waterfall and catches a glimpse of a rainbow. It passes over Newt’s head like a brief halo. Thomas wonders, for a moment, how Newt can be angelic without doing anything at all.

They reach the top of the stone steps. There’s a brief, flat stone clearing before another, man-made set of stone steps guides them down to the left and into the pond. There are some loose flip-flops and bags sitting on some of the dryer rocks.

Thomas finds a spot for his backpack and plops it down. He looks back up and Newt has already placed his bag and camera down and is in the process of taking off his shirt. Thomas whips his eyes away, probably too quickly, and keeps his eyes towards the rocks below as he takes off his own shirt.

It’s very far from the first time he’s seen Newt shirtless. Three years of living together meant seeing Newt get changed or come out of the shower almost every day, and the same went in reverse.

(Up until he met Newt, Thomas would not have considered his taste in men to be one that Newt fell in. Newt was…not a twink, because Thomas was too far disconnected from the LGBTQ+ community to be able to use that word comfortably. But Thomas didn’t know boys he liked could be...smooth. Or soft. Or anything other than buff, manly, towering boys. That was what he was normally magnetized towards. If he had to be attracted to men, he might as well pick the ones women would like, too. That would make him normal. Right?)

Thomas is snapped out of his cloud of thoughts by the sound of Newt’s body splashing into the water. A few drops get on Thomas’ feet as he finishes kicking his socks off. Newt emerges from the water, slicking his hair back and smiling, looking back up towards Thomas. He squints against the sun as he wades his arms in the water.

“Come on, mate,” Newt says. “It’s amazing in here.”

Thomas nods, then hesitates as he looks down at his cargo shorts. Was he supposed to take off his pants and go in in his boxers? Or should he just leave the shorts on? He’s suddenly frozen in this weird panic over pants.

He looks down towards Newt’s pile of clothes and sees his pants lying lovingly in a clump. Shit. He looks around at the rest of the swimmers in the pond. Most are in bathing suits, but a few look to just be wearing their underwear. He swallows and looks down again at his pants.

“You alright, Tommy?” Newt asks.

“Uh, yeah,” Thomas answers, pretending to be moving something with his foot. “Be there in a sec.”

Newt looks away towards the waterfall and Thomas takes this opportunity to remove his shorts. He does it quickly, embarrassed even though Newt has seen him do this thousands of times, and takes a running leap into the water. The water is warmer than he expected, and not that deep; his feet find the bottom quite quickly. He can feel the sand and seaweed settle between his toes before he pushes himself back towards the surface.

Thomas breaks through the water and takes a deep breath, turning towards Newt.

“It’s great, right?” Newt says, briefly glancing into the water. “The sun’s warmed it up for us.”

“Yeah,” Thomas replies, watching the sun reflect the rippling waves of the water. He looks towards the waterfall and sees a little girl laughing as her father lifts her up underneath it. Clearly, it was gentle enough not to hurt anyone. He looks back towards Newt. “Follow me.”

He starts swimming without looking to see if Newt is following, relishing in the feeling of the water against his skin. Even though it was relatively warm, it was still refreshing after hiking in the hot sun.

He reaches the base of the waterfall and watches as the dad and little girl swim away, her happily laughing as she rides on his back. The impact of the waterfall hitting the pond creates little splashes that poke Thomas’ arms. He hears Newt arrive next to him.

(What did it mean that Thomas never had to check if Newt was following? That he always had the assurance that, when he ran off, Newt would be right behind, or right next to him? It’s something Thomas hasn’t thought much about, but the sudden realization is both comforting and absolutely terrifying.)

Newt swims a bit forward until he’s under the waterfall, at which he immediately flinches and begins laughing.

“Christ,” he yells over the sound of the water. “Why is this cold?”

“What?” Thomas chuckles as he swims over. The water hits him smack! on the shoulders, the cold impact a sharp contrast from the warm water on his legs. He laughs as he wipes off his face. “Jesus, it’s freezing.”

“I just said that,” Newt retorts, splashing some of the water towards Thomas. The cold water splashes across his chest. Thomas laughs and splashes some back before quickly diving back into the water and swimming away before Newt can retaliate.

When he emerges, he sees the edge of the pond behind the waterfall, a brief section of what looks like less pointy rocks. He turns and leans his back against them while lazily kicking his feet. He sees Newt look around in confusion for a moment before spotting Thomas and making his way over.

Newt takes his place next to Thomas and leans against the rocks, crossing his arms over his chest. They sit there in silence for a minute, Thomas craning his neck towards the top of the waterfall, the sun peaking out over the flat top of the rock wall. A few birds fly overhead, and the laughing children seem to have left the pond. All he can hear is the sound of the water. It’s almost startilngly peaceful. Even in the quietest sections of the library, Thomas never found solace like this on campus.

(Except for in a person. But that was different, it had to be.)

Newt chimes in from the right, vocalizing again what Thomas was thinking.

“Hard to believe there’s something like this in California,” he says. Thomas turns towards him and sees that Newt is already looking at him.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“Well,” Newt continues, “it’s just that whenever I think of this state I think of dirt, or sand. Or dead grass. That’s all we see once we leave the campus. It’s either that, or we’re in the city. There’s really not much nature out here.”

“There’s nature,” Thomas retorts. “You just have to look for it.”

“And we found it,” Newt smiles, nudging Thomas’ shoulder with his. “It’s beautiful. Worth the trip, I’d say.”

Thomas feels a light glow in his chest, a relieved weight off of his back, and then an immediate tension. What if the rest of the trip was boring compared to this? How could he follow up?

“Did you just say something nice about California?” Thomas decides to tease, giving Newt a smirk.

Newt shrugs in the same motion that he rests his arm on the rocks behind them, his hand resting lightly on Thomas’ shoulder. Thomas tries not to tense up his shoulders out of panic, or give in to the touch out of loneliness.

“Yeah, I suppose,” Newt replies, looking around at the water. “Maybe it’s not so bad.”

Maybe it’s not so bad was the highest form of praise Newt had given Thomas’ home state in the last four years. He took it as a momentous victory.

They sit there in silence for another minute or two, Thomas intensely hyper-aware of every part of their bodies that were touching. He feels the side of his arm against Newt’s side and keeps it perfectly still. He is aware that his hand was a mere inches away from Newt’s crotch. He was aware that, in a different universe (aka the one in his head) he could move that hand a few inches to the right and make Newt really glad he came to California. But he doesn’t move it at all, gripping the side of his thigh with an almost bruise-inducing intensity.

Meanwhile, Newt’s hand on Thomas’ shoulder almost burned him with warmth, but he gladly let it. Everything about Newt seemed to be warmth, heat, fire. Even though he was one of the most snarky and pessimistic people Thomas had ever met, he still managed to radiate this warmth and kindness that most days, Thomas didn’t feel like he deserved. (Hell, felt like anyone deserved. Especially not the guys Newt chose to share some with.) His body was physically always warm in some way or the other, which explained why every touch between them felt like a small lightning bolt. Maybe Newt’s body was just coursing with electricity, secretly lighting his cigarettes without needing a match. Thomas wouldn’t be surprised.

“You know, my first kiss was in a pool,” Newt suddenly says.

Thomas turns towards him and hey, were our faces this close before?

“What?” Thomas chuckles, using all his strength to keep his gaze focused on Newt’s eyes.

“Yeah,” Newt answers. “I was twelve, and it was at my friend’s birthday party. We were doing night swimming, and we started playing truth or dare. This girl Katie apparently had this huge crush on me, and so the whole game had been orchestrated to get us to snog.”

“Sounds like middle school,” Thomas replies.

“Sounds like college,” Newt retorts. “You remember the lengths we went to to get Brenda and Teresa together?”

“Oh yeah. We always made sure they sat together at the movies. And we kept trying to make a game of spin the bottle happen.”

“Minho was a bit too excited about that. I think he wanted to kiss Brenda himself.”

“Oh, definitely,” Thomas replies.

“So anyway, I’m 12, this girl Katie has planned this whole event to have us snog, and also, I’m gay. But I’m trying to ignore that I’m gay because that’s the ultimate 12 year old taboo. So when Katie gets dared to kiss me I think, ‘Okay, maybe this is your ticket, maybe this will make you fancy girls.’”

“And it clearly didn’t.”

“Oh, the opposite,” Newt smiles. “It was horrible. And not just because we were 12 and in a pool surrounded by people watching us. It was just...gross. I hated every second of it. I even tried to imagine it was the boy I had a crush on to make me feel better.”

“Did it help?”

“No. Because I knew it would have been way better with him.”

Thomas is silent at that. He allows himself to cheat and look at Newt’s lips, wet and shining in the sun.

Thomas looks at Newt look at him. He looks at Newt look at his lips, too, and Thomas thinks that’s weird, and he looks at Newt look at his shoulders, and he thinks that’s weirder. He feels the warmth of Newt’s hand on his shoulder, of the side on his arm, of his whole being, and christ, Thomas is on fire. He’s swimming in lava. How have his legs not fallen off? How has Newt not burned him inside out already?

He thinks of a closeted Newt, scared and kissing a girl in a pool, and he thinks about how he’s closeted, and he’s scared in a pool with a boy, only he isn’t kissing him.

God, I just want to kiss you. Thomas thinks. Is that too much to ask? Would it really kill you? Would it really ruin everything? Would it save us?

“You never told me when your first kiss was,” Newt mentions, snapping Thomas’ attention back to his eyes.

“Huh?” Thomas asks, distracted in his own touch-starved daydream to actually hear Newt.

“I said you never told me about your first kiss,” Newt answers. “I just told you mine. It’s only fair.”

“Oh,” Thomas murmurs, looking down at his feet in the water. He’s somewhere in between burning and drowning. “It wasn’t that exciting. Just with this girl Riley underneath the gym bleachers.”

“Well look at you, sneaking around,” Newt teases, shaking Thomas’ shoulder slightly. Thomas’ body is so tense that he imagines it was like shaking a log. “How old were you?”

“Like, 13,” Thomas replies, his eyes going slightly blurry as he tries to remember the details. He hasn’t thought about this in a while. “She was technically my first girlfriend but we didn’t really do anything after that. Just went to the movies with friends and held hands. But I was always really nervous so my hands would clam up.” He laughs as he remembers the feeling of his sweaty palms against Riley’s.

“That’s adorable,” Newt says. “I would say you’re a real killer with the girls now, but you never tell me about who you’re seeing.”

Thomas freezes, somehow more so than he already was. He hasn’t seen anyone in all four years he’s been at school. He didn’t really see a point in doing so when he was in love with someone else. There had been girls who had hit on him at parties, and every now and then he would get an inkling of a crush. But then Newt would do something small like get him a new car air freshener or save him a seat at the dining hall and Thomas would forget about whoever had just stolen some space in his mind.

Then Thomas starts to think about some of the boys he’s allowed to take some space in his mind, and why he let them, and suddenly he finds himself diving back under the water and pushing himself against the rock wall, propelling himself forward. It’s his running instinct, only he’s not on land or in his car. Swimming will have to do.

He pops back up for air and hears Newt laughing from somewhere behind him.

“Fine, don’t tell me!” Newt calls out. “It’s not like I’m leaving the country in a few weeks or anything!”

That sentence hits Thomas in the chest, like the cold water that Newt splashed onto him just a few minutes ago. He doesn’t think Newt meant any malice with the comment, but it still hurts. It reminds him of why he even dragged Newt on the road in the first place. He tells himself not to run away from Newt instead of with him, and instead slowly swims back to where he was.

Newt slowly swims towards him, noticeably avoiding going under the waterfall.

“I’m starving,” Newt complains before Thomas can say anything. “I think I might be ready for those Cheetos.”

***

A few minutes later, Newt and Thomas are changed out of their trunks, Thomas keeping his eyes on literally anything but Newt as they had walked to the bathrooms. Thomas was hoping his spare pair of underwear wouldn’t have been used this early in the day, but it’s better than going commando.

(Of course, Thomas isn’t thinking of Newt going commando. That would be inappropriate.)

They find some benches and sit down. Newt takes his camera out of his backpack and starts taking some photos of tourists walking behind them.

“How’s your project coming?” Thomas asks before popping a Cheeto in his mouth.

Newt shrugs from behind the camera, the shutter click-clicking away. “S’alright. I’m definitely at the point where I should be printing my photos instead of taking new ones, but whatever. I’ll get it done.”

Thomas nods, drumming his left hand on the table. Thomas’ own senior project, a study of controversial psychological studies such as the Stanford prison experiment, was relatively close to being finished. The conclusion was holding him back, and he practically pulled his hair every night trying to get it perfect.

Maybe that was the real reason he had wanted to get away from campus so badly. To get a break from his senior thesis.

(It’s not. He knows it’s not. But it hurts much, much less than the real reason.)

“It’s kind of strange to me,” Thomas murmurs.

“What is?” Newt asks.

“How we’re almost done with our senior projects. Or that we were even doing them to begin with. I barely feel like a senior at all. I haven’t really done anything, and now I’m about to leave.”

“What are you talking about?” Newt asks, putting the camera down and looking at Thomas. “We’ve done loads of things.”

“Well yeah,” Thomas replies, “but still. I feel like there’s all this shit I never got to do.”

“Like what?”

“Like...like using the gym’s pool. Or eating at that sketchy pizza place next to the movie theater. Or finally beating Minho at beer pong. Or seeing that weird shrine someone made in the forest. I bet we won’t do any of that before we leave.”

Newt looks down at his camera, fiddling with the strap. He’s silent for just a moment before answering. “Maybe.”

A pause. “Do you ever get that way?” Thomas asks.

“What way?”

“Like, thinking about all the stupid shit you’ve never done. All the what-ifs. Like, ‘What if I had taken that class? What if I added a minor? What if I never went to the dining hall that day, and I never met so and so?’ You ever think about that?”

Newt continues fiddling with his camera strap. “I try not to. Too much of that kind of thinking can make you mental.”

“But you have to, sometimes,” Thomas insists. “Right?”

Newt looks up, and Thomas could have sworn he had never seen Newt so conflicted before. He looks at Thomas for a few moments before answering.

“Yeah,” Newt finally settles on. “Sometimes.”

***

Thomas rested his chin on the cool metal table, his legs lazily dangling from the barstool. The quiet sound of the rushing water behind him was almost hypnotizing, his eyes drooping downwards as he watched the black and white photographs swirl around in the sink.

Newt was a monitor for the art building’s darkroom, which meant that he had keycard access to enter the room whenever he wanted. Thomas and him would often come down here to work; Newt developing photographs in the darkroom while Thomas worked on his laptop in the viewing area, Newt coming out every now and then to ask Thomas which of the two test prints he preferred. Thomas could never see a difference, but he did his best to contribute.

Right now Newt was in the film development room, working on his latest set of photographs. They had just driven to the nearest train station to photograph, and Newt had demanded they go straight to the darkroom to see what the photos looked like. It was pretty late, around 1:00 AM, but Thomas didn’t mind. He liked the calmness of the darkroom, even if he didn’t understand what anything in there did or was.

He looked into the film development room and watched Newt shake some sort of red container in his hand. Newt then waited 30 seconds (precisely, as he watched the clock count down) and then flipped the container over and shook it the other way. Thomas had no idea why, but he found the entire process fascinating.

(“I like working with film,” Newt had told him one day. “There’s a lot of steps to it, a lot of care to make sure everything goes right. You have to treat it gently or else you could mess it up. But it’s amazing when you get it all right, and you get that perfect shot. It’s a labor of love.” Thomas never thought he would be jealous of film.)

Thomas laid his head on his side against his arm, looking back at the photographs swirling in the water. His eyes grew tired watching them lazily float around...

“Shit!” Newt shouted, startling Thomas upright. He felt a slight soreness in his cheek and realized he had fallen asleep. He shook his head to clear the fogginess and looked around for Newt. He found him standing with his roll of film rolled out in front of him, pinching it from the top. “Bloody hell, how did this…”

“What happened?” Thomas asked. Newt snapped his direction towards Thomas, almost as if he had forgotten he was there. Thomas pretended that didn’t hurt.

“I don’t know, Tommy,” Newt grunted, wiggling the film in his hand. “But there’s nothing here. It’s all black.”

“All black?” Thomas asked, scrunching his eyebrows. “What does that mean?”

“What do you think it means?” Newt snarked. “It’s all black. There’s nothing.”

Thomas shrinked back into himself slightly. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know that could happen.”

Newt’s shoulders fell as he sighed, looking at Thomas as though he were in pain. He walked over and laid the film across the table, water trailing as it moved.

“You see all those black spots?” Newt asked, pointing towards the film. Thomas looked down and realized what Newt had meant; the whole roll was covered in giant black blobs, as if someone had spilled a jar of ink onto it. He could barely distinguish any photographs, just the outline of a person or a speck of white.

“Yeah,” Thomas replied. “It’s on everything.”

Newt nodded. “That means there must have been...maybe a light leak somewhere. Must have put in the film wrong, or...maybe I didn’t screw my camera tight enough. Or...I don’t know.”

Newt looked down at the film for a few more seconds before his face soured into a scowl. He stomped over to the large yellow trashcan and shoved the film inside, wrinkling it on top of scrapped paper and failed photographs.

“So...that’s it?” Thomas asked, watching the film curl sadly around the trash. “They’re just gone?”

“Yeah, Tommy,” Newt grunted again, gripping his hand to the side of the metal table so tightly his knuckles turned white. “They’re gone. It’s all lost, and I’m never getting them back. I can’t take those photos again because I’ll never see those people ever again. And there’s no backup because it’s film, and you only get one shot at film.”

“That sucks,” Thomas said, realizing immediately afterwards that it probably wasn’t the best choice of words.

Newt gave a sharp, humorless laugh. “It does suck. It really does. Especially because I brought you out to the train station at bloody midnight just to take some photos of some stupid strangers that probably all sucked anyway. And then I couldn’t even be bothered to do it right, apparently, even though I’ve done this a million times before. And now it’s all lost, and I’ve wasted your bloody time, and I’ll have nothing to hand in for my project.”

Thomas watched as Newt ranted, all gesticulating hands and tight neck muscles and furrowed brows. Thomas didn’t think he had ever seen Newt this upset before, and realized in that moment how much photography really meant to him. He suddenly felt a deep sense of urgency in his gut.

“We can still fix this,” Thomas insisted, standing up. “There has to be something.”

Newt looked over at Thomas, his eyes filled with defeat. “No, Tommy, there’s not. I can’t buy any more film until next week, and my project’s due before then. My professor knows all my old work so I can’t show her anything I’ve already taken. I’ll just have to take the fail.”

Thomas sighed and looked back at the crumpled film, the black and purple roll crushed and twisted in the garbage. He walked towards it and picked it up gently, looking through the inverted images. A half of a person here, someone’s body with a black blob over the face there. A hint of the train tracks, the outside of a suitcase. All pieces of the photograph without the complete picture.

“What was your idea for this, anyway?” Thomas asked, searching the darkness for some sort of image. “You never really said.”

Newt shrugged and looked away from Thomas. “Not sure. Could be for my senior project. Something about tourists, or people who move here from other countries. Even transfers at university, like me. Trying to make something work in a strange place. Finding home, all that.”

Thomas almost laughed, but held it back. Newt thought a lot of things about California, but home certainly wasn’t one of them.

Thomas looked into the trash can and saw some chopped pieces of film from someone else’s roll in the garbage bin. He turned to Newt excitedly.

“Can you cut film?” he asked.

“Can I-...what?” Newt responded. “Yeah, you can cut film. That’s how you fit it into the little plastic folders.”

“Can you cut film and then put it back together?”

“I...I mean, yeah. That’s how they did it in the old movies.”

“Okay,” Thomas nodded, feeling the familiar gears in his head turning as they do whenever he started thinking of crazy, impulsive ideas. “Then why don’t you make, like, collages? Of all the stuff you can see?”

Newt gave a little chuckle, but Thomas could tell it wasn’t out of malevolence.

“I don’t think that could be considered a photograph,” Newt explained.

“Well...I mean, it’s about immigrants, right? Sort of?”

“Sort of.”

“So when people come here from somewhere else, they kind of have to go with what they got, right? Make do with what money they have, or how much English they know, or just how much they know about the college they’re going to.”

Newt nodded, a curious smirk sitting on his face.

(If nothing else came from this, at least Thomas got Newt to smile for a moment.)

“I suppose,” Newt said.

“That’s what you’re doing. You’re taking what you got out of your film and making the best of it. Like you did when you transferred here. Maybe it’s not a ‘photograph’, but I mean, it’s something, right?”

Newt didn’t answer, tapping his foot and looking down at the film.

“Okay,” Newt finally agreed. “But that’s gonna take a lot of work. You’ll have to walk back to our room without me tonight.”

“Why?” Thomas asked on instinct. “I could help.”

Newt laughed out of what seemed to be disbelief. “You don’t want to do that. It’s late, and it’s boring stuff. You won’t like any of it.”

Thomas shrugged. “I like it in here. I don’t mind helping you.”

Newt looked at Thomas for a few moments longer than necessary, his gaze pinning Thomas to the wall like a butterfly. Thomas couldn’t tell exactly what Newt was feeling, but it was laced with indecision, gratitude, and what Thomas wished he could call fondness.

“You’re a really good person, Tommy,” Newt finally said, looking into Thomas’ eyes with an almost heartbreaking sincerity. “I just want you to know that.”

***

An hour later, Thomas and Newt were back on the road, an easygoing rock song playing from Newt’s playlist. Thomas has one arm resting on the lowered window, the wind ruffling his hair. It was a little past 1:00 PM, and they had driven in mostly silence after leaving the park, Newt mainly staring out the window. Thomas feared that bringing up Newt’s senior project and school had stressed him out, so he decided to stop mentioning it altogether. The whole point of this trip was to get away from school. Or, at least, that’s what he told Newt it was.

He didn’t entirely mind the silence, anyway. Sometimes the song from Newt’s playlist, the rumbling of his tires, and the wind whizzing by was all Thomas really needed. He used to be someone who thought silence was always awkward, or uncomfortable. But he’s learned to appreciate these moments of silence, of just being in the same space with someone, of sharing a ride. Thomas especially has to appreciate these last moments with Newt before his car becomes haunted by the absence of him.

“Fuck,” Newt suddenly hisses. Thomas looks over and sees Newt has rested his head against his fist.

“You alright?” Thomas asks. “Need me to pull over?”

Thomas looks over at Newt and almost crashes the car. Newt was looking at Thomas in a way he never had before, a way Thomas couldn’t understand but made him felt like he had done something terribly wrong. Newt looked at Thomas as if he was either the saddest thing in the world, an anomaly, or the worst thing that had ever happened to him.

Thomas darts his eyes back to the road. “Just say the word and I’ll pull over,” he repeats, unsure of what else there really was to say.

He hears Newt sigh and can see from his peripherals that Newt has looked back out the window.

“I’m fine,” Newt finally answers. Thomas hears the click-click of Newt’s lighter. “Just thinking about what you said before. About the what-ifs, regret, and that.”

“Oh, yeah?” Thomas asks, intrigued but trepid.

“Yeah. Can’t really help it.”

Thomas is silent, waiting for Newt to continue but not wanting to force him into it himself.

“You’re a really good person, Tommy,” Newt suddenly says, an uncharacteristic sadness tinting his voice.

Thomas, unsure what prompted Newt to say that, turns and sees Newt avoiding his gaze, fiddling with his cigarette.

Before Thomas can decide on a response, Newt turns up the radio, the wailing of Mick Jagger taking over the car.

Chapter Text

It’s Saturday night. The sun was just starting to make its descent, a yellow glow outlining the horizon. Minho and Alby sat in the backseat, Minho drumming his fingers on the back of Thomas’ headrest. A comfortably cool breeze ruffled Thomas’ hair as he drove.

“Where’s the AUX cord?” Newt asked, fumbling through napkins. “I can’t see through all this shit.”

Thomas took his right hand and shoved it through the mess without looking, pulling out the cord. “Here.”

“Thanks, mate,” Newt replied. He plugged the cord into his phone. “What’s the mood for tonight, lads?”

“Something heavy,” Minho suggested, slapping the back of Thomas’ seat some more. “I wanna get pumped up before the bonfire.”

“No heavy metal, though,” Alby interrupted. “I don’t want to get a headache before we even get there.”

Newt chuckled. “Think I’ll go with a classic.” He scrolled through his phone for a bit before the familiar guitar riff of one of their favorite anthems started.

“Oh, hell yeah,” Thomas cheered, turning the volume knob to the right. He felt the speakers near his legs start to vibrate, feeling it travel through his feet to his whole body.

The raspy singer began his lines; “Well, I remember every little thing as if it happened only yesterday… Parking by the lake, and there was not another car in site…”

Almost as soon as the lyrics started, Thomas heard two honks from behind. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw Harriet waving her arms enthusiastically from the passenger seat of the car behind him. Thomas immediately understood.

“Yo, lower all the windows,” he instructed his friends. They did so, and Thomas raised the volume even more, the vibrato taking over the entire car.

“This is such a ridiculous song,” Newt proclaimed over the music. “It’s eight minutes long.”

Thomas looked over at him with a grin. “You love it. That’s why you chose it.”

He turned back to the road, but could feel Newt’s gaze on him.

“Yeah,” Newt said. “I do.”

“And we’re glowing like the metal on the edge of a knife… Well come on, hold on tight…”

Alby laughed from the backseat. “Here it comes.”

“Though it’s cold and lonely in the deep, dark night... I can see paradise by the dashboard light.”

Everyone in the car screamed those lines from the top of their lungs, a resounding chorus of loud, off key unity. One glance in the rearview mirror told Thomas everyone in the car behind him was screaming it, too. But he didn’t have to look to know that.

Thomas couldn’t remember when that song had become the sort of calling card for the group. He didn’t usually have the attention span for songs over 5 minutes, and this one was a little more ridiculous than most -- part of the bridge included a voiceover from a baseball game. But there was something about that refrain; something so deep, so hopeful and profound and true, that despite the silliness it was something he loved to sing with his friends. It was only fitting, considering how often he stared at his own dashboard light.

They finished the eight minute wonder of a song and pulled into their destination, a very small beach right on the edge of the city. The sun was a little lower in the sky, introducing new pinks and oranges. It drowned the air in a hazy warmth, the kind Thomas had yet to find anywhere but in California.

(Except for in a person. He was always an exception. But it had to be different. Right?)

He shut his car door and walked back towards Brenda’s truck, eyeing the dry wood in the backseat.

“Need any help carrying those?” He asked Teresa, who was already bundling some in her arms.

“Relax, white knight,” she chuckled, using a familiar nickname of Thomas’. “We got this. You guys set up the rest of the shit.”

Thomas rolled his eyes and walked back towards his car, popping the trunk and getting out the coolers and chairs.

About 10 minutes later and the bonfire was set up; Alby and Brenda had lit it to perfection, the orange embers sparking up into the also orange sky. Newt’s speaker was pumping out an upbeat alternative song, and Minho began to pass out the beers. Thomas instinctively passed his beer along to Harriet next to him.

“Come on, Thomas,” Harriet protested, nudging the beer back towards him. “Can’t you get to party for once?”

“I drink when we’re on campus,” Thomas retorted.

“That’s not often,” Newt commented. “We’re usually here or at a club. I don’t even remember the last time I saw you drink.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Thomas shrugged. “I like driving. Being the DD is fine.”

Alby walked up to Thomas, taking the beer from Harriet and sliding it into his hand.

“I’ll drive tonight,” Alby insisted. “If you’ll let me. And you know I’m a good driver from how much I bug you when you drive.”

Thomas laughed. “Thanks, but I’d feel bad making you do that. You’ve worked hard, you should relax.”

“It’s alright, man. I’m just happy being with my friends. Take it.”

Thomas stood in silence, staring at the beer in his hand, mixed emotions flooding through him. He felt guilty, as if he had pushed this onto his friends, even though Alby offered himself.

“Come on, Tommy,” Newt said, so low that Thomas knew only he could hear him. “Let yourself have a little fun. You deserve to be happy and have the night off.”

Thomas gave a small smile. “Okay. Sure. Thanks, Alby.” He took the bottle opener from his keychain and popped the cap off, raising his beer. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” his friends said, tapping their beers to his.

***

The sun had now almost completely set; an icy cold blue with just a strip of orange. The warmth from the fire comforted Thomas against the chill air, wrapping him in a hug.

Thomas leaned against his car and glanced at Newt, who was beside him. He was wearing a thick red flannel, one that he had borrowed from Thomas’ closet some time back. Thomas had forgotten it was actually his until this moment, and wondered why Newt had chosen to keep it instead of returning it.

Thomas watched as Brenda and Teresa danced around the fire, hands linked together. He could see their smiles and happiness even through the smoke, watched as Teresa’s hair twirled and spun against the wind. He saw Brenda slowly pull Teresa in by the arms, spinning her around and rocking slightly, almost falling over. He heard their laughs, echoing like windchimes in the night air. They looked happy. They looked free.

He started to feel his vision go a little blurry at the corners, the effects of the beers and joint combining in his system. He felt the presence of Newt next to him as he looked at Teresa and Brenda. What he would give to be free like that. What was it that was stopping him? Thomas couldn’t remember.

Thomas felt sleepy, and found himself nuzzling into the crook of Newt’s shoulder. This wasn’t the first time they had done this, but usually sober him was afraid of sending the wrong message. But this time, he didn’t care.

(What’s such a shame about laying on someone like this is that you can’t actually see them. Thomas did not think about where Newt was looking, just assumed that Newt shrugged it off and continued to watch the bonfire, treating Thomas on his shoulder like a burden to bear. What Thomas could not see was the way that Newt looked at him. How Newt watched the last of the sun’s glow grace Thomas’ sleepy eyes, how the embers from the fire danced and played around his head. How Newt found himself smiling, unstoppably and unconsciously, and how he felt a deep fondness and an even deeper ache.)

Thomas won’t remember much from this night, other than singing along to songs, badly playing frisbee, and generally having a good time. What he does remember distinctly, despite how intoxicated he was, was the drive home. How he was laying down in the backseat watching the back of Alby’s head as he drove. He remembers this because this was the first, and only, time that Newt did not sit in shotgun. He sat in the backseat, Thomas’ head resting on his leg, Newt lightly playing with his hair as Thomas finally gave in and fell asleep.

***

Thomas lost track of the time, despite the glaring red numbers on the radio in front of him. He didn’t look at it much. He felt himself almost hypnotized by the endless expanse of sand, the miles and miles of vast nothing. At first he was anxious of the lack of places to stop, the way Newt’s hands lightly traced across their map, looking for signs of life.

Eventually, when they put the map away and just decided to drive, which was the whole point of this trip in the first place, Thomas relaxed. He felt his shoulders give into the seat. They talked about the songs Newt chose for his playlist, and cars, and memories of the last four years.

“You wanna know the weirdest thing about living here?” Newt asked as the song "Dani California" came up on his playlist.

Thomas tensed slightly. “What?”

“The palm trees,” Newt said. “I mean, they’re everywhere. And they’re so funny looking.”

“What, not the sand?” Thomas asked. “Or the heat? The time zones?” Newt laughed.

“You’d think, but no. It’s those bloody trees. Whenever I come back here after holiday, I get so startled by them. And their shape. And then the year goes by, and I get used to them again. And then I go back home, and they’re not there. And I feel like I’m missing something. But then eventually, I forget them again. And it starts all over.”

They find a few interesting stops here and there. A giant cardboard cutout of a cactus, which prompts a photoshoot. An abandoned gas station. A billboard advertising their own college, which feels like a sick joke to Thomas, a reminder of what is inevitable.

(Thomas is running away. He knows he’s running away. He is a child covering his ears and pretending he can’t hear anything. Sometimes, when he checks his rearview mirror, he thinks he can see it all catching up to him. So he steps on the gas just a little more, grips the wheel just a little tighter.)

Most notable of their stops was a small UFO-themed museum. Like everything else, it sat in the middle of nothing but sand, a strange alien sign pointing to the door. Thomas practically slammed on the brakes when he saw it, screeching to the side of the road, dust rising around his windows. Newt clutched the side of his seat for stability.

“Bloody hell,” Newt said, his eyes scanning the surroundings. “We could have just turned around.”

“Sorry,” Thomas shrugged, shrinking slightly. “I couldn’t help it.”

They walked under the bright green alien sign and through a shoddy door, where a freckle-faced man in a tin foil hat sat bored on a counter. He immediately perked up when he spotted them.

“Greetings, earthlings!” he chirped, Thomas cringing internally. “Welcome to the Crash Landing Museum! Are you interested in a guided tour?”

The shop was so small that Thomas wasn’t sure how a guided tour would actually work, but he was interested none-the-less.

“Yes, please,” he said at the same time Newt said “No, thank you.” The guide stopped for a moment in confusion as Thomas and Newt looked at each other.

“Please, Newt,” Thomas begged. “I need to know what this guy has to say. I’ll literally die if I don’t hear it.”

Newt rubbed his eyes. “Alright.” He turned to the guide. “How much?”

“$15,” the guide replied.

Newt widened his eyes and turned to Thomas, who just shrugged and mouthed back “Sorry.” They both forked over the cash, the guide uncomfortably thrilled at his new customers.

“Okay, let’s get started!” The guide clapped his hands together. “My name is Trevor, and I’ll be your tour guide today. Thank you for choosing the Crash Landing Museum. Here, we specialize in all things conspiracy and supernatural. If you’d please follow me…”

Thomas and Newt followed Trevor, which essentially meant taking two steps to the left to a wall that looked like a detective’s board, filled with red string attached to various pictures.

“This is a layout of all the supernatural sightings that have taken place in California, or at least closer to this area. We’ve gotten everything from aliens and UFOs to Bigfoot and the Man-Bat! What can we say, California’s a big tourist state.”

Thomas laughed politely, but looked over to see Newt rolling his eyes, and could only imagine he was thinking I spent $15 on this. He felt guilty, but told himself that Newt could have said no if he really wanted to. It worked for now.

“We’re named the Crash Landing Museum because this spot was actually the location of an unidentified object crashing in 1948,” Trevor continued, pointing to a spot in the center of the board. A very blurry black and white photograph showed a vague black blob, circled in red marker. “Legend has it that this was an alien pod that planted its technology into the roots of the land. We sometimes get technology flickers and bugs, probably because of what’s underneath us.”

“Why didn’t you guys dig up the ground instead of building on top of it?” Thomas asked as if this were all true. “Wouldn’t you want to see it?”

“I’m not sure,” Trevor admitted. “This place was built in the 80s, and I don’t think they ever touched it before that. It’s kind of a cult legend. Anyway, let’s keep moving.”

Trevor guided them through the rest of the small museum, which mostly consisted of more blurry photographs and small rocks encased in glass. It was clearly all bullshit, but Thomas ate it up, a big, toothy grin on his face. He was always a sucker for conspiracy theories. Newt watched him with a small, soft smile.

“And here’s the gift shop,” Trevor said, pointing towards a few shelves of novelty goods and toys. “Thank you again for coming. I hope you enjoyed the tour, and remember; keep your third eye open!”

Newt laughed. “Thank you. I loved it, truly.”

They looked over at the gifts, which included hairy gloves, neon green slime, and mirrored glasses. Newt almost gasped when he spotted a headband that included two bouncing alien antennas. He put it on in a fervor, whipping out his film camera.

“Tommy, I need you to take this picture for me,” Newt asked, handing Thomas the camera. “I’ll literally die if you don’t.” Thomas smiled internally at Newt re-using his words.

“I hope I’m doing this right,” Thomas joked as he set up the camera. Newt had shown him the basics of using it before, although Thomas still wasn’t quite sure what any of the buttons meant.

“I already set up everything. Just click the button.”

“Okay,” Thomas replied. “Say cheese.” He watched through the viewfinder as Newt stared straight into the lens, his face a blank slate. Thomas was startled, expecting something more comedic, but shook it off to take the photo.

“Thanks, mate,” Newt smiled, taking the camera back.

“No problem. Hope it’s good.”

“Man, you did great,” the boy said, slumping against the wall. “I mean, it was almost like...too good. I’m fucking drained. Jesus, I’m gonna sound like a dick…”

“What?” Thomas asked.

“Can we, like...finish this another day? Shit--I’m sorry. But I mean really, you were so good. I’m drained. And I wanna be like, 100 percent for you, you know?”

“Um, yeah,” Thomas said. “Okay.” He will not see him again.

“I actually think I’m gonna buy this,” Newt admitted. “I could use it.”

“What the fuck? Where?” Thomas asked. “You gonna bring it in the bedroom? Maybe do an ASMR roleplay?”

Newt laughed again, and Thomas realized how quickly his demeanor had changed from when he entered the museum. Something small inside him glowed.

“No, you goon. For my senior project. Why do you think I made you use my real camera?”

“Oh,” is all Thomas said, that glowing light suddenly dimming as he realized; Newt feels like an alien here. Once again, a sick reminder of the running clock. Of all the ways he has failed him.

He doesn’t bring it up again.

One other interesting stop was a gas station that served as a souvenir shop.

Newt made a bet with Thomas once they went inside. “Okay, whoever can get the weirdest, stupidest thing for the other person wins.”

“What’s the prize?” Thomas asked.

“The honor of a job well done,” Newt answered, slapping him on the shoulder and giving a quick wink. He did it to be annoying, but all it did was cause Thomas to tighten his knees so they wouldn’t buckle.

Thomas scoured the aisles of souvenirs, eyeing everything from shot glasses to magnets to postcards. He didn’t recognize the name of the town, and wondered just how far they had actually driven from campus. He’s surprised Newt hasn’t asked him to turn around already, especially since he was the one in charge of the map. Newt was always good at directions, and this was supposed to be a one-day trip, after all.

(Thomas will think Is he running away too? Is that why he came? Maybe he…

It is the closest he has come to allow himself to hope.)

At one point he turned the corner and spotted Newt, who whipped whatever object he was holding behind his back at rapid speed.

“No peeking,” Newt lectured. “That’s cheating.” He then awkwardly skipped backwards to the next aisle, keeping his arm behind his back. All Thomas could do was laugh.

A rack of keychains near the register piqued Thomas’ interest. Most of them were logos of the town, but some were names; Chris, Sarah, Jennifer. All classic names. Thomas knew that Newt would never be one of those names, but figured it would be funny to get as close as possible.

“Nancy...Nick...Nicole…,” Thomas murmured to himself as he flipped through the options. He found one he liked and plucked it off, handing it to the cashier. “Don’t talk too loud; I’m surprising my friend.”

“Whatever,” the cashier responded. Thomas ignored it as he started to hand her his card, then paused when he spotted another keychain on the other side of the rack.

“Wait-” he interrupted, plucking another keychain off the rack. “This one too.”

“Okay then,” the cashier droned. She finished ringing Thomas out, handing him a small paper bag.

“Meet you in the car!” Thomas yelled without looking as he left the store. No time to care about formalities. He’ll never see any of these people again.

Soon enough, that will include Newt, too, Thomas couldn’t help but think.

Thomas drummed his fingers against the steering wheel as he waited for Newt, the paper bag sitting idly at his feet. A low static imminated from the radio, his usual stations somewhere far away. Although, Thomas barely listened to the radio, anyway. Newt usually plugged his playlist in. Thomas eyed the currently empty passenger’s seat.

Newt finally exited the store, a noticeably bulky plastic bag in his hand. Thomas made eye contact with him, Newt smiling as he held up the bag with a look of pride. He slid into the passenger’s seat and turned to Thomas excitedly.

“Me first,” Newt started before Thomas could say anything. He ruffled through the plastic bag and pulled out a white t-shirt, shaking it out and holding it up for Thomas to read. It was the historic road sign for Route 66, only…

“Route 69?” Thomas chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “No way. You planted that.”

“Swear I didn’t,” Newt insisted, practically giddy. “This was a gift from God herself. From me to you, for you to wear forever. Enjoy.” He tossed the shirt lovingly into Thomas’ lap.

“I think I’ll get arrested if I wear this in public,” Thomas commented. “Also, this is definitely a real place. But it’s in Texas.”

“How the hell would I know that?” Newt countered. “I’m still a bloke from England.”

England. Thomas’ least favorite word.

“Well, anyway,” Thomas said, changing the subject. “Here’s mine.” He tossed the first keychain over to Newt. Newt picked it up and looked at it quizzically before laughing.

“Nate?” Newt asked, dangling the keychain around. “Is that supposed to be me?”

“I mean,” Thomas shrugged, making a so-so motion. “Close enough? I think Brenda called you that when she was drunk back in freshman year.”

“Oh, yeah,” Newt smiled, looking at a random point in the distance. “It was only like, our second time meeting. Damn, I’m gonna miss her.”

“Yeah…” Thomas started, eyeing the second keychain at his feet. He was almost embarrassed to give it to him; Newt only got him one gift, and here he was forking over two. But a small voice in the back of Thomas’ head told him “Fuck it,” so he took it out of the bag.

“I actually got you another one,” Thomas explained. “Speaking of missing things.” He handed it over to Newt, who took it with a confused, but intrigued expression. Thomas watched as Newt realized what the keychain was, saw his face visibly change. It went from innocent curiosity to...Thomas wasn’t sure what. Anger? Sadness? Gratitude? Somehow, Thomas felt it was all three, though Newt would never tell him so. He could even see Newt struggling to keep his expression neutral.

“I figured since…” Thomas continued. “You always say the palm trees startle you here. And when you go back home, you forget them...I don’t know, I thought it would be a little reminder. Of like, us. And stuff.”

Thomas wasn’t sure what he meant by ‘us’; whether it was supposed to mean all of their friends or just him and Newt. He both hoped and feared that Newt took it as the latter.

Newt didn’t say anything for a while, longer than Thomas expected. It was almost like he was struggling to get any words out at all, just twiddling and flipping the little palm tree in his hand with a surprising delicacy. Finally, he spoke up without looking at Thomas.

“Thank you,” he said. “But really, I could never forget this place. Or you. Not even if I tried.” A pause. “Maybe I should have gotten you all a keychain of the Union Jack, so none of you can forget about me.”

Thomas waited before speaking, unsure of how to respond. The concept of anyone forgetting Newt was so ridiculous, it startled him. But Newt spoke again before he could.

“Well, you won,” Newt admitted, looking up at Thomas with one of the saddest smiles he’d ever seen. “You definitely won.”

***

It’s some time later. Thomas isn’t actually sure how much later; he’s now made it his personal mission to not look at the clock at all. He’s waiting for Newt to pull out the map and tell him “Okay, we’ve gone far enough, we have to turn around, now. I have a project to work on.” But Newt never says anything. Thomas doesn’t even remember the last time Newt looked at the map. He tries not to think about it, doesn’t dare let himself hope on it. It will all come crashing down soon, he’s sure.

And that’s really the only place it can go. Down. Because for this whole entire trip, he has felt unusually happy. Sure, there’s the lingering darkness at the edge of the road, the ticking clock matching time with his heartbeat. But he’s gotten pretty good at ignoring it. That was, after all, why he was out here in the first place. To just ignore everything.

He’s had fun. He’s had a lot of fun. He thinks Newt’s had a lot of fun, too, at least by how much he’s been laughing and smiling. Even times when he seems annoyed, like at the Crash Landing Museum, his attitude usually turned around quickly. Even if there wasn’t that much for them to actually do, it seemed like Newt didn’t mind.

Thomas is happy. He’s having fun. He just wishes he knew a way to end all this. For the signs on the side of the road to tell him something. For the light to turn green. For anything. But he just keeps driving.

Eventually, the vast, now familiar sand on either side of them starts to become more populated with buildings. Apartments, public pools, fast food joints. They’ve finally entered some form of civilization. Thomas suddenly notices how sore his legs are, and how empty his stomach is. Until now, he’s survived mostly on the snacks he picked up this morning at the gas station.

“I’m starving,” he tells Newt. “You wanna stop somewhere and eat?”

“Sure,” Newt answers. “I could go for a bite.”

Thomas slows down as he crawls through this new town, observing the buildings for signs of somewhere good to eat. He notices some neon signs advertising a bar and grill.

“How about here?” he points out.

“Why not?” Newt shrugs. Thomas is reminded again how nonchalant Newt has been about this entire trip, despite his firm stance before they left. He wonders what changed.

He pulls into what he thinks is the parking lot and circles around for a while before finding the actual parking lot. One of the downsides of traveling somewhere you’ve never been before.

Thomas realizes again that he doesn’t actually know the name of the town he’s in. All that matters is who is with him. Not where.

They leave the car and walk into the bar. It has brick walls on the interior with more neon lights, some with funny slogans. It starts as casual dining in the front, then there’s a circular bar in the middle, and then some pool tables and dart boards towards the back. A blonde bartender chats to an older gentleman as she pours him a glass. She looks like Sonya.

(Thomas has heard nothing but good things about Sonya. Newt talks about her fondly, and Thomas can understand why a familial tie that strong would pull him back to England. He wishes he could meet her himself, one day. He’s talked to her over Skype, but it isn’t the same. It’s never the same.)

A smiling waitress guides Thomas and Newt to their seats and hands them the menus. A golden lampshade above them casts their table in an orange glow.

Thomas glances over the menu. It seems to be slightly more expensive and fancier than diner food, but at least it’s all stuff he recognizes.

“I think I’m gonna get a burger,” Thomas mentions.

“I’m not at all surprised,” Newt teases. “I think that’s all I’ve ever seen you eat. That and H-”

“Hot Cheetos,” Thomas finishes for him, rolling his eyes in mock irritation. “Yeah, I know. What can I say, I know what I like.”

Which is you, he wishes he could say. If he blurred his eyes, maybe he could pretend this was a date. Live in a warm, fuzzy dream where Newt was willing to commit to something other than cigarettes. Or just one where he would love him back.

“I’m taking a quesadilla,” Newt says. “Oh, and I’m stealing some of your chips.”

“That’s a given,” Thomas scoffs. Newt laughs, but Thomas can’t help but think; How much do we know about each other? How much of him is ingrained into my every day? Am I part of him? How could all these things go unsaid, and we would still know?

Does he know?

The waitress comes back and interrupts Thomas’ train of thought. “Ready to order?” she asks.

“Yeah, I’ll take the bacon burger with a Coke, please,” Thomas answers.

“Sure,” the waitress scribbles in her notepad. “And you, sir?”

“I’ll have the triple cheese quesadilla,” Newt answers. “And a Samuel Addams, if you have any.”

“Coming right up.” She takes their menus and walks to the kitchen.

“You having any?” Newt asks Thomas.

Thomas blinks. “Any what?”

Newt chuckles as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Beer.”

Thomas blinks again. “Uh, no? How am I supposed to drive?”

Newt shrugs, saying silent. The way he looks at Thomas makes him think that Newt is urging him to figure something out on his own. Like a puzzle.

“If I drink, we can’t leave,” Thomas explains despite how seemingly obvious it is. “We’d have to stay here, or drive in the dead of night when I’m sober.”

Newt shrugs again, looking out the window behind Thomas. “Okay.”

“Okay…?”

“Okay, we’ll stay,” Newt answers. He leans his arm against the back of his chair, always looking so cool. “I think I saw a couple motels around here. Should be fine.”

Thomas thinks he’s short-circuiting. What happened to "I’ve got a final due Tuesday. One day."? Newt was someone who liked order. Liked a schedule. He would always follow Thomas’ plans, but with an asterisk. A footnote. An exception. Why so suddenly was he willing to derail everything?

“I--...but…,” Thomas stammers, embarrassed by his own surprise. “You only wanted to leave for a day. I thought we would go home soon.”

Newt shrugs again, and Thomas is starting to think Newt is doing it to prove a point. What that point is, Thomas isn’t sure.

“I’m having fun,” Newt says. “Besides, it’s getting late.” He tilts his chin to the window behind Thomas. Thomas turns and sees the sky becoming a slightly darker blue, can sense the sun will start to begin its descent on the horizon. He turns back towards Newt, wishing for the millionth time that he could read Newt’s mind and figure out what he was really feeling. Newt would never tell him.

But Thomas also knows not to look a gift horse in the mouth, and anything that makes this trip last longer is something Thomas will grab onto tight, with both hands.

“Okay,” Thomas agrees, nodding. “Alright. I’ll have a beer.”

Newt smiles, sickly sweet and soft and everything, everything.

“Atta boy,” Newt says.

They finish eating their meals, Thomas’ annihilating his burger. He’s not sure if the burger was really good or if he was just really hungry. Maybe both.

He’s also had a couple beers. Not enough to be drunk, but definitely enough to make him unable to drive. He briefly considers how they’ll actually get to the motel, but shakes it off and decides that’s a problem for Future Thomas.

(Note: Future Thomas historically does not like Past Thomas.)

They walk around the bar for a bit after they eat, Newt laughing at some of the ridiculous decor. Thomas notices the flush of red on Newt’s cheeks from the alcohol, and his brain briefly slips elsewhere.

Newt suddenly takes a pool cue from the rack and points it at Thomas like a sword.

“I challenge thee,” Newt smirks.

“Okay, but spoiler; you’re gonna win,” Thomas sighs. “I suck at pool.”

“Well, we’ll just have to see now, won’t we?” Newt raises an eyebrow, handing Thomas the other pool cue. “Here.”

Thomas watches as Newt sets up the solids and stripes, nerves starting to creep their way into his skin. He doesn’t even remember the last time he played pool, and Newt was out here acting like a natural.

“Would you like the first shot?” Newt asks, gesturing towards the pool table.

“Um, you can go,” Thomas answers, secretly wanting to watch how Newt hits the ball so he can mimic it himself.

Newt chuckles. “Suit yourself.”

He puts the cue ball on the mark on the table and sets up the shot, sliding into position with ease. He strikes the cue ball, which clanks against the others and sends them ricocheting against the walls, rolling around.

“Your turn,” Newt says.

“Right,” Thomas swallows. “Yeah.”

Thomas walks around the table for a minute or two, observing the pool balls as if he was trying to craft the most articulate and accurate shot known to man. Newt doesn’t say anything or object, just watches Thomas with a quiet, amused look on his face.

I gotta hit the ball sometime, Thomas tells himself. So, now or never, I guess.

Thomas briefly remembers when Newt used that phrase yesterday to describe Gally texting him again. It consumes his brain for a quick second before he shakes it off and aims the cue to the best of his ability. He shoots it forward, and somehow the cue ball bounces instead of rolls, awkwardly tapping a solid and moving it a few inches.

“Oof,” Thomas cringes. “Bad start.”

“You can go again,” Newt offers. “It’s fine.”

“Okay, but we might be here a while,” Thomas jokes. He sets the cue up again and shoots it forward, sending it past the cue ball completely and off into dead air.

“Okay,” Newt says through a laugh. “You need help.”

He sets down his own cue and walks over to Thomas, gesturing towards his. “May I?”

Thomas, unsure of where Newt was going, nods and hands the cue to Newt.

“Alright. Here’s how you play pool.”

In a sequence that was something straight out of Thomas’ daydreams, Newt slides the cue into Thomas’ hands and stands behind him, gently guiding him into position. Thomas can feel Newt along his back, and his breath is warm (and vaguely beer-scented) against his skin.

“Hold it like this,” Newt suggests, adjusting Thomas’ fingers to the proper position. Each little touch feels like a shock, static electricity that’s painful in the best way. He thinks he might be on fire. Newt always makes him feel like fire.

“You can slide it between your fingers before you shoot, to practice,” Newt explains, gently guiding the cue back and forth in Thomas’ hand. Thomas doesn’t like what it makes him think of.

“So once you do it a few times, you can get the hang of it,” Newt continues, his breath low and gravelly. Thomas hopes Newt can’t feel the shivers running down his back. “Then you want to aim in the middle of the cue ball.”

Thomas has seen this before. In his own daydreams, yes, but also in movies. And in their local bars, when the guys would saunter up to girls they were interested in. He realizes how insanely cliche and romantic this all is, and two possibilities arrive in his mind:

1. Newt is, somehow, not aware of the implications of what he’s doing.

2. Newt is very much, exactly, painfully aware of what he’s doing.

(The second one both scares him and delights him. He has always felt those parallels with Newt, equal parts fear and longing tearing at his heart, pulling the veins until they’re thin. He wishes he could choose a side. Complete terror, or complete hope.)

“Now try,” Newt urges, his hands loosening around Thomas’ without letting go.

Thomas tries to follow his instructions, his insides rattling instead of his hands. He slides the cue back and forth a few times, keeping his eyes on the center of the cue ball until wack! He smacks the cue ball right in the center, sending it straight into a stripe, which rolls into the corner hole.

“Brilliant!” Newt cheers, moving up and away from Thomas, who is now freezing. “You nailed it.”

“Yup,” Thomas chokes out. “Nailed it.”

(There is a part of Thomas that will wonder; if Newt is doing this on purpose, is this the first time? Has he done this before? How does he treat all these other men, all these hookups? Do they get shivers, too? Do they feel the warmth, that fire? What it must feel like, to not only get it in crumbs. To be swallowed in all that heat.)

***

“It’s a film cannister,” Newt had said to Thomas. “Shaped sort of like a pill bottle. It’s got a little purple hair tie around it, so you’ll know it’s mine. Towards one of the enlargers on the right.”

T homas repeated that description to himself as he walked towards the darkroom, fiddling with Newt’s ID card in his hand. Thomas had decided to make a spontaneous late-night run to the closest fast food he could find, and when he asked Newt if he wanted anything before he left, Newt made this strange request instead.

Thomas didn’t mind. He didn’t even think twice about it. That’s what friends--and roommates--did for each other. Simple favors.

(What would happen in this darkroom would be nothing but simple.)

Thomas got to the door and swiped the card in the slot, frowning when the little light blinked red. He tried flipping the card around a couple of different ways before the light flashed green and gave him a little click, unlocking the inner mechanism in the door. He pulled it open and walked through the viewing area into the darkroom.

He’d only been in the actual darkroom a handful of times; once, when Newt gave him a demonstration on how developing prints worked (which he didn’t understand), and a few more times just to pop in and look around. The inside of the darkroom was as peaceful as the viewing area, only more...other-worldly. The only illumination in the room was from red lightbulbs strung across the ceiling, casting everything in a crimson blanket. It took time for the eyes to adjust, and the only sound was that of water and chemicals gently floating around in some trays in the center of the room.

Nothing about it was necessarily comforting; in fact, the strangeness of it should evoke the opposite. But Thomas had always found the place strangely calming, maybe even romantic under the right circumstances. None he would ever see.

His eyes started straining against the red, searching the strange machines--er, enlargers--for any sign of this film cannister. He walked around the center table with the trays towards the other enlargers and continued to scan, hoping that it actually was here and Newt wasn’t-

“What are you doing here?” Gally’s voice suddenly popped up from the left. Thomas physically jumped back, hand gripping his chest to make sure he wasn’t literally scared out of his skin. He turned and saw Gally in front of an enlarger, one hand on an earbud dangling a few inches from his ear.

(Thomas wasn’t sure if this was his jealousy speaking, his tiredness, or the strangeness of the darkroom, but the combination of the red lights and Gally’s strange eyebrows made Thomas think, for a moment, that he was truly looking at the Devil.)

“I--what...Jesus Christ, Gally,” Thomas sputtered, cursing himself for seeming so easily scared.

“Sorry,” Gally apologized, taking the other earbud out of his ear. “Kind of figured you saw me.”

“ I can’t see shit,” Thomas retorted, that familiar tightness pulling in his gut just like every time he saw this boy. This boy that has, on more than one occasion, been with Newt in ways that Thomas can only hopelessly dream of. “It’s the darkroom.”

Gally rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know. That’s why I asked why you’re in here. You’re psych, not photo.”

“Newt left something here,” Thomas answered, wishing he could have lied to Gally out of pettiness but not being able to come up with one fast enough. “I’m just picking it up.”

Gally laughed, using some tongs to turn over a piece of paper that was floating in one of the trays. “Ah, okay. You’re his errand boy now.”

Thomas clenched his fists, the temptation to punch Gally growing stronger every minute he was in there. He was, quite literally, seeing red.

“It’s called having friends, Gally,” Thomas snarked back. “I know you haven’t heard of that cause you’re such a pretentious asshole all the time.”

Gally didn’t scowl or act in anger like Thomas expected. Instead, he calmly turned to his enlarger and scooped something up in his hand, holding it up next to his head like a magician revealing the audience’s card.

“This what your friend needs?” Gally asked, wiggling what looked like a pill bottle in his hand. Thomas realized that was the film cannister he had come all this way for, and wondered what the odds were that Gally happened to choose the exact enlarger where Newt had left it.

Thomas sighed. “Yeah. Can you give it to me so I can get out of here?”

Gally laughed and held it out to Thomas on his palm. “Here ya go.”

Thomas reached out to grab it. Right before he could, Gally popped it up in the air and caught it with his other hand. Thomas flinched, hoping that Gally hadn’t broken whatever was inside of there.

“Too slow,” Gally quipped, smirking at Thomas with a usual mix of amusement and cockiness. Every time the two interacted, Gally decided to make it his own personal game of cat and mouse. It seemed to be something especially reserved for Thomas.

“Come on, Gally,” Thomas grunted, too exhausted to play the game. “It’s late. I got shit to do.” He reached out again and Gally pulled his hand back behind his head.

“That’s no fun,” Gally complained, Thomas feeling more and more like a mouse the longer Gally glared at him under the red lights. “What, Newt can’t wait a few more minutes for his boy toy to come back?”

Thomas was now grateful for the red lights as they were hiding whatever blush he was currently having. “Fucking Christ, Gally, I get it. He didn’t call you back. Could you not take it out on me?”

He’s surprised those words came out of his mouth; it’s way harsher than he ever wanted to be, more personal than he ever planned on being, but now he’d put himself in the middle, and he could feel his feet settle into the cement of it. Gally’s previously mischievous grin turned to a scowl, and Thomas swore for a moment that he saw horns coming out of the top of his head.

“Yeah, okay, maybe he didn’t,” Gally answered, cold as ice, bitter as flames. “But at least I actually slept with him instead of just running around doing chores for him.”

Gally might not have physically punched Thomas, but in that moment, Thomas wished he had instead. Any violence would have been better.

Thomas didn’t answer, and whatever look had managed to sneak onto his face must have given something away, because Gally broke out into a grin.

“So I am right,” Gally said, eyeing Thomas up as if he had somehow changed into something new. “You like him. I thought you were straight.”

Thomas’ keys in his pocket reminded him of their weight, and he felt like a rabbit ready to bolt. What he did, instead, is in one fluid motion swipe the film cannister out of Gally’s hand, harshly enough that it actually hurt his palm to do so. He turned around to leave but Gally’s hand on his elbow stopped him.

“Wait,” Gally said. Thomas turned to look at him, not shaking his arm out of the grip but not completely turning around, either. “That was fucked up. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Thomas, now more confused than ever, turned completely towards Gally, although Gally’s hand stayed on his elbow. He let it stay there out of that same confusion.

“Yeah, well,” Thomas answered, feeling as if he had to reciprocate. “I’m sorry about him not calling you back. He probably should have.”

“It’s whatever,” Gally shrugged. “I’m better off. And you are, too.”

“What do you mean?” Thomas asked.

“I mean, you don’t have to do this shit for him if you don’t want to. He thinks you’re straight. Let him keep thinking that. Or he’ll treat you like shit, like he did to me.”

Thomas wondered how much his face really did give away to Gally, or if his feelings for Newt were that obvious that anyone paying attention could figure it out, even in a dimly lit space.

“He doesn’t treat me like shit,” Thomas said, Gally’s hand still firmly on his elbow. It felt as foreign as the room.

“That’s what you think,” Gally scoffed. “Because you’ve never been treated right.”

Thomas blinked and then felt Gally’s lips on his, and the shock of it was so overwhelming that he actually started to kiss him back out of muscle memory. He has many thoughts in this moment but four of them are clear as day.

1. Oh. We’ve been flirting this whole time. That’s what this was.

2. He doesn’t taste like venom, and my lips aren’t burning.

3. These are lips that Newt’s lips have touched. Is this the closest I’ll come?

4. Is this how the Devil works, luring people into temptation, disguising himself as holiness?

Even though his eyes were closed, partially out of disbelief of what he would see if he opened them, he felt as though the red lights of the darkroom were consuming him. The scarlet brand of the room would sear his skin, lingering on him so he would come back to the dorm and Newt would see exactly what he had done. Was this adultery? Did it count, even though Thomas had committed to a person that was not committed to him? Was it still a sin?

He pulled away from Gally, stuck and unsure and very, very lonely.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas found himself saying, although he had nothing to be sorry for. “You’re not him.”

He rushed out of the room before Gally could answer, sprinting towards his car, clutching the film cannister so hard it indented his hand. He mentally tallied Gally onto the list of people who knew how he felt, and wondered how long it would take before this all came back around like some sick karma and Newt found out, too.

***

After playing pool, Thomas and Newt walked around some of the other stores, buying postcards to bring home to their friends. It’s a nice little city. Nice enough that, for a moment, Thomas could ignore the impending shadow on the horizon, the reminder that today was ending and tomorrow was inching closer. He hasn’t thought much about tomorrow. Future Thomas can worry about tomorrow.

Eventually, Thomas sobered up enough where he felt comfortable moving his car from the restaurant parking lot to the motel parking lot. It was only a few blocks down the road, a bright neon sign advertising the CACTUS MOTEL -- VACANCY.

(As they had walked in, Thomas paused for a moment and looked up at the sky. The sun was setting, and the sky had cast itself in three familiar colors; a gradient of pinks, purples, and blues. Thomas stood, transfixed, staring at those colors again, like always. He wanted it to mean something. He begged for it to.)

Now, here they were, Thomas sitting at the edge of the motel bed, kicking off his shoes. Newt was in the bathroom, one of the only times that Thomas had been alone for a moment for the last...16? hours. This morning felt like decades ago. And it also felt like five minutes ago. Time is funny, that way.

Thomas glances down at the bed, adorned with a white blanket that had a cactus pattern on it. Despite the cliche-ness of the scenario, he wasn’t concerned that there was only one bed. It was not even close to the first time they had shared one together. Their first three years of living together was spent in a two-bedroom dorm, which meant that when parties ultimately ended up with people passed out in their room, they were left to share a bed. The first few times it happened, Thomas had barely slept, too tense by the confusion and closeness of it all that he mostly just laid there while Newt’s breath slowly evened. Eventually, the two became close enough that Thomas could fall asleep next to him easily. Occasionally he grieved for how this could be a nightly occurrence for them, but it usually calmed into quiet acceptance.

Newt comes out of the bathroom, fluffing up the back up his hair. He smiles when he sees Thomas.

“How ya feelin’, mate?” he asks. “Still buzzed?”

“Barely,” Thomas admits, twisting the blanket around in his fingers.

“Then check this out,” Newt smirks, crouching down to his bag. He reaches into one of the pockets and pulls out a pre-rolled joint. He holds it up like a diamond.

“I wish you had told me you brought that,” Thomas chuckles. “I wouldn’t have eaten the Hot Cheetos so early. They’re, like, the perfect munchie food.”

Newt shakes his head as he laughs, the green light from the neon sign outside bouncing against his hair as it moves. For a moment, he really did look like an alien. “Sorry, Tommy. Didn’t want to spoil the surprise.” He pulls out the lighter from his back pocket and click-clicks it to light the joint, exhaling smoke into the room.

Thomas isn’t sure what he meant by surprise; when was he planning on bringing it out? He didn’t come on this trip with the original intention of spending the night in a motel, so any time he would be smoking would be when Thomas couldn’t. And Newt never whipped out a joint if he couldn’t share it. So why bring it at all? It hurts Thomas’ brain to consider, so he holds out his hand for the joint instead.

A few minutes later, Thomas and Newt are laying side by side on the bed, lazily passing the joint between the two of them. The neon green from outside continues to filter into the room, casting the walls in an eery, otherworldly glow. It reminds Thomas of the red lights in the darkroom, only less haunting.

“And she says, ‘Newt, this is why you’re a photo major. Give me back the blowtorch.’ That was the last time I ever tried metalwork.”

“Brenda’s super picky about her sculptures,” Thomas laughs, imagining her in the metalshop, cursing over a saw. “I’m surprised you even tried to help.”

“I think I just wanted to try on the goggles,” Newt admits, referring to Brenda’s custom steampunk safety goggles. “They suit me, right?”

“I don’t know,” Thomas answers. “I never saw you in them.”

Newt whips out his phone and starts searching through his photos. Thomas observes as he scrolls, whizzing by memories of the last four years; drunk Snapchats from parties, photos of Brenda’s sculptures and Minho’s shows, group selfies, and many, many shots from the passenger’s seat of Thomas’ car. It mostly makes Thomas melancholy as he mourns what isn’t dead yet, but he can’t help but smile at some of the ridiculous things they’ve done.

“So many memories,” Newt murmurs as he scrolls, somehow always knowing what Thomas is thinking without even trying. “We did a lot of weird shit these four years.”

“I know,” Thomas replies. “Hard to believe it’s almost over.”

“Yeah,” Newt says shortly. He’s silent for a moment as he keeps scrolling. “Ah, here we go.” He pulls up a photo of him posing next to a large machine, leaning against it nonchalantly. He’s wearing Brenda’s goggles, and Thomas hates to admit it, but they do suit him.

“That’s a cool look,” Thomas compliments.

“I knew you’d agree,” Newt chuckles.

Thomas takes another puff from the joint as Newt absentmindedly scrolls on his phone. He realizes this is probably the first time he’s smoked alone with Newt. After admitting his feelings to Teresa in the car, he got scared to smoke with only one other person, and instead stuck to a group. Part of him is terrified of what might blurt out of him, but mostly, he’s too stoned to be scared.

As he watches the smoke blow out of his mouth, he sees a Tinder notification pop up on Newt’s phone. Newt immediately swipes it away and keeps scrolling through his photos.

“You don’t wanna see who it is?” Thomas can’t help but ask.

“Huh?” Newt answers, glancing towards Thomas for a moment. “Oh. I guess I’ll look.” He goes to Tinder and opens the message from a new match. “He’s asking about my name. No shock there.”

“Do a lot of guys do that?”

“On Tinder? Yeah, almost all of them. The ones who don’t are the ones who I actually respond to.”

“Ah,” Thomas nods.

Newt turns towards Thomas. “I never explained it to you, did I?”

“Explain what?” Thomas asks. “Your name?”

“Yeah,” Newt answers. “You never asked.”

Thomas shrugs. “Newt’s your name. Nothing to ask about.”

Newt smiles, lazy and soft.

“Truthfully, there’s not much to tell you,” Newt admits. “It’s a nickname my sister gave me. She was always obsessed with lizards, ever since she was a kid. So as soon as she could speak, she started calling me Newt. And I called her Lizzie, like a lizard.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard you call her that on the phone,” Thomas laughs. “It took me a while to realize you were talking to her.”

“Yup. I’ve always called her that. And she always called me Newt, and after a while, my parents started doing it, too. It went from being a nickname to kind of just being...my name. I mean, Sam is still my legal name. Professors still call me that on attendance. But I’ve always liked hearing people call me Newt here. It’s like a little slice of home.”

“That’s sweet,” Thomas smiles, his mouth curling into the pillow. He savors these little moments where Newt showed emotion, gave a little bit of himself to Thomas. They were rare moments.

“But, you know, I don’t feel like telling random guys on Tinder that every day. They don’t deserve to know why. They don’t even know me.”

“Right.”

“So that’s how I weed them out. If they ask about my name, they don’t get an answer. If they don’t mention it, then they actually have a chance.”

“That’s a good system,” Thomas murmurs, Newt’s movements feeling like slow motion through Thomas’ strained eyes.

“It’s worked so far, right?” Newt chuckles, elbowing Thomas. “I’d like to say I pick ‘em good.”

“Gally kissed me,” Thomas finds himself saying. He’s not even sure if he’s said it out loud, but the look of disbelief on Newt’s face tells him he did.

“What?” Newt asks, sitting up on his elbow, looking down at Thomas.

“Oops,” Thomas says.

“Tommy, when did Gally kiss you?”

“Um...in the darkroom.”

“The darkroom? When the hell were you in there?”

“Um,” Thomas thinks, looking down at the blanket, tracing a cactus. “That time you asked me to get your film thing. Like, junior year, I think.”

“Why the hell would he…” Newt trailed off, seemingly more to himself than Thomas. Thomas giggled a little bit, maybe more stoned than he thought he was. “What did you do? Did you say anything? Push him?”

Thomas burns, red red red. He sees it creeping in the corner of his vision.

“I…uh.”

“Tommy, did he hurt you? You can tell me, please.”

Thomas scrunched his eyebrows, realizes how he’s painted Gally. “What? No, he didn’t hurt me. I kissed him back.”

Thomas doesn’t think about the impact of those words as he says them; he just wanted to defend Gally.

But the look on Newt’s face?

Newt looks like he’s been shot.

(This image will burn into Thomas’ brain, sear itself on his retinas.)

After what feels like an eternity of silence, Newt speaks again. “Tommy, why would you do that?”

Thomas looks up at him. He feels small. He feels very, very small. And he answers the only way he knows how.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I...no. I don’t know.”

Newt softens, looking down at Thomas with a mix of concern and a hint of curiosity. “Tommy, was that your first time kissing a boy?”

Thomas looks down at the almost finished joint in his hand. He looks down at the blanket, draped in green light. Go.

“No,” Thomas says.

Newt has now been shot for a second time.

“Who-when did you...who else have…” Newt sputters. Thomas has never seen him this uncomposed. He imagines this conversation is not going the way Newt expected.

“A couple,” Thomas starts with. “Here and there.”

A brief moment of silence. “Why haven’t you told me?” Newt asks.

“Told you what?” Thomas chuckles, looking up at Newt through the smoke. “That I like guys?”

(How many times has he said that out loud? He thinks this is probably the second.)

“Y-...yes, Tommy,” Newt answers quietly. “That you like guys. If anyone would understand that, it’s me.”

Thomas shrugs. “I don’t tell anyone.”

This is one of the first times he’s truly lied to Newt, after exposing such a huge truth. Everything in balance.

“Okay, but...who else have you kissed? They would have to know.”

“Um,” Thomas thinks, going slightly tense. “No one you know. Other than Gally.”

“Oh,” Newt says. “You’re not worried they’ll tell anyone?”

Thomas shrugs. “They haven’t so far. I doubt they even think about me.”

“Why would you say that?”

Thomas finally looks back up, Newt’s face an unreadable mix of who knows how many emotions. The fact he can’t keep a neutral expression reminds Thomas of the bombshell he’s just dropped. He vows to himself to never smoke with another person again.

“These guys...I’ve hooked up with them,” Thomas admits, “but it’s not like what you do. It doesn’t work.”

Newt looks at him in confusion.

“Like...it works for them. It really works out for them,” Thomas hears an edge rise in his voice. “But then it’s my turn, and nothing ever fucking happens. They’re tired, or it’s late, or they just straight up tell me to leave.”

“Oh,” Newt murmurs, barely audible.

“And it’s never, like...both. Us, together. It’s just fucking one at a time. And it’s never my time. And they never try again, so. No, they don’t think about me. And I don’t think they’ll tell a soul.”

“Jesus,” Newt sighs.

“Yeah. So, whatever. It’s fine.” Thomas attempts to take another hit off the joint, but it’s basically ashes now. He tosses it to the side table.

“I’m sorry that’s happened, Tommy,” Newt says. Thomas looks up at Newt, possibly the saddest he’s ever seen him. “You don’t deserve that. You should be treated with respect.”

“Yeah, well,” Thomas shrugs. “That doesn’t matter right now. What matters is you and me taking this road trip and having fun. One last hoorah.”

Newt barely smiles. “Yup. One last hoorah.” He turns around and sits with his back to Thomas. “I have one more question, though. If that’s okay.”

“Shoot,” Thomas says.

“How long have you known? That you liked guys, too?”

Thomas is silent for a moment, watching the back of Newt’s frame, silhouetted in a green light.

“As long as I can remember,” Thomas answers. He thinks he sees Newt grip the blanket tight in his right hand, but he’s not sure.

“Right,” Newt nods. “Me, too.”

Silence. Thick, heavy silence.

“I guess it took me driving who knows how many miles away from campus and a joint to get that out of me, huh?” Thomas tries to lighten the mood.

Newt gives a weak chuckle back. He looks exhausted.

“Right. Listen, mate, I’m gonna take a quick shower. I’ll be back.”

Thomas watches as Newt gets up and walks to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. It’s been a long day.

Thomas will end up falling asleep before Newt gets out of the bathroom. He does, however, wake up momentarily to feel Newt crawl into bed next to him. He doesn’t know if he dreams it or not, but he thinks he hears Newt sniffle once before clearing his throat and laying down onto the pillow.

***

Hours have passed. They’re back on the road, as always. As it should be.

Thomas watches as the sun peaks back and forth between the clouds, flashes of bright light before dimming back to a silver lining. The sky is a beautiful blue. It feels like it goes on forever. The road looks like it does. He likes to imagine it does.

He drums his right hand against the car door, his fluttering fingers pinging against the metal. Maybe we could do this forever, he thinks. There’s so much to see out there. They’ve seen so little on this trip, yet they’ve seen more than they have in the last four years. It feels like wasted time. All of this they could have seen. And where is this, exactly?

“Where are we?” Thomas asks.

“I don’t know,” Newt says. “Why don’t you check the map?”

“Okay,” Thomas answers, grabbing the map from the floor. He glances at it, realizes all the roads lead to nowhere. Dead ends, every single one of them. He can’t read it. He can’t understand it.

“Weird,” Thomas says. “I don’t think this map is right.”

“That’s okay,” Newt tells him. Thomas believes it.

Thomas watches as the street signs go by, names of towns he’s never heard of and highways he’s never driven on. A new start, all of them. What could be.

One of the signs passes, bright and green. Eden, Right Lane, it reads.

“Let’s make a right,” Thomas suggests, turning towards Newt.

“Sorry, mate,” Newt shrugs, hand lazily draped on the wheel. “It’s too late, I missed it.”

“Oh,” Thomas falters.

He watches more signs pass, more than he thinks there should be. All these towns, all these places. Filled with people and bars and parks and schools and boys and dreams and jobs and nothing. And he wants to see it all, and he can’t.

So many signs. Bright red, all caps. WHAT ARE YOU DOING, THOMAS, they say. YOU’RE RUNNING OUT OF TIME, they say.

Thomas looks at Newt. “Can you see those?”

“See what?” Newt asks.

Thomas looks back towards the road, a million signs on the road, blazing past, a whirl of red.

THE WORLD IS COMING TO AN END.

YOU’RE WASTING TIME, THOMAS.

WHERE CAN YOU GO?

YOU’RE GOING TO LOSE HIM.

DEAD END DEAD END DEAD END

Black blobs start clouding Thomas’ vision, leaking in at the corners like Newt’s ruined film. He can barely see the road.

“Newt, we need to-” He turns to the left. The seat is empty. The wheel starts turning on its own.

“Shit!” Thomas hisses. He tries to grab the wheel, but it doesn’t matter. It’s too late. The course was set long ago.

DEAD END DEAD END DEAD END

YOU’RE LOSING HIM

The car swerves into a palm tree.

Chapter Text

When Thomas wakes up, for real this time, he jolts awake like a lightning bolt. His chest rises and falls quickly with panicked breaths, and he grips the cold white blanket for support.

He blinks rapidly as he takes in his surroundings. He’s in a bed in a motel room somewhere in California. It is early in the morning, an orange-red dawn creeping in through the windows, bathing the room in warmth. The bed is wrinkled on his left from the indentations of where someone once was. Newt.

Just as Thomas starts to relax from the reassurance that he’s not in a nightmare, he starts to wake up into one. The realization of what happened last night creeps up on his skin just like the sun through the window. It feels like a nightmare; it is so distant and guarded in his mind that he’s almost convinced it didn’t actually happen. But the unsettled churning of his gut tells him it did.

He’s not sure what this means for them, now. On one hand, there is a relief; the relief of letting out a breath after holding it in for four years. Of not having to pretend to be something he’s not. Of a tenseness, loosened.

But then, there is the familiar anxiety that has kept this secret from his best friend. The fear that, with this knowledge of Thomas’ attraction towards guys, Newt will figure out that he is not only one of those guys, but the only guy. The only one that matters. In Thomas’ mind, the two facts are intrinsically linked, and it’s inevitable that their connection is eventually made.

Well, Thomas thinks, guess I’ll just wait it out. Another time bomb.

Thomas sits up in bed and ruffles the flatness out of his hair. He looks at the old alarm clock on the nightstand: 8:47 AM. They have another long day ahead of them. He has no idea how long it will take them to get home. He has a feeling the ride home will be very different than the ride here.

Newt comes inside from the motel room door, the smell of Marlboro’s following him. He still has on the clothes he wore yesterday. This was supposed to be a one day trip, after all. He looks like he woke up recently, too.

Thomas tenses as Newt makes eye contact with him, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. For a moment, the entire world seems to just...stop. No wind outside, no breaths, no blinking, nothing. The air feels heavy, and thick, and unsettled.

Everything has to be different now, after what I’ve said, Thomas thinks. This feels like the end of everything. But then, Newt just rubs his hand down his face.

“Coffee,” is all he says.

Thomas is startled by the familiarity of it all. This is what Newt did yesterday, which feels like a lifetime ago. And yet it’s the same. He’s not sure if Newt did this on purpose, but it comforts Thomas nonetheless. A glimmer of hope rises.

“Alright,” Thomas smiles. “Let’s get some coffee.”

***

After they’ve packed what little things they have and checked out, Thomas drives them to a local diner in that same city. Newt has ordered his black coffee as usual, cupping the mug in his hands as if he were cold. Thomas has ordered coffee, too; he doesn’t drink it much, but he needed the energy boost to push away the early morning grogginess. He starts to form a pile of wrappers next to him from his creamers and sugars, Newt watching with a sort of soft amusement.

“Would you like some coffee with that sugar?” Newt teases, flashing a tired smile. Thomas wonders how much sleep Newt actually got last night.

“Hey, not all of us can drink black coffee like you, you monster.”

“What can I say?” Newt shrugs. “Coffee and cigarettes. I’m a walking art student cliche.”

Thomas laughs. “Did you get good stuff out here? You know, for your project?”

Newt looks down at his camera bag next to him in the diner booth. “Yeah. I think so. I’m excited to see it all developed.”

“Me, too. You better show me once it’s done.”

“You’ll see it at my opening. That is, if you and everyone remember to come.”

Thomas scrunches his eyebrows. “Of course we’re gonna remember. I’ve had it in my calendar for months. Brenda’s gonna drag everyone from the sculpture department down to see it.”

Newt nods, looking down at his coffee. “Right.”

A young waiter walks over to them, notepad in hand. “Are you guys ready to order?” he asks.

Thomas looks at Newt, who nods.

“Yeah,” Thomas answers. “I’ll take the breakfast combo with bacon and scrambled eggs, please.”

“Good choice,” the waiter smiles. “And you?”

“Just toast on rye will be fine, thanks,” Newt says.

“Just toast?” Thomas echos. “That’s no fun.”

Newt shrugs. “I’m not hungry.”

“You might be once you see your friend’s platter,” the waiter says. “The breakfast combo is a best-seller. The pancakes here are, like, the fluffiest I’ve ever had. And I’m not just saying that cause I work here.”

Newt gives a small smile. “I believe you.”

The waiter takes their menus and heads off. Newt watches him walk away before turning back to Thomas.

“He’s cute, right?” Newt asks.

Thomas chokes a little on his coffee. “Wh-who? The waiter?”

“No, Tommy, my photo professor.” Newt rolls his eyes. “Yes, the waiter.”

“Oh,” Thomas murmurs, thinking. Truth be told, he wasn’t really looking at him. He’s never gonna see any of these people again, right? No use committing them to memory. “I guess.”

Newt smiles. “Well, now that I know you’re bi, I gotta know your type.”

“My type?”

Newt’s smile widens. “Yeah, mate. Everyone’s got a type. What’s yours?”

You. “I don’t know.”

“Well, what do you like in a guy?”

Blonde, British, photographer, smoker.

“Um, I like a good smile. And nice hair. And, um…” Thomas fidgets in his chair. This is all so uncomfortably new.

“And eyes? And a nose? Ears, maybe?”

“Shut up,” Thomas smirks, feeling his ears turn red. “I’m not used to this.”

Newt’s smile falters slightly. “Sorry, mate. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable, or anything.”

“No, no,” Thomas shakes his head. “You’re not. You’re fine. I’m just, uh…” In love with you and I can’t tell you because you’re leaving the country forever in a few weeks. “I’ve never talked about this before. I don’t think I have a type yet.”

“Alright,” Newt nods. “That’s fair.”

There’s a few moments of silence before Newt speaks up again. “I’m glad you told me.”

“You are?” Thomas asks.

“Of course,” Newt answers. “You’re my best friend. I’m happy that you trusted me with that.”

“I always trusted you,” Thomas hears himself say. “Just not myself.”

Newt nods. “I get it. I was there once, too, you know.”

“Yeah.”

“So I’m here for you. If you have any, you know, questions, or anything. You know I’m here.”

“Not for long,” Thomas blurts out. He meant to think it, not say it, but the coffee hasn’t kicked in yet. He sees Newt visibly shrink from the comment. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“No, I get it,” Newt takes a sip of his coffee. “I was thinking that, too.”

Thomas sighs, watching as the early morning sun graces Newt’s face. Thomas dragged him who knows how many miles away from campus and interrupted his senior project work to run away from the truth that both of them know. And here, in the middle of this random California diner, Thomas finally feels that reality set in. It sinks his chest, makes the linoleum floor feel like it’s cracking open. He looks at Newt and feels as though he’s looking at a ghost. He is only across the table and yet he’s a million miles away.

So Thomas, for the second time in only eight hours, faces the truth again.

“I’m gonna miss you.”

Newt looks up from his coffee, his face falling. It was a simple statement, one that he’s said before in passing. But here, after the last day they’ve been through, it feels so utterly candid, as if he were ripping his own chest open and exposing his beating heart through the ribcage.

“Tommy-”

“No, shit, I’m sorry,” Thomas shakes his head. “This is supposed to be a fun road trip. No school shit, no England shit. Fuck. Forget that.”

Newt watches him for a few moments in a quiet sadness. The fact that Newt has now given up on maintaining a neutral expression reminds Thomas of how much he’s put him through emotionally in the last day.

“I’m gonna miss you, too.” Newt says softly. “But, I mean. You knew that already.”

Thomas gives a weak smile. “Right.”

“And I’ll miss the gang, too. Brenda, Minho, Teresa, Harriet, Alby...all of ‘em. Wish I could take you all to England with me.”

“It would make more sense to take you and your family here,” Thomas rebuttals. “There’s less of you. And then you don’t have to leave.”

(You don’t have to leave. A sentence Thomas has screamed at Newt in his head a million times. You don’t have to leave. Don’t leave.)

“Maybe I’ll convince them to take holiday here,” Newt shrugs. “Christmas on the beach.”

“And also New Years’ Eve. And Valentine’s Day. And Fourth of July.”

“I don’t celebrate that, mate.”

“Well, now’s a great time to start!”

Newt laughs. “Bloody hell.”

(If they both keep laughing about this, then why does it still hurt? Why is it still so heavy?)

“Alright,” Newt continues, holding up his coffee mug. “Here’s to the last four years.”

It feels like he’s changing the topic, but Thomas allows it. He holds up his mug.

“Cheers.”

An hour and a half later, both of them are finished, nothing but crumbs and greasy napkins left on the table. The waiter was right; those pancakes were the fluffiest that Thomas had ever had. He takes a business card as he leaves to remember the place by.

They get back in the car, Thomas sitting with his hands on the wheel. Newt fiddles with his phone in one hand, AUX cord in the other. This is it. The ride back home. The beginning of the end. It feels so final, so definitive. Thomas is no longer sure if he’s being dramatic about it or not.

He turns to Newt and gives his best attempt at a smile. “Ready to go home?”

(Bad choice of words. California isn’t home for Newt.)

Newt sighs. “I guess. I just can’t believe it’s over.”

The trip? Thomas wonders. Or…

“It’s not over yet.” Thomas argues. “We might see some cool stuff on the way down that we didn’t before.” He’s playing pretend again.

Newt nods slightly as he looks off at a random point on the dashboard. “Right. Yeah, right. Not over yet.”

***

They fill the car with gas and snacks at the next gas station, both of them disappointed to discover this one didn’t carry Hot Cheetos. It adds to the general feeling of sadness Thomas has the whole time he’s driving. They do find some different stuff during the first few hours; a large crater from an asteroid strike, an abandoned art gallery, a skate park covered in graffiti. It all makes for great photos and laughs and memories, but only this time, Thomas feels like he’s acting. He can feel himself pretending. Sure, they’re enjoying their snacks, they’re taking silly photos, they’re singing to the songs from Newt’s playlist. The wind is flowing through their hair, they’ve got the freedom of the open road, the comfort of each other. But it doesn’t feel like enough. Not anymore.

Because of instead of running away from the truth, Thomas is now hurtling towards it at 70 miles per hour. He knows they still have a few weeks before graduation, but in Thomas’ mind, he’s bringing Newt straight to the airport. He feels hyper aware of every plane passing overhead, the rumbling drumming through his chest.

It hits him harder when he starts to recognize some landmarks from the way up. This meant they were getting closer.

“Hey, it’s that giant cactus sculpture,” Thomas points as they pass it. “Feels like we were just there.”

“I know,” Newt murmurs. “Time doesn’t feel real out here.”

They drive for another minute in silence before signs of exits start approaching.

“Okay, MapQuest. Where am I headed?”

Thomas hears the rustling of the map in Newt’s lap.

“Okay, um…” Newt hums. “Go...make a…”

“Yeah?”

“Right. Take the next exit.”

Thomas nods. “You got it.”

He pulls off onto the exit, the green signs passing giving him sharp flashbacks to his nightmare. He wants to pretend like it all means something, some greater sign of what he should do. But he can only do so much pretending.

After an hour of driving straight, Thomas starts to notice more things he missed on the way up.

“Hey, there’s a Mexican and Irish restaurant over here,” he chuckles. “I keep seeing these signs of, like, a shamrock and a taco. If I had seen that before, I would have made you eat there.”

“Thank God you didn’t,” Newt scoffs. “I don’t think those cuisines are meant to go together.”

“Don’t knock it ‘till you try it,” Thomas laughs.

A few more miles down, he sees another interesting attraction; he’s not sure what it is at first, but as he passes it he realizes; it’s the world’s largest thermometer.

“Newt! Look look look! Did you see it?!”

“See what?”

“The fucking thermometer! Just like I said yesterday! We just passed it!”

“We did? Just now?”

“Yeah! Holy shit, that was incredible. How did we miss that?”

“I don’t know,” Newt shrugs.

Thomas thinks for a moment. “That doesn’t make sense. There’s no fucking way we would have missed that.”

“Maybe we were jamming to Queen at the time, or something.”

“No, I don’t think so. I think...I hate to say it, but I think we might be lost.”

Newt shakes his head. “Can’t be. I read the map to a T.”

“Nobody’s perfect. Not even you, Google Maps. We gotta pull over.”

“That might take a while. That thermometer’s the last thing we’ve seen for a few miles.”

That’s okay, Thomas thinks. We could search forever for a place to stop. That would be okay with me.

After another half hour of nothing but sand, they start to approach a little municipal plaza. An antique store catches Thomas’ eye.

“Ooh, let’s stop here,” Thomas cheers. “I wanna see some old shit.”

He pulls into the parking lot and parks, stretching his sore legs once he steps out of the car. He hears the bones in his back popping as he leans back, and apparently, so does Newt.

“Christ alive,” Newt whistles. “You sound like a Christmas cracker.”

“That’s that thing you brought last year, right? Where you pull it and a little toy comes out?”

“More or less, yeah. Surprised you remembered.”

“I remember it was a hit at our party,” Thomas recollects. “Harriet was so excited she started crying. But she was drunk, so.”

Newt chuckles to himself as he looks at the ground. “That girl’s a riot. I’ll miss her a lot.”

Thomas clears his throat, his fingers twitching. “Yeah.”

They head into the antique shop, which is overwhelmingly filled top to bottom with...stuff. Stuff that Thomas wouldn’t even think to think of. The walls are covered in clocks and paintings, there are cabinets and dressers everywhere, and about a million lamps. The whole place smells of dust, and the air feels slightly damp upon entry.

A little bell chimes above them as they open the door. A very old woman smiles at them from the counter across the room. Thomas smiles back, then starts to mindlessly wander around, forgetting why they stopped in the first place.

He hears some soft metallic clink-ing and turns to see Newt rummaging through a pile of buttons.

“Oh, these are great,” Newt laughs quietly.

“Whatcha got there?” Thomas asks.

Newt holds up one of the pins next to his face and smiles mischeviously. Thomas reads the pin: THEY CAN’T LICK OUR DICK.

“...what the fuck?”

Newt laughs, deep and hearty. “It’s a Richard Nixon pin. You know, Dick as in Richard? They’ve got a bunch of ‘em in here.”

Thomas pulls out another one: MY PICK IS DICK.

“My pick is Dick…” he reads.

“Mine,” Newt calls, snatching it out of Thomas’ hand. “I’m getting this.”

“Why?”

“Because, Tommy, that’s the story of my life. I wish I had said that when I came out, actually.” He stands up straight and looks off in the distance. “Mum, Dad...I have to tell you...my pick is dick.”

Thomas laughs, imagining Newt saying that to his very innocent parents. “Nixon’s rolling over in his grave.”

They wander around the aisles together, finding things like strange telephones, chicken sculptures, and more lamps. Thomas notices a glass case filled with old cameras. He tugs Newt’s arm.

“Hey, check it out,” he says, pointing to the glass. “These are sick.”

Newt squats so he’s eye level with the cameras. Thomas doesn’t know what any of them are; they’re all weirdly square and boxy, lots of them covered in brown or black leather, which are visibly cracked. The lenses are small, and some of them are attached by what looks like an accordian-style fold.

“Could you use any of these?” Thomas asks. “Like, do you know how?”

“Some of them I could probably figure out,” Newt murmurs. “But these are really old. And they’re probably all broken. Or the film would be insanely expensive to buy.”

“You can’t just use the film you have now?”

Newt gives a soft laugh. “No, Tommy. Different cameras use different types of film. Think of a Polaroid, how they use that square film. Some of these use film sort of like that. And no one makes them anymore.”

“Oh.”

Newt keeps eyeing the cameras, so Thomas decides to keep meandering on his own. He eventually finds his way to the old lady he saw when he walked in, and decides to ask her for directions.

“Hi there,” he greets. “We were on our way back home and I think we took a wrong turn. Do you think you can help us?”

She grins up at him from her stool behind the counter. “I can certainly try. That’s what most people stop here for, anyway.”

A few minutes later and Thomas has a new map filled with directions to get home. He thanks the lady and turns around to find Newt.

“Okay, Newt, we’re set. You still buying that dick pin?” He waits for an answer from one of the aisles, but doesn’t hear anything. Confused, he starts walking around the store trying to find him. Finally, he spots him towards the back of the store, starting dead-eyed at a box. Thomas can’t tell from where he’s standing what’s inside, so he walks closer.

Newt doesn’t say anything as Thomas walks closer; in fact, Thomas isn’t even sure he knows he’s there. He peeks into the box.

What’s inside the box is photos; all scattered and tossed, some ripped. They look like old family photos, taken on a disposable camera, the type you go to the store to get the film developed. Newt’s hand slowly sifts his way through the pile, almost as if he were in a trance.

Thomas doesn’t say anything for a few moments, just glances at the photos as Newt moves them. Suddenly, Newt speaks up.

“Why would someone sell these?” he asks. Thomas looks up at Newt, startled. Newt is still staring at the box.

“I don’t know. Maybe they’re not close with their family anymore.”

“Yeah, but...why would you sell them? Or donate them? Why not just shred them? Or burn them? Who would buy these?”

Thomas shrugs. “I mean, I don’t-”

“Wait. I just answered my own question.” Newt then suddenly picks up the box and starts walking towards the front counter. Thomas starts following him.

“Newt? You’re gonna buy these?”

“Someone has to.”

“I mean, not really. The owner could just shred them, like you said.”

“But I’m here now. I can make sure these people aren’t forgotten.”

“I think they already are, if they’re here.”

Newt doesn’t say anything, just keeps marching forward. He makes his way to the counter and puts the box down, obscuring Thomas’ vision of the old lady. Newt takes the pin out of his back pocket and places it on the counter next to the box.

“How much for this?” Newt asks.

“What’s in there?” the lady speaks from behind the box. Thomas hears some shuffling, then sees the lady’s head appear above the box, as if she were standing on something. She appears confused when she looks inside. “What the hell are these?”

“Wouldn’t you know?” Newt asks. “You’re selling them.”

“Honey, there are so many things in here, there’s no way I can remember all of ‘em. And I definitely don’t remember this.”

“So you’re not selling it?”

“No. Just take them. I can’t see anyone else wanting them.”

Newt sighs. “Yeah. Me too. Uh, what about the pin?”

The lady shakes her head. “A dollar will do.”

“Great.” Newt fishes a dollar out from another pocket and places it on the counter, then throws the pin in the box. “Have a nice day.” He then marches out of the store with the box, Thomas speed-walking to catch up.

By the time he leaves the store, Newt is already waiting by the car, box at his feet. Thomas unlocks the car as he walks up and watches as Newt slides the box into the backseat, then hops into the passenger’s seat. Thomas slides into the driver’s seat and looks towards Newt, who’s looking out the window. Thomas shrugs and slaps his hands on his legs.

“What the hell was that?”

Newt gives a small shrug. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“What are you gonna do with those photos?”

“I don’t know. Did you get the directions?”

Thomas is startled by how cold Newt suddenly sounds. It’s like something in that box flipped a switch in him. “Uh, yeah. Here.”

He hands Newt the new map. “Great. Let’s go.”

“Um, alright.”

Thomas starts the car and pulls out of the lot, the feeling of dread he was trying to avoid suddenly heavy on his shoulders. It’s like Newt had gone back to the way he was before they left; all business, all serious. He must be regretting extending the trip, Thomas thinks as he drives. He’s finally gotten sick of me.

For a while, Thomas isn’t sure how long, the drive is unusually silent. Newt plays his music a little louder than usual, and only speaks to read directions to Thomas. He also blows through two cigarettes back-to-back, something Thomas hadn’t seen him do before.

The longer Thomas has with nothing but his thoughts, the more embarrassed he starts to feel, and the more he starts to regret the entire trip. It was a stupid, selfish idea; wake Newt up at 4 A.M. to have them drive aimlessly in one direction instead of working on their senior projects. And why? So Thomas could pretend like he never had to live a life where Newt was away from him for more than a few months at a time? Stupid, selfish. Childish.

(And Newt knew it was, too. But he still came. Why did he still come?)

Eventually, the sun starts beginning its descent on the horizon once again, the sky becoming a dusty, light purple. Their detour took them off the path way more than Thomas had expected; it was bound to be dark out by the time they got back to campus. Instead of leaving and coming back in one day, they’d somehow flown through an entire two day weekend. No wonder Newt was itching to get back.

Thomas suddenly feels his car bump over something in the road. He winces, glancing in the rearview mirror and anticipating a dead snake or other wildlife. But he doesn’t see anything.

“What was that?” Newt asks, the first time he’s spoken in probably 20 minutes.

“I don’t know. I didn’t see anything.”

“Huh,” Newt hums.

Thomas tries to ignore it and keep driving, but suddenly feels a lag in his acceleration, and a slight change of angle in his seat.

“Shit. I think whatever I hit punctured my tire.”

“You’re joking.”

“No, man. I gotta pull over.”

He rolls forward and pulls over next to a large, purple neon sign advertising the PURPLE PALM HOTEL a few miles down the road. It casts a strange glow over his car, matching the eery sky. It reminds him of places he’s seen in his dreams, and he’s reminded again of his nightmare from last night.

He hops out the car and inspects his tires, finally stopping at his back right. There’s a pretty big puncture, and he can see the tire has been slowly deflating. He also knows he doesn’t have a spare on him.

“Shit,” he hisses as he watches the tire deflate. He turns again to the hotel sign; NO VACANCY. “Shit.”

Newt comes out the passenger’s side and walks up to Thomas, noticing the tire.

“Bloody hell.”

“I know.”

“Do you have a spare?”

“No. I just used it, like, two weeks ago.”

“Shit.”

“I know. I have to call someone.”

“Who are you gonna call?”

Thomas shrugs. “Ghostbusters?”

Newt looks him dead in the eyes without laughing.

“Right, sorry.” Thomas stutters. “I’ll call Triple A.”

A few minutes of trying to connect later, Thomas finally manages to make a connection. The company says it’ll take at most ten minutes to get there, which lifts a weight off Thomas’ shoulders.

“So we just gotta chill here for a bit,” Thomas relays to Newt. “Then we’re back on track.”

“Jesus,” Newt curses, clenching his hands into fists and looking down at the ground. He slowly starts walking in a circle. “We could have been home by now, if we hadn’t made that bloody wrong turn.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“God, I’m so STUPID,” Newt exclaims, kicking a rock. Thomas flinches. “I can’t believe I did that.”

“Newt, you read the map wrong, it’s fine,” Thomas explains, walking towards Newt. “We just gotta wait for the guy to come.”

“No, it’s not fine,” Newt continues, gesturing as he paces back and forth. “Because I gave you the wrong directions, I had to waste more of your bloody time driving me around, and that’s more gas money you have to spend, and now you have to pay for a new tire all because I was selfish.”

“Selfish? How? It was a mistake.”

Newt sighs so loudly, Thomas swears it echoes down the highway, across the entire desert.

“It wasn’t a mistake.”

Thomas blinks. Newt stands with his arms crossed, avoiding Thomas’ gaze.

“Huh?” Thomas finally asks. “What do you mean?”

Newt looks up at Thomas, an exhausted look in his eyes.

“Tommy, out of all the times we’ve driven together, have I ever read the map wrong?”

Thomas thinks for a moment. “Um...I don’t think so. That’s why I call you MapQuest.”

“Right.”

A pause.

“So…?” Thomas drags out, confused.

Newt slaps his hands at his sides. “So? Christ, Tommy. I did it on purpose.”

Thomas stares at Newt, exasperated and angry under the purple neon light. Maybe this was all another dream, because nothing that Newt was saying made any sense.

“Newt, why would you do that?”

Newt avoids Thomas’ eyes. He fails to shrug casually.

“I guess I just...wanted something for you to remember me by. Make the whole trip longer, leaves more of a memory of me for you to keep...Wow, that sounds stupid.”

Thomas shakes his head, trying to make this all make sense. He had wanted the trip to be longer because he’s in love with Newt, and can’t bear to say goodbye. Surely, Newt didn’t have the same intentions.

(WAKE UP, the hotel sign yells.)

“I have tons of memories with you,” Thomas counters.

“A whole family’s worth of memories were forgotten,” Newt mentioned. “I could be, too.”

Thomas stopped for a moment, looked into the backseat window at the box of family photos.

“Newt, is that what you think you are? An antique? Some forgotten photographs?”

Newt gives a weak chuckle. “Well, when you say it like that, it sounds silly.” A pause. “I guess it is. I mean, look where we are now. I’ve got us all turned around.”

“It’s not silly,” Thomas assures. “It’s how you feel. It just doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Yeah, I guess it doesn’t,” Newt murmurs. “But in my head, I’ve just--I’ve got this fear, that…”

“That what?”

Newt looks at Thomas, and something about the way Newt looks at him feels so raw, so vulnerable. It’s startling.

“That you’re gonna forget me. All of you, the whole gang. That when I’m gone, you’re all gonna move on. You probably already do every summer holiday. Then you go ‘Oh, yeah, that bloke’s back.’ But soon this bloke will be gone forever, doing fuck all in England, and you guys will have your whole lives here, together. I don’t know. It makes sense in my head.”

(YOU’RE LOSING HIM, the clouds spell.)

“That’s ridiculous,” Thomas retorts. “We’re always gonna remember you. Hell, me and you lived together for three years. How could I forget you?”

Newt walks over to the car and leans against it, a purple glow against his side.

“I’m not saying you actually will,” Newt speaks to the ground. “It’s just why I…..I’m sorry. I’m not making any sense. I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore.”

(YOU’RE RUNNING OUT OF TIME, the car radio screams.)

Thomas slowly walks up so he’s in front of Newt, unsure of what exactly he’s going to do.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Thomas says. “I’m not mad at you.”

“I would be,” Newt huffs. “I think you should be.”

“You remember me waking you up at 4 A.M. two days ago, right?” Thomas smirks. “I think we might be even in terms of doing stupid shit.”

Newt attempts a smile. “Your reasons were simpler. Mine are…” He looks up at Thomas, his eyes looking through him for a moment, looking at somewhere Thomas can’t see, can’t know. Newt swallows. “Worse.”

Thomas watches as the slight wind ruffles Newt’s loose hairs, watches the purple light strike his pale skin. He thinks of the last two days and the last four years of driving in circles, driving to nowhere in particular. Driving away from the truth, driving around it. And, now, driving towards it.

Thomas’ nightmare was right. He’s hit a dead end. There’s no where else to run.

(WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?)

“Newt, I think we both had the same reasons.”

Silence. Newt, an open wound. Thomas, hands bloody.

“You can’t know that,” Newt finally settles on.

But Thomas does know. Too well. It’s all he’s known. It’s all he’s ever known.

This is what kissing Newt feels like.

It feels like running up a down escalator. It feels like gale force winds. It feels like pushing two magnets of the same attraction together. It feels like driving into oncoming traffic at 70 miles an hour. It feels like swimming out of a whirlpool.

It’s the best thing he’s ever felt. And it hurts like hell.

It hurts because Newt kisses him back quickly, maybe too quickly. It hurts the way Newt’s hand clutches Thomas’ side like it’s a life jacket, how he pulls Thomas into him as if to minimize any distance there could ever be between the two. The softness of Newt’s lips, the feeling of his breath, his cheek underneath Thomas’ hand. It all hurts. All that fire. He wishes it would burn him alive.

At some point, they pull away, but not completely. Thomas’ hand cradles Newt’s face, a single tear falling over Thomas’ thumb. Newt looks at him all over, his hand shaking on Thomas’ side.

And he says the last thing Thomas would ever expect.

“Tommy, why would you do that?”

Thomas blinks, staring into Newt’s glassy eyes.

“What?”

“Do you know how hard…” Newt starts, looking down. He still doesn’t pull away. “...Christ. Look at us.”

Suddenly, flashing orange lights shine against Newt’s face. Thomas turns to see a Triple A truck pulling up beside his car. The two separate, Thomas clearing his throat and walking towards the truck on what feels like a new set of legs.

Thomas watches as a man in overalls hops out of the side of the truck.

“Hi there,” Thomas greets. “You got here quick.”

“We’re right next to that hotel,” the mechanic explains, pointing towards the sign above them. “Lucky for you.”

“Yeah,” Thomas hums. “Lucky. Right.”

“So, what happened here?”

“Oh. Uh, let me show you.”

Thomas turns around and sees Newt still glued to the side of the car, his hands balled into tight fists at his sides. He looks up to see Thomas and the mechanic approaching, and quickly detaches himself from the car, walking back towards the sign. Thomas forces himself not to watch him walk away.

“Something punctured my tire,” Thomas explains, pointing towards the still-slowly deflating tire. “I just used my spare about two weeks ago. Haven’t gotten a new one yet.”

“Probably a dead scorpion, or something,” the mechanic shrug. “Easy fix, though. Let me get my tools.”

Thomas stands by his car as the mechanic walks back to the truck, every muscle in his body tense and uncertain. If he saw anything, it looks like he wasn’t going to mention it, which was at least one relief.

Thomas tries not to think about what just happened so he doesn’t have a breakdown in front of this mechanic. But his whole world was just flipped upside down. How could he not?

He can’t help but ask himself the same thing Newt did: why did he do that? He could have just used his words. Or left the conversation where it was completely, doing what he did best and ignoring it, playing pretend. That’s what he should have done, what the easier thing to do would have been. But then he looked in Newt’s eyes, and he could have sworn he saw them turn green. Everything in his gut telling him go. Until Newt slammed on the brakes.

Thomas thought he knew what Newt wanted. Could feel it, pulling him, all of the signs finally aligning. Now he doesn’t know what Newt wants. Doesn’t know what any of it means. Did Newt love Thomas? Or was this something else?

The mechanic walks back, rolling a tire on the purple-tinted sand. Thomas knows how to change a tire; he’s done it plenty of times. But he needs to distract his brain for a bit.

“Hey, do you mind showing me how to do that?” he asks the mechanic. “For next time.”

“I technically shouldn’t, since then you won’t need to hire me…” the mechanic starts. Then he looks up at Thomas, who must look like a real worried piece of shit, because the mechanic’s face falls immediately. “Sure. Okay. I’ll show you.”

***

After Thomas pretends to not know how to change a tire, he pays the mechanic and sends him off on his way. It digs into his budget, but this whole trip has already done that.

Thomas watches the Triple A truck drive away, fading off into the horizon. And then, silence. Nothing but the slightest wind. He turns to Newt, who has been standing underneath the hotel sign the entire time. His head is down, his right foot digging grooves into the sand.

Thomas just watches him for a few moments, not sure what to say. What were they supposed to do? Their whole friendship just shattered in front of their eyes, laid to waste on the side of the road. How do they go on? What do they do?

Finally, Thomas tries to speak.

“Newt,” is all he manages to say. He hates how broken it comes out.

Newt looks up, and the two lock eyes. It feels like Newt’s gaze is piercing right through him.

“We should go,” Thomas continues. It’s the first time in two days that he’s actually wanted to go home.

Newt avoids Thomas’ gaze for a moment before speaking. “Tommy, I-”

“No, Newt, it’s fine,” Thomas interrupts. “You’re right. I mean, you didn’t say it, but you’re right. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You don’t-”

“You always told me that you didn’t want to get attached to anyone here. Because you didn’t want to hurt them. That means me, too. Right?” A beat. “So I shouldn’t have kissed you. Because now you have to hurt me.”

Newt seems shocked silent, staring at Thomas from what feels like a million miles away.

“I put you in that position. That was selfish of me. I’m sorry. Let’s just go home. I mean, uh, to campus.”

Before Newt can answer, Thomas whips around and gets back into the car, sitting for a few moments with nothing but his breaths. He fumbles with his keys and starts the ignition, the rumbling of the engine under him discomforting, for once. He can’t run away from this. He’s taking it with him.

Some time after, Newt slides into the passenger’s seat, staring ahead without so much as a glance at Thomas. He even puts his seatbelt on without looking.

Okay, Thomas thinks. Time to drive, Thomas. Don’t crash the car. Just drive. It’s all you do. You can do it.

For the next hour or so, there is complete silence in the car. The only time anyone speaks are when Newt has to read directions, which he does so quietly, with almost no tone of emotion. Thomas imagines he is trying, and failing, to go back to his usual self, the Newt that keeps his emotions in check, in balance. Never on the surface.

The silence fills the car to the brim, suffocating. Thomas lowers the windows at one point, trying to air it all out. But it stays.

One peculiar thing he notices, even though he tries to avoid looking, is that Newt takes out another Marlboro from his bag, fiddling with it in his hands. He clutches it for the whole hour, but he never lights it.

There were only a few more weeks of college before Newt left for England, never to return. All Thomas had to do was get through the next few weeks, finish his finals, and say goodbye at the airport without crying. And now he’s gone and kissed him. He couldn’t have just made the goodbye easy.

This is what Newt was trying to avoid. All of the hookups, all the ghosting. An attempt to prevent anyone from holding on too tight, to forming something that hurts to sever. Sure, it would hurt for them to say goodbye beforehand, since they were friends. But now there’s a new layer. Of possibility, time, potential. Wasted. Thomas wonders if Newt feels it as deeply as he does.

Eventually, Thomas starts recognizing the road signs, and tells Newt to stop reading directions. They were close to re-entering the city, which meant the end of the trip. This stupid, stupid trip. Possibly the stupidest thing Thomas had ever done.

(Okay. Second stupidest.)

“I’ll, um, drop you off at your apartment,” Thomas explains. “I mean, obviously. Duh.”

“Okay,” Newt murmurs.

Thomas drives through the city, the constant bright lights and crowds of people starkly different from most of what he’s seen the past two days. He can even feel his eyes straining against the light, wishing for the calm smoothness of the desert roads.

He pulls into the campus, him and Newt flashing their student IDs to the security guard at the entrance. They make their way through the parameter of the campus until they reach the parking lot for Newt’s apartment. Thomas can hear the sounds of heavy, rhythmic bass in the distance, and figures there must be a party happening somewhere.

Thomas pulls into the closest spot he can to Newt’s apartment, stares at the familiar brown door in the distance. What he wishes he could tell himself when he knocked on it two days ago.

There’s a few moments of absolutely nothing. The whole world, paused. Nothing but the bass thumping in the background. Eventually, Newt quietly speaks.

“Listen, Tommy…” he starts, still twiddling the unlit cigarette in his hand. “You don’t need me to tell you this, but I care about you a lot. A lot. Okay, you know that.” Thomas stays silent. “I’ve already told you I’m gonna miss you. And I will, but there’s time between now and then, and I just...I just wanted to…”

“Newt, I don’t wanna lose you,” Thomas hears himself say. That seems to be how everything works with him lately; something else making the decision for him, and him just watching. “We’ve only got a few weeks left. I don’t want to waste them. We were both selfish in our own ways. Now we just have to...forget it.”

“Forget it,” Newt repeats.

“Yes,” Thomas answers. “Forget it and move on. It was...we’ve spent a lot of time together the past two days. We were lost, you felt bad about the tire. Shit happens. We’re best friends, we can…”

“Move on,” Newt finishes. “Right. Stay friends, keep it like normal.”

“Yes! Exactly. No being selfish, no doing...stupid, impulsive shit. Nope. Just focus on our senior projects, have fun with our friends, and graduate.”

“Yeah,” Newt nods. “We can do that.”

“Cause we’re friends.”

“Right.” “And we’re gonna stay friends.”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Okay, great.”

“We’re on the same page.”

“Exactly.”

Then there’s a moment of silence, and Thomas wonders when his Oscar for Best Actor is going to come in the mail.

He thought, for a moment, that he could stop pretending. That he could finally start facing the truth, start confessing the feelings that he’s hidden for four years and stop running away. But, truly, he should have known better, because now he has to keep pretending. Only it’s going to be ten times harder than before.

He quietly watches as Newt collects his things from Thomas’ car, wonders if he’ll ever watch Newt do that again. He imagines that, after these last two days, Newt would want to stay as far away from Thomas’ car (or, even worse, Thomas) as possible.

Newt finally gets out of the car and stands next to the open door, looking towards his apartment for a few moments.

“Got a lot of work to do tomorrow,” he says to the air.

“Yeah,” Thomas hums. “Me, too.”

Newt looks over his shoulder at Thomas without turning around.

“We’re doing the right thing...Right?”

Thomas blinks, trying to read Newt’s expression. He can’t find it in the dark.

“I think so,” Thomas answers. “I think we have to.”

“Right,” Newt nods. “Okay. See you soon.” Newt shuts the car door, the sound echoing around the inside of Thomas’ car like a bullet. Thomas watches him walk away, doesn’t leave until Newt gets inside the apartment.

As Thomas drives towards his own apartment, he hears the heavy bass growing louder, and a dread spreads through his chest. The party’s coming from his complex. Great. Just what I needed.

When he pulls up to the parking lot, he realizes it’s not just a party; it’s a block party. Everyone’s pulled up outside, throwing frisbees, dancing, running around. Someone’s brought out speakers, bumping something so bass-y, Thomas can barely recognize the actual song. There’s even some lights, flashing each color of the rainbow one after the other, in time with the beat of the music. Thomas can smell something grilling.

He tries to inch his way through the crowd without hitting anyone. He honks his horn a few times to try and have people move, but they must not hear him over the music, or they don’t care. Eventually, he manages to find a parking spot...on the opposite side from his room.

Awesome. Now I get to walk through everyone having a great fucking time. Super.

Thomas grabs his backpack and opens his door, the combination scents of weed, alcohol, and barbequing hitting his senses like a shock blast. The whole area is so foggy, you would think it had rained recently.

Thomas makes his way through the crowd, a couple of people trying to get him to dance as he passes. He recognizes one of his old hookups in the crowd and hides his face as he rushes by. While Thomas’ vision is obscured by him hiding his face, he can’t see where he’s going, and suddenly bumps into someone. He stumbles for a bit, and takes his hand off of his eyes to see Minho, the multicolored lights reflecting off of his dark (and wet?) hair.

“Minho?” Thomas asks.

“Thomas!” Minho exclaims, his face lighting up. He’s clearly intoxicated, or high, or both. “What are you doing here?”

“I, uh, live here.”

“Shit, is that where we are?” Minho looks around in confusion. “I thought we were in the Olde complex.”

“You probably were at some point,” Thomas laughs.

“Yeah, man. Hey, where have you been? Everyone’s been texting you, like, all weekend. We were getting worried.”

Thomas feels guilt trembling through his whole body, remembering how he up and abandoned his friends without a single word, ignored all their messages. He loved them all, and he would miss them, too. But they all still lived in California.

“Oh, um, I went driving for a bit. Wanted to work on my project somewhere else. Without all the…” He waves his had around to suggest the general ambience of the party.

“Right, yeah, I get it,” Minho replies. “That’s good. Were you with Newt? He texted us, but he didn’t say much.”

Thomas briefly considers lying, claiming that Newt couldn’t make it, and was doing his own thing. But he knows there’s enough photo evidence to prove otherwise. Still, he tries a neutral approach.

“Yeah, he tagged along. Mostly wanted to get some shots for his own project. Was kind of boring, really.”

Minho chuckles. “Boring? Anything with you two can’t be boring. There’s no way.”

“Yeah,” Thomas hums. “Sure.”

“Hey, man, why don’t you stay a bit? Have a drink or two before you head back to your place. We’ve missed you.”

Thomas shakes his head. “I want to, but I’m beat. I’ve been driving so long, I can barely see straight as it is. Don’t need to make it any worse.”

Minho’s face sombers. “Alright. But we better be partying soon. Maybe after Newt’s opening?”

Newt’s opening. That’ll be fun and definitely not awkward at all. I wonder if he’ll use any photos from the trip.

“Maybe. Up to him, I think.”

“He’ll say yes. Especially if you ask him. You could convince him to do anything.”

Thomas blinks. “Wh-what do you mean?”

Minho rolls his eyes. “Oh, you know. How he puts on that whole Responsible British Prick thing, and he acts all logical, like he doesn’t wanna do the thing, and then you’re all puppy dog eyes and Fun Adorable Idiot thing, and then he’s like, ‘Okay, fine, I’ll do it.’ You know.”

Thomas stares at Minho. “What?”

“You don’t...you know!” Minho exclaims. “You do it all the time. We’ll all try to convince him, and he won’t budge, and then he’ll look at you, and like, two seconds later he’s in. And we all look at each other and laugh, cause it works every time. You’re not even dating but he’s, like, whipped.”

“He’s whip-...okay, that’s not-...he never wants to...do you know how much convincing-”

As Thomas stammers like a moron, someone comes up to Minho and nudges him towards the direction of something.

“Listen, I gotta go,” Minho says before he gets pulled away. “See you at the opening!”

Thomas watches in stunned silence as Minho disappears into the crowd, his words replaying like a broken record.

You’re not even dating but he’s, like, whipped. Just another thing to add to the pile of confusing thoughts ricocheting around in Thomas’ head. Thomas tries to shake it off and makes his way through the crowd to his apartment.

***

Thomas lays on his bed, the multicolored lights from outside flashing against the walls of his room. Red. Orange. Pink. Green. Blue. Yellow. Purple. Red. The timing with the beat of the music would almost be relaxing, if it weren’t for the pounding in his skull. He’s so full of thoughts and feelings, all seemingly at polar opposites with each other, that he thinks he might explode, or get ripped in two, or, somehow, both.

He can’t stop thinking about how it felt to kiss Newt. How it felt so wrong, like he knew it was selfish and all it would do was hurt both of them. But how it also was so right, like it was the only thing his lips were made to do, how he spelt the words I love you on Newt’s mouth with his, how Newt’s hand gripped him and left a brand in its wake. When Thomas glides his hand over his side, he can still feel it there, the heat of it.

He can’t help but wonder what it is that Newt wants from him. Or if he wants anything at all. The way Newt kissed him, Thomas thought he wanted the world. But the way Newt acted made Thomas think he wanted less than nothing. Did he kiss him back for the hell of it? Just cause he could? Cause it would embarrass Thomas to reject him? Or because he genuinely, truly wanted to?

Thomas knows it was selfish of him to kiss Newt. And it’s selfish of him to keep wanting to kiss Newt. How he wishes Newt were here, next to him, even if they were just lying there. He wants to take every second of every minute and spend it with Newt, until the airport guards have to drag him away from the plane, kicking and screaming. He wants to fill himself up to the brim with Newt, learn every part of him, expose every crevice. He wants to soak Newt up like a sponge so that, when he leaves, he can maybe have enough of him in memory to carry on.

But it’s the wrong thing to do. It’ll make everything worse, everything harder. Make the aches deeper, the sadness heavier, the absence wider. Every part of his head is telling him forget it, forget him, move on, head up, keep going, forget it. And every part of his heart says pull him into you until you don’t know where one ends and one begins. Kiss him until your mouth falls off. Grip him so tight your fingers go numb. Take every bit, every morsel, until there’s nothing left.

Suddenly, there’s a quick and loud pounding on Thomas’ door. Thomas sits up in bed, startled. It sounds like the campus police. Maybe he parked in an illegal spot and didn’t notice. Maybe they’re trying to find who started this party. Maybe some weed fell out of his backpack. He swallows his nerves and gets up, walking to the door.

When he opens it, he sees Newt, who is partially turned away as if he were about to leave. The lights shine against his side, and, strangely, the first thing Thomas thinks is I’ve already seen him in three of these colors. Red, green, and purple.

Newt looks at him for a moment, his chest rising quickly with short breaths.

“Can I come in?” Newt asks. Thomas nods and steps to the side, Newt walking inside.

Thomas closes the door, wondering why Newt is back so soon. Maybe he left something in Thomas’ car.

Thomas turns to Newt. “So, what did yo-”

“I want to be selfish,” Newt says. Thomas looks at him. “I want to be really selfish.”

Thomas’ heart takes his head and throws it out the window.

“Me, too.”

The next few moments are a blur. Thomas is against the door, Newt kissing him while he cups his face with both hands. Thomas grips Newt’s hips against his, so tightly he wouldn’t be surprised if his fingers did go numb. He feels Newt’s breath on his skin, convinced Newt must be breathing fire. He tastes like ash, but Thomas’ doesn’t mind the fire on his tongue.

Eventually, Newt gently pulls away from Thomas, leading him by his hands to his bed. They fall on it less than gracefully, Newt quickly turning it around and propping himself above Thomas, kissing him slow and steady. He lifts Thomas shirt up, Thomas feeling little sparks shooting against his chest where Newt’s fingers grace. Thomas tries to take Newt’s shirt off just as smoothly, but it feels clumsier. Newt doesn’t seem to mind, quickly laying his chest flat against Thomas’ as he slides his mouth down to Thomas’ neck, kissing it gingerly as he rubs his hands down Thomas’ chest and thigh.

Thomas just lays there for a moment, feeling paralyzed by the adrenaline and confusement of it all. He’s never felt this way before. Never been touched this way, by a guy, a girl, by anyone. Newt’s kissing every inch of his exposed skin like it’s gold.

Newt trails his mouth from Thomas’ neck to his collarbones, to the other side of his neck, his shoulders, down his arm, his pecs, his stomach. He glides his hands down Thomas’ thighs, and even through his jeans, Thomas can feel the heat of his hands. He wants those hands everywhere, anywhere. Wants to memorize the feeling.

Eventually, Newt’s kissing trail makes his way downwards, to the fly of Thomas’ jeans. He unbuckles the jeans and (Thomas isn’t sure if this is for show or out of habit) unzips the jeans with his teeth. Thomas is so shocked by it that it takes him a moment to lift his hips up for Newt to pull the jeans down.

As Newt starts kissing Thomas’ boxers, Thomas is suddenly struck with a memory flash of every past male hookup he’s had, and some female ones, too. Something overcomes him, something that he can’t explain. He puts his hand on Newt’s.

“Wait, stop,” Thomas says. Newt looks up at him from his crotch. “You don’t have to do that. It’s okay.”

“I...what?” Newt asks with a chuckle, an eyebrow raised.

“Like, you don’t have to...you know. Do that. It’s fine. Whatever. You’re tired, I can do it, uh, for you, or…”

Newt’s face softens, and he looks at Thomas with a fond, but amused, expression.

“Tommy, I know I don’t have to do anything.”

“Okay.”

“I want to.”

Thomas blinks. “Huh?”

Newt smiles, sweet and sexy and how can it be both? How?

“I said I want to.” Newt lowers his head while still keeping his eyes fixed on Thomas’. “I really want to. If you’d let me.”

“Okay,” Thomas gets out, more a breath than anything else. Jesus, those eyes are hypnotizing. Everything about Newt was just...utterly hypnotizing. And confusing, and frustrating, and beautiful, and oh my god, holy shit. Jesus Christ.

The next few hours of Thomas’ life are ones that he couldn’t forget if they were brainwashed out of him. How every inch of Newt’s skin felt against his own, sticky and sweaty on his gray sheets. How it felt to hear Newt moan, and call Thomas’ name, and have him hiss through his teeth and grip Thomas’ skin. How Newt’s lips felt on his lips, neck, chest, stomach, legs, anywhere. How Newt treated him with more care and attentiveness than he ever imagined possible, how every new action was followed by “Is this okay?” “How does that feel?” “You feel so good.”

It almost, almost, made Thomas cry. Almost.

Eventually, after hours and hours, when the lights and music outside have finally stopped, they’re left lying together in the dim, blue glow of the streetlights, the outside world finally quiet. Thomas lays on his back, Newt curled up against his side, still softly kissing his arm, shoulder, chest. As if he forgot what it felt like to kiss it the 1st, 5th, 10th, or 100th time.

“How do you feel?” Newt asks between kisses.

Thomas chuckles. “Exhausted.”

Newt laughs back. “Yeah, me too.” A few moments of silence. “But, I mean, really. How are you? Be honest.”

Thomas looks at Newt’s face hovered above his, uses his hand to stray some hair away from Newt’s forehead. Newt’s face looks both hopeful and scared.

“Newt, that was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

Newt’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

“Yes, really. I can’t...just, yes. Absolutely.”

“Okay,” Newt smiles. “Good. Great.” He gives Thomas a huge, grinning kiss.

“Now I get why all those guys text you for another round,” Thomas jokes. “I mean, I could have guessed why. But now I know.”

Newt’s face falls ever so slightly. “Babe, I’ll be honest. I don’t treat those guys anywhere close to how I am with you.”

Babe. Something Newt has called Thomas before, but not like this, never like this. Thomas tries to stop himself from smiling. Say that again. Say it a million times.

“Why not?”

“They don’t deserve it.” Newt answers. “They’re not you.”

It’s the worst and best thing Thomas has ever heard.

“Well, I mean, gee,” Thomas looks away. “Thanks.”

“I mean it,” Newt says, kissing Thomas’ cheek. “I couldn’t stop thinking about how you said your hookups went. I wanted to show you how you really should be treated.”

An intrusive thought flashes across Thomas’ mind: He did this because he pities you. Thomas tries to push past it.

“Well, what about you?” he asks. “I mean, did I, like...did you enjoy it, or…”

Newt looks up at Thomas from his shoulder, and, for one of the few times in Thomas’ life, he actually feels like he’s wanted.

“Tommy, that was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

Thomas smiles, kissing Newt on the forehead. “Good. One more thing, though.”

“Yeah?” Newt asks.

“Can you call me babe again?”

Newt smirks, laying himself directly on top of Thomas. He rests his hands on Thomas’ wrists.

“Sure, babe. I’ll call you anything you want.”

***

The two laid there for a little while longer, mostly in silence but sometimes talking, though about nothing that mattered. Thomas felt like he was laying on an eggshell, or a bubble; one wrong move, one thing mentioned, and the illusion would shatter and pop, reminding them of all the ways they are failing each other. Of all the things they are doing wrong, no matter how right they feel in the moment.

It feels right. Too right. As if they were made to hold each other. As if they should have been doing it all this time.

Eventually, the exhaustion of the last two days takes over, and they fall asleep. Thomas isn’t sure who does first; it’s all so fuzzy and hazy that nothing quite feels real.

When Thomas falls asleep, he does not dream.

And when he wakes up, he is alone.

Chapter Text

Thomas is so used to waking up alone that when he first wakes up, nothing about it seems strange. He groans. He rubs his eyes. He checks the clock; 10:47 A.M. He slept in later than usual.

His body feels exhausted. He stretches his arms, feels them fall to the empty space to the left of him. He looks over, furrows his brows. He looks down at his own naked body, at his disheveled sheets. Memory sucker punches him, takes the air out of his lungs, leaves him drowning in his blanket.

He flails out of the bed, stumbling to the ground. His mind travels down a million different roads, so many different trains of thought and paths that he doesn’t have the mental capacity to explore them all. He tries to latch on to one thing at a time.

First, pants. He ruffles through his drawers for some boxers, then jeans. That’s a start.

Then, he sees himself in the mirror after he puts his pants on. His hair is a mess. He has multiple hickeys. He rubs his hand over them, flinching.

“What the fuck did you do?” he whispers. A pause. Then, “Where the fuck is he?”

He sees a piece of paper on his nightstand. His chest flutters, to his embarrassment. A note? He flips it over. Nope. It’s the receipt from Taco Bell...three days ago.

Was it Monday? It was. Thomas thanks his past self for not scheduling a Monday class. Newt’s Monday class wasn’t until night. So that possibility was ruled out.

“Okay, no note,” Thomas says to himself. “Maybe…”

He picks his phone up and is immediately overwhelmed by a sea of notifications. Even before Newt came to his apartment yesterday, Thomas didn’t check his phone. He only answered his mom’s text about graduation, and ignored everything else. His brain wasn’t exactly in the headspace for it.

He tries to sparse through the notifications; lots of pointless emails from the school, random Snapchats from Minho (probably from that block party), texts from Teresa and Harriet asking where he is (guilt twisting in his gut), people sending him gifts in Pokemon Go. But nothing from Newt. Not a word.

Thomas tries to figure out if he should be mad. Or sad. Or relieved. What was he allowed to feel?

Did he expect Newt to be there when he woke up? Yes. Was he looking forward to waking up in Newt’s arms? Yes, too much so. Was it required that Newt stay? Not sure. Should he at least have left a note? Probably. Could he have woken Thomas up to say goodbye before he left? Easily. Was there a reason he left at all? Thomas has some ideas. He doesn’t like any of them.

The main one that sticks out his mind, the one that’s sticky and black like tar, oozing and pulsing and grabbing onto all of his other thoughts and absorbing them, is this one: He slept with you out of pity. He doesn’t love you. He’s never loved you. He got some good sex out of you, made you feel better, made himself feel better for doing a good deed, and now he’s gone to do whatever else. You are a speed bump in the road of his life. He will leave the country and forget you, thinking that you will forget him too. He’s counting on it. He doesn’t love you.

He doesn’t love you. It repeats itself in Thomas’ mind, sometimes in his voice. Sometimes it’s Newt saying “I don’t love you,” sometimes it’s Teresa saying “He never loved you,” sometimes it’s Alby saying “He’ll never love you.” In every phrase and voice imaginable, it repeats. It echoes. It does not falter.

Thomas looks at himself in the mirror. He gives his face a light slap. He shakes his head. He looks at his sheets. He rips them off, shoves them in his wastebasket. He finds his clothes from last night, haphazardly flung around the room. He picks them up like they’re poison.

“I can’t be here,” he says. Without looking at what he’s choosing, he throws on some clothes. He dumps his backpack onto the floor, shoves his laptop and notebook inside, and pushes his headphones into his ears. He blasts whatever song comes first on his playlist. It doesn’t matter what it is. He just needs noise.

Thomas tries to remind himself what his senior project is about as he walks to the library. All he had left was the conclusion, he’s pretty sure.

That should be easy. It’s about controversial experiments, right? Which ones? Does it matter? Yes, it matters, Thomas, you need to graduate. Snap out of it. Focus on your work. Nothing else.

Thomas beelines it for his favorite table, sitting down and quickly pulling out his laptop. He probably looks like a maniac.

He pulls up the document of his essay, staring at the unfinished conclusion. He needs to summarize his points. What were his points? It feels like decades since he last worked on this. He barely remembers what he wrote. Guess I’ll just read the whole thing, he sighs mentally.

He’s only gotten to the middle of the second page when a familiar voice snaps him out of his trance. He looks up from the laptop and sees Gally sitting down at a table with...Newt.

Are you serious? Thomas screams to himself. Gally? Again? This guy’s like a fucking cockroach.

Suddenly, he remembers; Gally texted him before the trip. Looks like Newt’s giving him another chance after all.

He ducks his head behind the laptop so they don’t see him. He tries to listen in on their conversation, but it’s not loud enough for him to make anything out.

Thomas starts to feel that itch. The itch to run. Only this time, he doesn’t want to run away from his issue.

He wants to march right up to it.

When he does, he watches as Newt notices him coming. He waits for the look of shock, the embarrassment, wanting to not be seen with Thomas. Or for him to look the same, for him to not care, just another speck in the crowd.

What he gets, and what he hates, is the way that Newt’s eyes instantly light up, the way his mouth curls into a smile. Thomas almost melts into it, forgives Newt right then. How easy it could be.

“Tommy,” Newt says, sounding pleasantly surprised. As if it were so simple. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Thomas quickly greets, surprised by how cold it sounds. He turns to Gally. “Hey, Gally.”

“Hey, Thomas,” Gally nods. Thomas watches as Gally notices the hickeys on his neck. His face burns.

“Well, hey, Newt, sorry I missed you this morning,” Thomas starts, feeling the words as they fall out of his mouth. “I meant to say goodbye, but you must have been in such a hurry, so.”

Thomas watches himself say this. He watches Newt as his face falls.

“Um, yeah,” Newt drags. “I didn’t, um…” He glances over at Gally.

“Should I go?” Gally asks, putting the pieces together too quickly, as usual.

“No, no, Gally, stay, please,” Thomas insists with mock politeness. He can feel the bitterness on his tongue, the venom waiting to be shot. “I’ll be out of here in a jiffy. Just like you were, Newt!”

Newt gets out of his chair. Gally sits awkwardly. “Tommy, I didn’t realize you were so upset. You didn’t text me or anything.”

“Oh, funny. You didn’t do that either. Guess we’re even again.”

Was Thomas allowed to be mad? Did Newt owe him anything? He wasn’t sure, but it was too late. Now he could only watch.

“I mean, I told you I had a final due Tuesday,” Newt counters, the anger in his voice raising slightly. “I didn’t think I had to remind you again.”

“Well, you also pulled us off the road home to extend the trip, so I kind of started to think you didn’t care about your finals much.”

“Obviously I care about my finals, Tommy.”

“Oh, good. So you do care about something.”

“I really should go,” Gally chimes in, starting to stand up.

“No,” Thomas says to Gally without looking at him. “I’ll be gone soon.”

“What are you implying?” Newt asks, eyes furrowed. “That I don’t care about you?”

“Well how would you feel?” Thomas counters. “If that had happened to you. Without a word. What would you have thought?”

“I-”

“You would have felt pretty stupid, right? Pretty pathetic?”

“Look-”

“And you know, why, too. That’s the worst part. You know why I’d feel like that and yet here we are. You did it anyway.”

“Okay then,” Newt starts, angry again. “You want to talk about feeling stupid? Feeling pathetic? Here’s something. How about falling in love with your roommate? Your straight roommate, who’s also your best friend. How about being in love with him for four years, knowing you can’t say anything, or do anything, because not only do you live with him, but as far as you know, he doesn’t fancy guys? Would that make you feel pretty stupid?”

For a moment, everything stops. Thomas, on the edge of the cliff. Wondering, again; what was he allowed to feel? What was he supposed to feel?

He can’t decide. No matter what he chooses, he’s falling off the cliff. The ending is predetermined. The wheel is moving on it’s own.

So he chooses not to feel.

“That’s a good quote. Did you get that from a movie?”

Newt, an open wound. Thomas, hands bloody.

“I-...do you really think I’m lying?”

“I think you slept with me out of pity and now you’re trying to make yourself look good for Gally.”

“Okay, now I’m definitely leaving,” Gally grunts, standing up.

“Hang on,” Newt says. “Please.” Something Thomas will never know passes between their eyes. Gally nods, and stays there. Newt turns back to Thomas, his face uncharacteristically solemn. “Tommy, I know why you’re saying this. I know you’ve been hurt. But I’m not like them. You know that, deep down, in your gut, you know that. Don’t do this. Don’t get in your own head.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Thomas claims. “I’m finishing what you started. And clearly you’ve already moved on from it.” He gestures towards Gally again.

“Holy fuck, this is a LIBRARY,” someone shouts from the aisles. “Could you take your drama outside, please? Fucking hell.”

“Alright then,” Newt hisses. “First off, leave Gally out of this. Second, you’ve clearly already decided your opinion of me. And I know how stubborn you can be once you’ve made up your mind. So I’m not gonna try and change it.” He grabs his bag from the floor and flings it over his shoulder. “Sorry, Gally. Let’s go.”

Before Thomas can respond, Newt and Gally head out, Gally giving Thomas a confused, and slightly angry, squint as he passes.

Thomas stands there, feeling the eyes of everyone in the library on him. He quickly grabs his laptop and runs out to the opposite exit, sprinting back to his apartment.

Thomas doesn’t know anything anymore. Doesn’t know what to believe, what to feel. Whether to mourn a loss or be relieved of the pain of goodbye. To celebrate or cry. So he does the only thing he ever does.

He drives.

***

Thomas has only ever been in one accident, back in sophomore year. But he remembers it well.

It was raining, something that rarely happens in California. He was alone in the car, which was also rare. He wasn’t driving anywhere in particular, just taking a drive to clear his mind of the overbearing, stuffed-to-the-brim thoughts that tend to occupy it. Focusing on the feeling of the road beneath him was always the best way to do that.

Until today.

Until he lost the feeling of the road beneath him, when his tires started hydroplaning on the water. How many times had Thomas driven in the rain? This might have been the first.

He didn’t know what to do. He tried hitting the brakes, but it didn’t matter. Turning the wheel did nothing, either. All he could do was sit and watch as he went straight towards a guard rail. Then, chaos. Bumping, turning, tilting. And then, the front of his car, hitting the guard rail on the other side of the road.

He sat there in shock at first, the radio still blasting out the song he had been listening to. He looked out the passenger side window and saw a line of cars sitting, watching him. An image flashed through his eye of his car colliding with one of theirs, which first sent a wave of relief but was immediately followed by a crushing weight of guilt for what could have been.

First, he called 911. Then, he called Teresa.

“Teresa? You there?”

“Tom, hey, I’m here. What’s wrong? You sound horrible.”

“I, uh. I just crashed my car.”

“Oh, fuck. Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m fine, I think. Somehow. I don’t know where I am. I don’t see any road signs or anything.”

“Is there anyone there you can ask?”

“I-I guess. Hey, um, sir? Do you know where we are?”

“You’re near the golf course,” the man in the truck closest to him said. Thomas briefly imagined his car colliding into him, and shuddered.

“I’m near the golf course,” Thomas echoed, his voice hollow.

“Okay. I’m gonna come bring you home, but stay on the phone with me. Did you call 911?”

“Yeah, they’re coming.”

“Okay. Stay with me, Tom. You’ll be okay.”

After Thomas watched his car get towed away (and held his tears so hard he thought his eyes might pop), he solemnly got in the car with Teresa and drove back to campus in uncomfortable silence. The sensation of being in the passenger’s side of a car was foreign enough, but the whole time, Thomas was somewhere else, his mind replaying the crash again and again. Every now and then Teresa would say something to snap him out of his trance, only for him to fall right back into it.

It took him a while for it to get better. Once he got his car back, he was scared to get in it. The logical side of him knew he was a good driver; he just wasn’t experienced driving in the rain. But the emotional side of him just kept repeating; It’s your fault. You should have been going slower. You should have known what to do when you hydroplane. You could have killed someone. You could have killed yourself. You got lucky. You don’t deserve to get lucky. Why were you even out driving in the rain? You had nowhere to go. You just can’t stay in your own head without going insane. And that problem could have hurt someone else.

He felt guilty. About what he could have done, about what he didn’t do. About the two weeks that he couldn’t take his friends on adventures while the car was being fixed, and for the time after that where he refused to let them in the car at all. He didn’t want to get them hurt, and he didn’t want to burden them with his feelings. He kept it all in, close to the chest. He took his friends’ smiles and hugs and kind words and he listened and ignored them, but not forever. Eventually, he healed. He learned to love the open road again.

He can’t say what helped him the most on that journey. He knows it was a lot of things. But there’s one thing he’ll never forget.

Sitting at his computer, late in the night, working on a final. His music, on shuffle in the background, white noise to keep his brain focused. He was in the zone, his hands typing out words faster than his brain could keep up with. The paper would be done in no time.

And then, suddenly, the first guitar strums of a song. The song that was playing when he crashed. On the first note, his fingers stopped typing, hovering and shaking above the keyboard. His eyes stared past the words of his essay, watching them go blurry, his vision transporting him to behind the wheel, watching himself approach the guard rail with no control. He sits there for a second, replaying the accident.

And then, for the first time since the accident, he bursts into tears.

It’s ugly. It’s snotty, it’s drippy, it’s choking on his own breath. He rips the earbuds out, remembers that Newt is sleeping, and tries to cover his own mouth. It doesn’t work. He can hear Newt’s even breathing stop, hears the bedsheets rustle. The song quietly continues to play through his earbuds on the table.

“Tommy?” Newt grumbles, half awake. Thomas says nothing, trying to will him to fall back asleep. But the sobbing/choking through his hand is enough to alert Newt more to his pathetic presence.

Suddenly, Thomas feels himself being pulled into Newt’s arms, his face buried into Newt’s chest. He somehow ends up sliding off the chair, Newt carrying his weight and helping him slowly crumple on the ground. Newt holds him, this mess of a person, stroking his hair and squeezing his hand.

“You’re okay,” Newt kept repeating. “I’m here. You’re okay.”

Thomas just kept choke-sobbing into Newt’s shirt.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas barely got out. “Your shirt.”

Newt gave a quiet laugh. “It’s fine, Tommy. I don’t care about the shirt. I care about you.”

A few moments of silence. Then;

“I could have killed you if you were in the car,” Thomas realizes, his crying less choke-y. “You could have died because of me.”

“But you didn’t,” Newt retorted. “And I’m not. And neither are you.”

“No one’s ever gonna drive with me again.”

“Yes, we are. You’re gonna fall in love with driving again, and you’re gonna take us to all the stupid places we always go.”

“You can’t know that for sure.”

“I can, actually. You want to know why?”

“Sure.”

Newt pulled Thomas up from his slump, holding his face in his hands.

“I know this because I know you. And you are the strongest, most resilient person I have ever met. And you’re passionate about what you love, and who you love. And I know how much you love driving, and how much you care about all of us. Nothing could stop you from getting behind the wheel again. Not an accident. Not a shitty car. Nothing in the world. Because you, you look at the things that are impossible and just...decide to do them anyway. It’s who you are. You can’t help it.”

Thomas has to look away. “It doesn’t feel like I’m any of those things. I don’t think I deserve to be praised. I did something terrible.”

“You made an honest mistake that was out of your control,” Newt reassured. “A bad person wouldn’t feel guilty about this. A good person, which is you, would. Because you are a good person. And you’re going to get through this. You don’t really have a choice. You’re too stubborn.”

Thomas laughs, and he wonders; how can he laugh amongst all this heaviness? The guilt, the anger, the regret; how can someone find a way to get through it, to get their hands dirty and dig and claw through the mud, to reach in and pull him out and to help him see anything but darkness? What force brought this to him, and what did he do to deserve it?

“Okay,” Thomas settles on, his breaths evening. “Okay.”

“You’re alright,” Newt says, staring straight into Thomas’ eyes. He pulls him in and gently kisses his forehead. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

***

The next few days go by in a haze. After Thomas left the library, he ended up driving out to a parking lot and just sitting in his car, staring at his steering wheel. He thought he was paralyzed with thoughts that morning, but this was ten times worse. He couldn’t grab on to any one thought long enough to process it. His head started pounding, sharp pains behind his eyes. Eventually, he gathered the mental capacity to drive home and go straight to his dorm, where he sat at his desk and stared at his blank laptop screen until eventually giving up and going to bed.

The next day, he manages to get himself to class, though he would be lying if he said he paid any attention to what was happening. He tried to tell himself that at this point in the semester, it didn’t matter much. He didn’t really believe it, but it worked for the moment.

Thomas feels numb. He feels numb because he can’t hold on to one emotion for too long before moving on to the next. He’ll start with anger; raging, seething, heating his cheekbones and clenching his fists. Angry at himself for wasting time, angry at Newt for leaving him alone, angry at Gally just because, angry at this school for offering Newt the scholarship to come here in the first place. Then, the anger will simmer down to regret; regretting kissing Newt, regretting not kissing Newt sooner, regretting allowing himself to fall in love with his roommate, regretting the entire road trip. The regret spirals to sadness; a mourning for everything that could have been, of the alternate universes and parallel lives where things worked out. He can see them in the corner of his vision, teasing, blurry silhouettes of them, together. Content. Then, the sadness leads to denial; there is nothing to mourn because there was nothing to be gained. Newt does not love you, he was keeping appearances. He is good at it. Even if he did love you, it wouldn’t matter. You knew how this story would end from the beginning. You’ve had four years to prepare, four years to grieve. You’re making things worse for yourself by conjuring feelings from nothing. Then the denial circles back to anger.

It’s exhausting. It’s relentless. He wishes he knew a way to turn it off. He hopes it will wear off with time. With each day that passes, each class he sits through, each night he sleeps through, he hopes it eases.

One day, when Thomas is leaving a class, he feels himself being tugged by his backpack into a side hallway. He panics, flinging his arms like a cartoon character and whipping his head around until he sees Brenda walk into his vision from behind.

“Okay, Thomas, what the hell.” Brenda is both tired and angry as she says this.

“Huh?” Thomas answers, still disoriented.

“I have been trying to contact you for almost a week. You’ve been ignoring everyone’s calls, texts, emails, fucking Snapchats. The only reason we know you’re alive is because Minho saw you at the block party on Sunday.”

“Oh,” Thomas murmurs, feeling like he’s shrinking into himself.

“‘Oh?’ That’s all you have to say?” Brenda exclaims.

“No, I--look, I’m sorry,” Thomas fumbles. “I’ve been, um...Shit’s been, uh...I haven’t...I didn’t mean to-”

“Jesus, are you drunk?” Brenda furrows her brows. “At 10 AM? On a Wednesday?”

“What? No!” Thomas answers. “Do I seem drunk?”

“You seem…” Brenda eyes Thomas, her expression softening. “Not right.”

Thomas sighs. “Yeah, well.”

“Thomas, what is going on? You’re always complaining about ‘ghosting culture,’ and yet you’ve abandoned ship for a week. And you look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I’m not gonna sugarcoat it. I’m worried about you. We’re all worried about you.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

Brenda cocks her head. “The gang. Who else?”

“Nevermind. Stupid question.”

“No, why’d you ask that?”

Thomas sighs, scratches the back of his neck. It’s not like he could hide the truth from his friends forever.

“Do you have a class coming up?”

“Not until 8. Why?”

“If you really want to know what’s been happening, we’re gonna need to sit down and talk. Somewhere, uh, private.”

“Great. We’ll come to my apartment. Teresa will be thrilled to see you.”

***

“Ow!” Thomas exclaims, rubbing his right shoulder. “What the hell?”

“Where have you been?” Teresa yells. “I’ve called you, like, a million times.”

“Well I can explain if you’d stop punching me and let me in.”

Teresa looks at Thomas for a moment, as if she were contemplating whether to let him in or not.

(They both know that she will, anyway, always. And Thomas scorns himself for it, for forgetting that he is loved in other ways.)

“Fine,” she finally says.

“Do I get the bounty for bringing him in?” Brenda jokes as they enter, giving Teresa a quick kiss on the cheek.

Teresa closes the door behind them and walks to the common area, sitting on the couch. Brenda easily slides in next to her, as if without a second thought. Thomas tries to swallow his jealousy as he sits in the armchair across from them.

“Okay, Tom,” Teresa nods. “The floor is yours. Explain.”

“Um, okay.” Thomas hums. “Uh, hmm. Where do I start…”

“From the moment of your conception,” Brenda rolls her eyes.

“Right. Well, um. Teresa, did you ever…”

“Did I what?” Teresa asks.

“Tell Brenda. What I told you.”

“Could you be more specific?”

“What haven’t you told me?” Brenda chimes in, slightly offended.

“Um. It’s sort of a big thing. I told you in the car.”

Teresa’s eyes widen slightly. “Ohh. No, I didn’t.”

Thomas feels a slight glow inside, relieved that Teresa didn’t reveal his secret.

“TELL ME WHAT?” Brenda shouts.

“I’minlovewithNewt,” Thomas spits out, startled. A pause. “Um, and I’m bi. Sexual. Bisexual. You know what that is, you are too. Duh.”

Brenda makes a series of faces that revolve between glee and anger.

“God! Okay, um, first I’d like to say welcome, I’m glad you’ve joined us, I wish you had told me sooner so we could have TALKED ABOUT THIS-...Okay, I’m calm. I’m fine. I’m not offended, everyone comes out at their own pace but also I AM BI TOO AND WE COULD HAVE TALKED ABOUT IT-no, I’m calm, it’s fine. I’m glad you trust me with this. I might have guessed it but I’m glad I have confirmation.”

“...did you hear the first part?” Thomas asks. “Or did I say it too fast?”

“That you’re in love with Newt?” Brenda repeats. “No, I heard it. Sorry, I just got caught up on the bi solidarity for a second.”

“That’s okay. I’m glad you’re excited.”

“Very. But, um. I’m gonna guess that all of this has to do with you and Newt, then.”

Thomas sighs. “Yeah.”

“In a good way?” Teresa chimes in. “You mean a good way, right? Please say yes.”

A pause. “I don’t think so.”

“Shit,” Brenda grunts. “That would explain why I’ve barely seen him lately, either.”

“You haven’t?” Teresa asks.

“Nope.”

“Oh,” Thomas hums.

“Okay, so spill,” Brenda continues. “What happened?”

“It’s kind of a long story.”

“Just give us the key details,” Teresa suggests.

Thomas puffs out some air. “Okay. Um, we fucked.”

Brenda chokes on some air, then stumbles out of Teresa’s lap towards the kitchen.

“Jesus, Tom. You could have eased into that.”

“You said to tell you the key details!”

Brenda exhales loudly as she finishes drinking some water. “I’m with Teresa. That was an atom bomb.”

“Okay, geez. I’m sorry.”

Brenda comes back to the couch, putting her water on the side table.

“I changed my mind,” Teresa shakes her head. “We have to start at the beginning.”

“Okay,” Thomas nods. “Sure.”

***

“And then he said that I’m stubborn and never change my opinion, so he and Gally left,” Thomas finishes. “That’s the last time we spoke.”

Brenda and Teresa look at him, slightly wide eyed.

“You know, my friend told me that some people were screaming at each other about gay drama in the library,” Brenda chuckles. “I can’t believe it was you two.”

“People are talking about that?” Thomas asks.

“Thomas, you guys were screaming at each other. In a library.”

“Right,” Thomas murmurs, sinking into the armchair. His face heats up.

“I hate to ask, but what does that have to do with you ghosting us?” Teresa adds. “I mean, you could have texted me about this, since I knew. No offense, babe.”

“Sure thing, babe. I’ll call you anything you want.”

“I’m still a little offended,” Brenda admits.

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Thomas apologizes. “Really, I am. I was just...so overwhelmed by everything. None if it felt real for a while, so I just...forgot about the rest of the world for a bit. Including you guys. And that was wrong of me, so. I’m sorry.”

“I guess that’s a little fair,” Teresa says. “That’s a lot to handle in a week.”

“Yeah, I know,” Thomas agrees.

“So...what now?” Brenda asks.

“What do you mean?” Thomas questions.

“I mean, between you and him. What’s your plan?”

A pause. “I don’t have one.”

“Of course,” Brenda sighs.

“What am I supposed to do?” Thomas snaps. “He’s about to leave the country soon, anyway. None of this shit even matters.”

“Tom, it matters,” Teresa counters. “He said he was in love with you. How could that not matter?”

Another pause. “Because he was lying.”

“Look, I know you said that because it was a heated moment, but surely, you can’t actually believe that?”

“I do.” I have to.

“After everything you just told us?” Brenda adds. “You still think that?”

“Yes.”

“Tom, when are you going to finally open yourself up to the possibility that he could actually love you back?” Teresa asks. “I already told you, it’s his decision to make, not yours.”

“He’s made the decision not to. And he’s shown me, just like you said he would.”

“How?”

“By leaving without saying anything. Like he probably was planning on doing all along.”

Brenda sighs. “Look, that was shitty of him, but that can’t just counteract everything else he’s done.”

“It can. And it did.”

***

That night, Thomas buckles down and writes the conclusion to his senior project. It’s not the most elegant thing he’s ever written, but at this point, handing it in on time was what mattered the most.

He can’t help but be grateful that he at least knows how something will end. Because, really, that’s what eating at him the most. When Brenda asked him what his plan was, Thomas almost laughed. What was there to plan for? Anything that Thomas could have possibly prepared for over the last four years had been completely thrown out the window. All of the ways he imagined saying goodbye to Newt never involved them having slept together. And it never involved Newt claiming to be in love with him, either.

So now, Thomas would have to come up with a new plan. But what was the point? What solution was there? Newt was already convinced that once he went back to England, everyone would forget him. And even if they made up, Newt was still getting on the plane. It was just a matter of who sent him off.

So how do you solve a problem that you’ve known the answer to for four years?

You don’t.

You don’t talk to him. You avoid where he goes on campus. You talk to your friends enough so they don’t get mad at you. You ignore their attempts to get everyone to meet up. You ignore their second attempts to create separate outings so you don’t run into him.

You don’t take chances. You don’t act impulsively. You’ve done that too much and all it has ever given you is bruises and heartbreak.

***

A few days pass. Thomas continues to avoid group meetups in case they’re secretly staging an intervention. He hands in his finals. He keeps his head down. He slowly starts to go through the messages he missed while on the trip. They’re mostly confused texts from Harriet and repeated call attempts from Teresa and Alby. Brenda sent some memes before getting concerned, too.

What stands out the most is the Snapchats from Minho. The first few are drunk nonsense from the block party; mostly him poorly screaming along to whatever song was playing.

But one wasn’t of Minho; instead, he slowly zoomed in to the front of Thomas’ apartment, the caption reading brooo is newt okauy?!!? It was hard to tell, but Thomas could tell it was Newt pacing back and forth in front of Thomas’ door, shaking his head repeatedly.

Thomas closes the app. He shoves his phone in his desk.

***

The next day, Brenda busts open Thomas’ door, Harriet and Teresa with her. Thomas looks up from his bed in surprise, wondering when he forgot to lock his door.

(Was he leaving it unlocked on purpose? And to what end?)

“Um, hi?” Thomas questions.

“If you won’t come to us, we’ll come to you,” Brenda snaps, closing the door behind her.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas says. “I’ve been busy with finals.”

“So have we,” Teresa counters. “But we know you’ve been avoiding us again, Tom.”

“I’ve been answering all your texts,” Thomas defends, sitting upright. “I’m not ghosting you anymore.”

“Maybe, but you’ve been refusing to see us since you got back from that trip,” Harriet mentions. “Even just to help me study for my Psych final. You won’t even do that.”

“Because I’ve been...busy…” Thomas tries to lie.

“Look, Thomas. I’ve been trying to support you as best I can but this shit is starting to feel like a war,” Brenda growls. “I can’t have you hang out at the sculpture lab with me because that’s too close to the darkroom. I can’t grab lunch with Newt because you might get lunch at the same time. I gotta make all these shitty round-a-bout plans to hang out with ANYONE in the last fucking weeks of college.”

“I’m sorry,” Thomas meekly gets out. “I didn’t want any of that to happen.”

“We know, Tom,” Teresa chimes in. “But we can’t do anything as a group until you guys make up. You have to know that.”

Thomas nods. “I know.”

“We can help you talk to him if you want,” Harriet offers. “Two of us might be lesbians but we still get relationship problems. Even guy ones.”

Thomas can’t muster himself to laugh at the joke. “We’re not in a relationship. We never were.”

“You could be,” Teresa states.

“No, we can’t be,” Thomas grunts. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because long distance relationships weren’t invented yesterday, dude,” Brenda adds. “It’s possible.”

“I don’t want that,” Thomas answers. “He doesn’t either. That’s why he never dated anyone here.”

“He didn’t love anyone here,” Harriet insists. “He loves you.”

“Yeah, well, he’s got a funny way of showing it, right?” Thomas half-laughs. “I-I-I mean, the guy barely shows an emotion the whole four fucking years I know him. I lived with him and he never even hinted at liking me in any way. Never talks about his feelings. Always with other guys. And then, out of the fucking blue I’m supposed to believe he’s in love with me? After he sleeps with me and then leaves me in the morning to make me feel like a fucking idiot? After he knows I’ve been with guys who have left me and made me feel like shit, he does the same thing? What kind of love is that?”

The girls don’t say anything, watching him with slightly shocked, but mostly saddened faces.

“What kind of love is that?” Thomas repeats, hearing his voice shudder.

Teresa finally speaks up. “Maybe you just didn’t see the signs. You know, maybe he tried to tell you in his own way, and you weren’t paying attention.”

“Of course I was paying attention. I’ve been in love with him for four years, I paid attention to everything he did.”

With that, Thomas has said he’s loved Newt for the third time. Each time feels worse than the one before.

“But even if you didn’t see it, he told you how he felt,” Harriet argues. “Maybe it’s not in the way you envisioned, but he does.”

“If that’s the way he loves someone, I don’t want it.” Thomas isn’t sure he believes it even as he says it. “I want someone who won’t hesitate. You know, someone who will actually tell me how they feel more than once after four years. And make it clear.”

“You hesitated,” Harriet mentions.

“Because he told me he didn’t want to get attached to anyone here,” Thomas counters. “I was doing what he wanted. What he told me all the time.”

Thomas can see Brenda getting visibly upset, folding her arms tightly. “Look, if that’s what you want, fine. We can’t force you two to make up. But I’m gonna go check on him. Someone has to.” With that, she walks out the door, Teresa and Harriet watching her go.

“I think she’s picked her side,” Thomas sighs.

“She’s not picking a side,” Teresa insists. “She already told you this feels like a war, so she’s not gonna make it one. She’s just checking on him.”

A beat. “Have you guys not talked to him?”

“We’ve tried,” Harriet shrugs. “He’s been just as avoidant as you.”

“Oh,” Thomas hums. He’s not sure whether that’s surprising or not.

Teresa moves and sits next to Thomas on the bed, lightly brushing some hair as she turns his head towards her.

“Tom. You’ll need to talk to him eventually.”

“And do what?” Thomas almost sobs into her palm. “Say what?”

Teresa says nothing, just looks at Thomas with pitiful eyes.

“Teresa,” Thomas repeats, almost begging.

“I don’t know,” Teresa sighs. “I just know you have to say something.”

***

“Have you told Harriet I think she’s cute yet?”

Thomas smiled from Newt’s desk as he listened to Sonya through Newt’s phone. Thomas had come over to work before they left for a movie, but an impromptu FaceTime from Sonya had distracted him from any possibility of getting work done.

“No, Liz, that doesn’t exactly come up in conversation,” Newt sighed.

“It doesn’t have to come up naturally,” Sonya countered. “Just say it. I need her to know.”

“What does it matter if she knows? She’s a whole country away from you!”

(This sounds familiar to Thomas. It’s something he’s told himself too many times.)

“I’m not trying to date her. I just think she deserves to hear it.”

“How about I call you the next time I see her, and you can tell her yourself?”

“Absolutely not. Then I’ll seem like a freak.”

“You are a freak!”

“I am not! I’m just gay.”

“So am I. I’m not a freak.”

“I’d beg to differ,” Thomas chimed in. “I’ve seen you drunk. You get a little weird.”

“Hey!” Newt exclaimed, pointing to Thomas. “You shut your mouth.”

“Let him speak!” Sonya yelled. “The truth will be heard!”

“You wanna hear him speak so bad?” Newt asked. “Fine.” Newt walked over and handed his phone to Thomas. “I’m gonna take a piss. Now you can hear him talk for five minutes and get sick of him, just like I do.” Newt gave a sarcastic smile to Thomas as he left the room.

“Har, har,” Thomas called to him. He turned back to the phone. “I lived with this guy for three years. I can’t imagine having to do it my whole life.”

Sonya chuckled. “He’s a good brother. He can just be a bit of a prick sometimes.”

“Are you excited for him to come back home?”

Sonya shrugged. “I mean, yeah. I always am, you know, I miss him like crazy. But it’s only gonna be for a couple months. Then I’ll be off to uni again.”

“Oh, yeah. Sometimes I forget you two aren’t twins.”

“We might as well be. But, sadly, we are twins separated by two years.”

“A tragedy. But at least you’ll see him when you have winter break, right?”

“Sure. But if it were up to me, I would just have him stay in California.”

Thomas blinked. “What? Why?”

Sonya sighed, as if this was a conversation she’d had many times before.

“There’s no point in him coming home. None. He doesn’t hang out with the friends he had here anymore. He’ll have me for the summer but then I’m off again, and it’ll just be him and our parents. And he loves them, of course, but they’re gonna drive him mad eventually. He’ll want to move out.”

“Well, yeah, he’ll want to move out, but to somewhere else in England, not California. He hates this place. It’s all he ever talks about.”

Sonya rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. He’s putting on a show, the dramatic bastard. If he hated California so much, he wouldn’t have gone to school there.”

“He’s just here cause of a scholarship. I would go to some bumble-fuck, middle of nowhere state if it meant my tuition was free.”

“Sure, but Newt isn’t one to stick with something he doesn’t like, people or otherwise. He would have left if he really wanted to.”

Thomas scoffed. “Okay, so let’s say theoretically he doesn’t hate California as much as he claims he does. He’d still never move here. And even if he wanted to, it’s insanely expensive. I don’t even know how I’m gonna move out of my parents’ place.”

“You know…” Sonya started, her voice sing-song-y, her expression mischievous. “It’d be easier with a roommate.”

“Sure, if you and the roommate both have steady, well-paying jobs that can handle California’s rent. Need I remind you he’s trying to be a photographer?”

Sonya laughed. “He’d have more luck with that there than back home. He got a scholarship for his art there. And I’m certain there are more opportunities there, too.”

Thomas shook his head. “Even so, it would take years for him to have the financial stability to live here. You make this all sound so easy.”

Sonya smiled. “Because it could be.” Her smile turned to a scowl. “If he’d listen to me.”

Thomas opened his mouth to answer when Newt came back into the room.

“Glad to see you two gettin’ on,” Newt smiled, gently taking the phone back from Thomas. “What are you talking about?”

“We were talking shit about you,” Sonya answered. Thomas could hear her smile through the phone. “Please leave again so we can continue.”

“Shut up,” Newt mock-grunted. “Cheeky bastard.”

When Thomas told the story to Teresa later, she didn’t laugh like he expected.

“You’d wait for him, wouldn’t you?” she asked.

Thomas paused before answering.

“Yeah. I would.”

***

When staying in his dorm and eating only microwave meals for days had taken its toll, Thomas decided to take a chance and go to the dining hall for some dinner. He felt like a robber doing it, black hoodie up, hands in his pockets, walking at breakneck speed. He might have actually drawn more attention to himself by doing that, but he just wanted to get in and out as fast as possible, with hopefully no one seeing his face.

He got to the self-serve bar and quickly plopped some food in a to-go box, barely looking at what or how much he was grabbing. He snatched a soda from the fridge and turned to hustle and check-out, only to realize that there was a long line awaiting him instead. He cursed under his breath and got in line, keeping his head down and holding his food tight to his chest.

The line is slow-moving; even though there are three registers, they only have one cashier working, and it seems to be the newest (and youngest) of them all. The poor girl is trying her best, so Thomas tries not to get frustrated, but he can’t help but feel his anxiety grow every time he hears the front door open.

What would he even do if Newt came in? He wasn’t sure. Would he just drop the food and bolt out the door? Would he just keep his head down, hoping he never saw him? Would he march right up to him and say...whatever popped into his head first? None of the possibilities seemed like good ones.

He gets distracted for a moment imagining possible escape routes that he doesn’t realize there is now a gap where the line moved forward. Someone lightly pokes his shoulder.

“Buddy, the line’s moving,” a familiar voice says.

“Shit, sorry,” Thomas mumbles, turning around. His heart stops for a moment when he realizes the person behind him was Gally. Okay, so maybe this wasn’t Newt levels of panic, but this definitely was not who Thomas wanted to see right now. Guilt and shame heats his face bright red.

“Oh, Thomas,” Gally squints. “Didn’t recognize you with the hood.”

“Right,” Thomas nods as he moves up in line, Gally and the rest following behind.

“So, um. How you-”

“I’m sorry about the library,” Thomas suddenly says, whipping around. Gally blinks in surprise.

“Oh, I-”

“Hang on. I mean it, I’m sorry. The shit between Newt and I is...well, between Newt and I. Not you. I didn’t mean to drag you into it. That was fucked up.”

Gally gives a slightly sad smile. “It’s okay, man. I know I’ve given you shit about Newt before. I kind of had it coming.”

“No, you didn’t,” Thomas shakes his head. “I just saw you there with him and I...I don’t know. I just thought about…”

“I know,” Gally finishes. “I get it.”

“Yeah,” Thomas awkwardly murmurs. There’s a pause before Gally speaks again.

“But I want you to know...we weren’t there, like, together. On a date or anything.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. We were planning the show.”

Thomas scrunches his eyebrows. “The show?”

“Uh, yeah. The senior show. Where we show our final projects.”

Thomas looks at Gally in confused silence.

“Did…” Gally starts. “Did Newt not tell you it was a group show?”

“No,” Thomas answers. “He didn’t.”

“Oh. Well, yeah. There’s too many seniors to have one show at a time, so we do group shows. We each get a wall of the gallery. We have to plan our own opening, so we were waiting for our group members. You know, figuring out who’s bringing the snacks, and all that.”

“Oh,” Thomas says quietly, embarrassment blurring his vision. I’m a fucking idiot.

“You know, he probably didn’t tell you because if you knew I was in the same show, you wouldn’t come.” Gally laughs, a hint of nerves in his voice. A pause. “You are coming, right?”

Shit. Thomas had forgotten about the show. And that he was supposed to go to that show. With all of his friends. Shit.

“I don’t…” Thomas looks down. “I don’t think he’ll want me there. After what I did. What I said. I’ll ruin the whole thing for him.”

“Thomas,” Gally says, his tone serious. “I know you don’t really have any reason to trust or believe me, but. He wants you there.”

Thomas shakes his head. “No way. He hates me now.”

“No he doesn’t,” Gally counters. “He...trust me. He doesn’t. I don’t think he ever could.”

Thomas sighs. “What’s the point in me going? I mean, really.”

Gally looks into Thomas’ eyes, his face hesitant.

“Look,” he starts. “He’s been working really hard on this show all year. I’ve barely seen him talk to anyone other than me and Brenda. But the stuff he’s worked on, it’s…It’s good. And I think you need to see it.”

“I don’t know,” Thomas mumbles, looking away.

“Just swing by,” Gally asks. “Even for a minute, even if he doesn’t see you. Just to see what he’s done.”

Thomas sighs, looking at Gally. He never thought he would meet someone more stubborn than him.

“Okay,” he settles on. “Alright. I’ll stop by.”

Gally smiles wide. “Good. I’ll hold you to it.”

***

Thomas looks at himself in the mirror; he wasn’t sure what an ‘opening’ entailed, but Brenda told him he could dress casual, just not sloppy. He settled on a black, long-sleeved button up over a white t-shirt and dark jeans. He has no idea if he’s over- or underdressed, but, truthfully, he’s hoping he’s in and out so quick that no one notices what he’s wearing, anyway.

He’s still not sure if going to the opening is a good idea. On one hand, Newt’s been working on this project all year; Thomas was even with him when he took some of the photos. Thomas wanted to see what he had done, felt it was the right thing to do to come see his work and, maybe, congratulate him.

But the other side of it, the side that worries Thomas the most, is that by going to the opening, he’ll ruin the entire event. That everyone will look at him as soon as he walks in and know that he was the crazy guy screaming in a library. Then they’ll all start whispering, or laughing, and suddenly no one will be looking at the art anymore, and Newt will hate him. Or Newt would take one look at him and tell him to walk right back out.

Gally had insisted that Newt wanted him there. And when Thomas had told his friends he’d still be coming, they were ecstatic. But it still didn’t feel like he was welcome. Newt and him had been ghosting each other for a whole week, with neither of them budging. How was he supposed to stroll in casually?

He had recruited Alby to walk over with him, since everyone else would either be showing up early to help set up or arriving late because of a class. He planned on using him like a human shield, but he hadn’t exactly told him that yet.

Just as Thomas finishes tying his shoes, he hears a knock at the door.

“Hey, Thomas,” Alby’s voice calls. “Your escort’s here.”

“Alright, one second,” Thomas answers, his heart suddenly palpitating. He could not see this ending well. But he at least had to try.

He takes one last look in the mirror, puffs out a big breath of air, and steels himself before opening the door.

Alby smiles at him, kind as always but with a hint of pity in his eyes. Thomas feels like closing the door and turning right back around.

“You ready?” Alby asks. Thomas knows he means more than just being dressed.

“Sure,” Thomas lies. “Ready as I’ll ever be. I guess.”

“You’ll be fine,” Alby reassures. “Newt’s not gonna sick us on you like dogs, or something. You’re welcome there.”

“Has he told you that?” Thomas asks. “Because I’m not so sure.”

“Well, no,” Alby admits. “But I know him. He’s not an asshole.”

Thomas weakly attempts a chuckle. “Right.”

“Come on,” Alby nudges. “Let’s get going.”

Thomas and Alby make it to the Visual Arts building, a large, brick building on the opposite side of campus. They pass the main entrance and walk down the stairs that lead to the basement, where all of the photography stuff is.

“I hate it down here,” Thomas comments. “It’s so...musty. And damp. And gray.”

“They call it the dungeon for a reason,” Alby laughs. “But I’m sure Brenda and everyone helped make the place look nice.”

They reach the bottom of the stairs. Thomas hesitates in front of the glass door, trying to peer inside to see the hallway, but to no avail. His feet feel like they’re stuck in the cement.

“I don’t think I should be here,” Thomas admits, his fingers jittery. “I should go.”

“Thomas,” Alby puts a hand on Thomas’ shoulder, trying to steady him. “Relax. If anyone tries to say anything to you, I’ll be here. But no one will. You’ll be fine.”

Thomas looks at Alby for a moment, his eyes as always sincere and sturdy. He exhales.

“Okay,” he says. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

Alby smiles before turning and opening the door. They’re in a long hallway; the walls and floor are both gray concrete, black lockers lining one side of the wall. The air is, as always, musty and vaguely damp, as if it had just rained. Thomas turns to the left and sees a fairly large gathering of people, mostly talking in groups or slowly walking by the walls. The walls where the art is hung up have a white board placed over the concrete, with lights shining down on each photograph. There’s a snacks table with some cheese and crackers, and Thomas thinks he sees a bottle of champagne or wine. He tries to look for someone he recognizes in the crowd, but so far all he sees is the friends of the other people in the show.

He starts to follow Alby down the hall, the noise of a song gradually growing louder as he gets closer. The louder the music gets, the harder his heart pounds. Some vinyl letters have been placed on the wall; IV -- a senior show, with the names of all four participants underneath. Thomas doesn’t know the two who aren’t Newt or Gally.

(Thomas also can’t help but notice they went by Newt’s legal name--Sam--for the wall. It’s foreign to him. He hasn’t heard it since the first day they met.

How many things have changed since that day.)

The ‘gallery’ itself is a square at the end of the hall; where the vinyl letters end is the angle for the first wall, and then the other three around it. He decides to start with the wall on his left, not sure which one is Newt’s. The first series of photos are in color, so Thomas realizes quickly that it can’t be Newt’s. Still, he walks alongside them with Alby. They’re all photos of water in some way or another; either a pool, a sink, or a puddle. Thomas isn’t sure what it’s trying to convey, but the photos look nice.

“That one’s cool,” he points at one of a water bottle exploding out of little holes poked in the side of it. “It’s almost like a fountain.”

“It’s certainly abstract,” Alby hums, seemingly disinterested.

They get to the end of the photographs and see the snack table, Thomas realizing that his anxiety has caused him to not eat for most of the day. He quickly loads up a plate with crackers, grapes, and cookies. He spots a can of La Croix and grabs that, too.

Definitely wasn’t Newt’s choice to have this, Thomas thinks. Too stereotypically Californian.

Thomas starts munching on the crackers as he heads to the back wall; he realizes as he gets closer that this is Gally’s portion.

“Hey, check it out,” Thomas mumbles through his full mouth. “It’s Gal-” He turns to point out the pictures to Alby, but realizes he lost him somewhere in the snack table. Shit. My human shield. He swallows the cracker and tries to remain calm, blending in with the rest of the people looking at Gally’s work.

It’s easy to tell that the photographs are all Gally’s because...well, they’re all self-portraits. He works in black and white, like Newt. Some are mirror shots, some are shot in a studio setting. Some look like they were taken by other people.

Huh, Thomas thinks. I thought it only counted if you took the photo yourself. Clearly I know nothing about photography.

Thomas wonders what the deeper meaning is behind the portraits. If someone had shown him these a week ago, he probably would have thought this was narcissism. Or an act of vanity. But even if Thomas doesn’t know what they’re about, he still senses a...sadness about them. Something deep and personal that Thomas would likely never know. He looks at them all for a minute before moving on to the next wall.

He’s gotten so distracted by looking at the art that he has no idea if anyone he knows has spotted him. He can’t pinpoint anyone in the sea of people that are here. He moves through them to get a better look at the third wall.

This person also works in color. They’re mainly close-up, detailed images of indents in the skin from things like zippers, buttons, sheets, and so on. They’re interesting to look at, but nothing particularly amazing to Thomas.

He knows when he turns and sees the last wall, it will be Newt’s work. Despite everything, he is excited to see what Newt had churned out after working the whole year. He was so talented; whatever he did was going to come out great.

Thomas turns. He sees ten photographs from the left to the right.

The first is the photo Thomas took of Newt wearing the alien headband. Thomas isn’t surprised to see it; the whole theme of the project was how Newt felt like an alien in this state.

The next is from the perspective of Thomas’ passenger seat, Brenda’s truck ahead of them on the road. A light leak has caused some blotches of black to spread throughout the sky. Thomas squints his eyes; Newt hated when he had messed up his film the first time. Why would he have not only done it again, but hung it up?

The next photo is from their bonfire adventure where Thomas actually drank. It’s of Teresa and Brenda dancing around the bonfire, laughing with their heads held back. Thomas smiles fondly; it’s one of the few things he remembers from that night.

Then, the next photo; it’s of Thomas, laughing with his eyes closed as he sits on Newt’s lap in the backseat of his car. It seems to be taken from Newt’s perspective, one of his hands still in Thomas’ hair. He doesn’t remember that. And why would Newt even choose to show it?

And then. The next photo. N + T, carved into a tree. Clear as day. Framed and lit for the world to see.

Thomas’ heart stops. He slowly looks above it to the title of the show; Finding Home.

Oh no, Thomas thinks. Oh, god.

He hesitantly turns to the next photo. It’s the old couple sitting on the bench from their hike in the national park. The one after that is Thomas from behind, looking at the waterfall they swam under. Then the CACTUS MOTEL -- VACANCY sign. Then a close-up shot of the business card of the diner they ate at before they went back home. And, lastly, a photo with the palm tree keychain held in perspective so it’s as large as an actual palm tree.

Thomas shakes his head, looking back and forth between all the photos rapidly. None of this made sense. Almost all of these are photos that Newt took last week. He was working on this all year. And wasn’t this supposed to be about how he hates California? Why is it about the trip? Why am I in it so much? Why-

“Tommy.”

Thomas instantly drops his La Croix, the sizzling of the carbonation the only sound as the room suddenly turns silent. Thomas turns to see Newt, who looks as if he’s just seen a ghost. Thomas is frozen for a moment before remembering the spill on the ground.

“Shit,” Thomas hisses as he bends down and picks up the can. He takes what little napkins he had and spreads them out over the puddle, trying to mop up the best he can. He’s failing horribly.

Newt comes over and kneels down next to Thomas, opening his mouth to say something before Thomas interrupts.

“Shit,” Thomas repeats. “I knew I shouldn’t have come. I made your floor all fucking sticky…” Thomas panics and whips off his button up, about to use it to mop up the La Croix before Newt holds his wrist to stop him.

“It’s fine,” Newt blurts out. “I don’t care about the floor.”

“Well, I mean, people are gonna be walking over it all night, then they won’t be looking at your stuff, they’ll just be complaining about the floor-”

“Tommy,” Newt states earnestly. Thomas finally stops and looks up; Newt doesn’t seem mad like Thomas expected. He seems...scared.

They look at each other for a moment, Thomas unsure of what to do. He feels paralyzed.

“What is this?” Thomas finds himself asking. “Your project, I…”

Newt swallows. “I changed it.”

“You ch-...you changed it? In the last week?”

Newt gives a small nod, barely moving his head. “Yeah.”

“Why…” Thomas looks back up at the photographs; him laughing, the keychain, his car, the motel, the letters carved into the tree. Finding Home.

“I talked to Brenda,” Newt explains. “She told me what you said. About what you wanted.” Thomas is silent, continuing to look at the photographs. Newt continues. “You said that you didn’t believe me. And I-...I mean, this whole project, it wasn’t...it wasn’t true anymore. I couldn’t make it.”

“The project…” Thomas echoes, staring at the title.

“Finding home,” Newt repeats. “It’s...yeah.”

Thomas looks back towards Newt, who looks like he just ripped open his chest with his own two hands, split it down the middle. He looks wounded. He looks utterly terrified.

Thomas is about to speak before he sees some napkins being handed to him from above. He follows the hand to see Gally, his face somber.

“Here,” Gally timidly states. “For the spill.”

Thomas clears his throat. “Right.” He grabs the napkins. “Thanks.” He uses them to wipe up the rest of the floor, Newt trying to help. Eventually, it’s mostly clean, and they stand up again, awkwardly holding the wet napkins.

“Um,” Newt starts, his muscles noticeably tense.

“The garbage is over there,” Gally points. Thomas follows his hand and sees a garbage next to an exit door.

“Thanks,” Thomas blurts, quickly moving towards the garbage and dumping his napkins and food. He then pushes the exit door and stands outside, taking some deep breaths. He could feel the eyes of everyone on him as he walked out, just as he feared.

What the fuck, Thomas repeats in his mind. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck.

He hears the door open again behind him, and turns around to see Newt standing there, pale as a ghost.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas stammers. “I didn’t mean to ruin your opening.”

“It’s okay,” Newt replies. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

“No, Newt, I--I--I did!” Thomas exclaims, beginning to pace. “I took a fucking four year friendship and I ruined it! I fucking ruined it, Newt. And I screamed at you, in a god damn library, after you told me that-” he pauses. The next words would make everything painfully real. “After you told me that you loved me, I fucking screamed at you saying you were a liar. And after that, you still, you still did all…” He waves his arms in the direction of the gallery. “This. Like you had to prove it to me.”

Newt seems shocked silent, watching Thomas with a pained expression.

“Newt, I’m so sorry I ever made you feel like you had to prove anything to me,” Thomas continues. He hears his voice breaking with each word. “You never did. You changed your whole project for me, you could fail your fucking senior year...because I’m an asshole. You didn’t need to do any of that for me.”

There’s moment of silence--a heavy, thick, deafening silence--before Newt finally speaks.

“Do you remember what I said,” Newt starts, “about why I love film?”

“Um…” Thomas murmurs.

“It’s a really delicate process,” Newt explains. “There are...so many parts to it. And they can all just go terribly wrong. You use the wrong film, you don’t screw the camera tightly, you have the wrong settings, you develop it wrong...any misstep, and the whole thing just falls apart. It’s ruined.” Thomas stays quiet. “And I used to love film because of how it came out when all the parts worked together. When every step went perfectly right, and the photo came out crystal clear, with no problems. I called it a labor of love.”

“But now…?” Thomas asks.

“But now…” Newt echoes. “I know that it isn’t that simple. That even if you use all the right settings, take all the right steps, and do everything perfectly...you could still end up with a shitty photograph. And if you mess up along the way, you might have ‘ruined’ the film, but you can still have a beautiful photograph. It’s okay if you messed up along the way. It’s still a labor of love.

“You taught me that,” Newt continues. “When you pulled my film out of the garbage and you showed me that I could make something new and better out of the scraps I had. You taught me that it doesn’t have to be perfect for it to be good.”

“Oh.”

“And you’ve--you’ve taught me so much else,” Newt laughs. “That I shouldn’t plan everything down to each step. That it’s okay to live a little impulsively. That it’s okay to take chances.” Newt takes a step closer. “And you taught me that if you really love someone, you should tell them. And make it clear.” He looks down at Thomas’ hands without moving his own. “The least I could do after everything you’ve taught me is to show you.”

Thomas feels tears building up behind his eyes. He clenches his jaw trying to hold them in. Everything is laid out in front of them, the duality of it all. To open yourself up enough to be truly known, to be truly loved. And to know it’s all going to vanish, and to do it anyway. Because it’s better than going your whole life having never known at all.

Thomas grabs Newt by the face and kisses him, feeling the desperation of it in his bones but not caring anyway. His hands tremble as they hold Newt’s face, and the only thing keeping him grounded is the feeling of Newt’s hands in his hair, the weight of his body next to his.

Newt pulls back, wiping the tears that have managed to escape from Thomas’ eyes.

“I still need to say it,” Thomas mentions, his voice wobbly. “I know you know, but I--just, I--”

“You don’t have to say it,” Newt consoles, his own eyes starting to tear up. “It’s okay.”

“No, I do,” Thomas insists. “I love you. I love you so much, Newt. And I don’t…I don’t know what to do.”

Newt pulls Thomas in, Thomas trying to hold back his chokey breaths against Newt’s shoulder.

“I don’t know what to do,” Thomas repeats, clutching Newt’s back. Newt doesn’t answer, but Thomas can hear him also trying to hold back his tears, his shaky breaths. He feels the weight of it all finally collapsing on them, pelting and relentless and exhausting. And, in its own way, relieving.

Chapter Text

“Jesus,” Brenda groans as she digs through Thomas’ trunk. “I didn’t realize how much shit I’d left in your car.”

“Wasn’t just you,” Thomas laughs as he watches Teresa, Harriet, and Alby grabbing things from the backseat. “I was basically a free storage unit for four years.”

Brenda suddenly whips out what looks like a sharp metal tool and holds it in the air. “Oh, great. Now I find you. Not like I needed you for my final, or anything.”

“What the hell is that?” Thomas asks, eyeing the tool with concern.

“It’s just something for carving clay,” Brenda explains as she tosses the tool haphazardly into her bag. Thomas winces. “No idea why it was in your car.” Brenda does a final glance around the trunk. “I think I’m done. Rest of this shit is theirs.” She slings her bag over her shoulder and walks to her truck a few parking spots away.

Thomas walks over to Alby as he reaches underneath the backseat.

“Need some help?” Thomas offers.

“No, I think I…” Alby suddenly whips out a pen. “Got it. Thank god.”

“A pen?” Thomas chuckles. “That’s what was so important?”

Alby shrugs. “It’s my favorite pen.”

Thomas claps Alby on the back. “Okay, buddy.” He walks over to the other side of his car, where Teresa is making a pile of receipts.

“Pretty sure those are all mine,” Thomas notices. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

“Well, I didn’t really leave much in here, so I figured I’d help,” Teresa explains as she finds another receipt. “And now I’m starting to feel bad for how much you spend on gas.”

“Eh,” Thomas shrugs. “I’d be driving even if you guys weren’t in the car, so. Either way.”

“Right,” Teresa nods. She compacts the pile of receipts and turns around, holding them out. “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” Thomas smiles, even though he’ll probably just end up throwing these out. Who knows how old they are.

Before Thomas can continue the conversation, he sees a door open out of the corner of his eye. He looks over and sees Newt leaving his apartment. They meet eyes, the world pausing for a brief moment before Newt flashes his classic smile and heads over to the car. Such a charmer.

Thomas meets him in front of the car, deciding to greet him with a quick kiss before actually saying anything. Newt seems pleasantly surprised.

“Hello there,” Newt grins.

“Hey,” Thomas retorts.

They stand there for a few moments in silence, just looking at each other. In the past week since Newt’s opening, they had not at all discussed what the status of their relationship was. Were they friends with benefits? Were they exclusive? Were they in an open relationship? Were they just friends?

Well, they weren’t anything. They just were.

And what was going to happen after graduation tomorrow, when everyone would pack their things into cars, or planes, and head home...was also a mystery. And it was always a mystery, sure, and it was always going to be one. But it was too late to worry about the specifics. They weren’t going to do anything, or be anything. They were just going to be, together.

(Normally you would then hear ‘And that’s okay,’ but there’s no point in lying. It’s not okay. It’s simply the truth.)

Thomas is reminded of when he used to read as a child, his eyes always tempted to skip to the bottom of the page, or flip to the back of the book. All that buildup, all that tension in his chest. To just relieve it, and see how it all ended. To fast forward past all the hard shit, the heartbreak and distance and time and learning. To skip straight to the recovery, the after, the resolution. But nothing’s ever that easy.

Thomas clears his throat and snaps back to reality.

“So, um, are you ready to clear out your locker?” he jokes, gesturing to the passenger’s side.

Newt looks over at his (yes, his) seat, his eyes glancing over the ash tray in the cupholder. His smile slowly fades.

“Actually…” Newt drags, turning back to Thomas. “I think I’m gonna clean it out after the party. If you don’t mind.”

Thomas nods. He doesn’t mind. He understands. He understands too well.

“Okay. Whenever you want. I’ll be waiting.”

***

Thomas leans against his car as he watches Brenda and Teresa set up the bonfire. The group had originally thought about sticking to tradition and driving somewhere random for their last party, but something about the beach just seemed so perfect, so cliche and silly and wonderful, that they just had to go back.

“Teresa loved the photo I took of them,” Newt comments as he pulls his speaker from the trunk.

“Of course she did,” Thomas agrees. “It’s beautiful.”

“Well, she offered to pay for it,” Newt adds, shutting the trunk. “Said she wants to hang it in their apartment.”

“‘Their’?” Thomas asks.

“Her and Brenda. When they inevitably move in together.”

“Ah.”

“Apparently they’ve already started looking.”

Thomas chuckles, but can’t help but feel venom sizzling under his tongue. “Figures.”

Newt looks at Thomas hesitantly before pulling something out of his back pocket.

“It’s not the full print, but...I thought you might want this, too.”

Thomas raises his eyebrows and looks at Newt’s hand. It’s an envelope. Curious, Thomas takes it and opens it carefully.

What’s inside are tiny prints of the photos from Newt’s project. The one of Thomas laughing, the one of their initials in a tree, the one of the keychain...they’re all there, but smaller. Thomas smiles.

“I made test versions of the prints to make sure I liked how they looked before I committed to the big one,” Newt explains, shuffling slightly. “Thought you might want ‘em.”

“Of course I do,” Thomas assures. “I mean, I already took a million photos of them from the opening, but this is much better. Thank you.”

Newt smiles, uncharacteristically sheepish. “Sure thing.”

Thomas is about to lean in and kiss his cheek before Brenda starts yelling.

“Newt!” She screams. “Get that speaker over here! We need the tunes!”

“Alright, I’m coming!” Newt shouts. He rolls his eyes at Thomas, then winks before jogging over to Brenda.

Thomas flips through the photos that Newt gave him, smiling but still feeling a little twist of pain with each one. Ideally, he would pin them up on his bulletin board, but that might not be so easy. Maybe someday.

Thomas must have gotten transfixed while looking at the photos, because some time later, Harriet starts snapping her fingers in front of him.

“Hello?” she chimes. “Anyone there? There’s a game of volleyball about to start, and we need our star player. Is he home?”

Thomas looks up quickly, then smiles when he sees Harriet.

“Sorry,” he sighs. “Got a little distracted.”

“What’s that?” Harriet asks, gesturing towards the photos.

“Oh, they’re the photos from Newt’s show. But, like, smaller.”

“Can I see?”

“Uh, sure.” Thomas passes them to Harriet, feeling on edge as she looks through them even though he knows she’ll treat them with care.

“He’s such a great artist,” Harriet hums. “He’s gonna do big things. I can feel it.”

Thomas can’t think of what to say, so he just nods. Even though Harriet isn’t looking at him. Harriet finishes looking through the photos and hands them back to Thomas.

“You’re lucky,” she jokes. “I’d love to have someone take amazing photos of me. And then make a project about me.”

“Yup,” Thomas says, flatter than he intended. “Lucky, lucky me.”

Harriet sighs, looking at Thomas for a moment before speaking. “You know, it’s still important that he was in your life. You’re still lucky to have that.”

“But now anyone who comes after him will just pale in comparison, so,” Thomas snaps. He wonders how long that thought was bubbling under the surface, just waiting for someone to give him an excuse to burst.

Harriet scoffs slightly. “Why does everyone always say that? That people can’t compare, or won’t compare. Why is everyone comparing all the time?”

Thomas blinks. Was this a rhetorical question? “Because…”

“You don’t need to compare,” Harriet interrupts. “And you shouldn’t. Because nobody is like Newt. And no one ever will be. And that’s okay!”

“It is?”

“Yes. Tell me, Thomas. Do you love me?”

Thomas blinks in surprise. “I--what?”

“Not romantically. Just tell me. Do you love me?”

“I-...yes. Of course.”

“But I’m not Newt.”

“...well, no, but-”

“But it doesn’t matter. Because I have my own way of loving you, and my own experiences to offer you. And what you get from knowing me is special and unique.” Thomas listens, unsure where she was going. “And what you get from knowing Teresa is different from me. And what you get from knowing Alby is different than knowing her. Everyone in your life gives you something special, and unique, and meaningful. Whether they’re your friends, or your lovers. It doesn’t matter.”

“So…”

“So, when, and I mean when, someone else comes along in your life that isn’t Newt, you don’t have to compare them to him. You appreciate them for their own uniqueness, their own way of loving you and their own experiences you can have with them.”

“But isn’t it unfair?” Thomas argues. “To be with someone knowing that, deep down, I still love someone else? Isn’t that a fucked up thing to do to someone?”

“I don’t expect you to stop loving Newt,” Harriet answers. “But there are so many beautiful and wonderful people out there who are ready to love you in their own ways. And you deserve to experience all of it. To be loved in so many ways. And Newt deserves that, too.”

“But I’ll still love him.”

“And you always will. And you take that love-” Harriet grabs Thomas’ hands and holds them against his chest. “And you keep it here. Close. And you save a spot in your heart for him, and what you had, and you keep it shut tight and you appreciate it forever. But you give your heart some space. Some room to breathe. And you let someone else in.”

Thomas laughs to stop himself from crying. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” Harriet shakes her head. “But it’s life. And it sucks, and it’s shitty, and maybe you two got dealt an unfair hand but I’m not ready to sit here and watch you crumble into yourself about it.” She backs up a few feet and gestures to the volleyball net. “This is the last night we have together. Can we PLEASE play some volleyball?!”

Thomas laughs, genuinely this time. She could switch between being an amazing therapist to an excited girl in seconds. It was remarkable.

“Okay,” Thomas nods, putting the photos in his car. “Here comes your star player.”

***

It was getting late, the sky that deep, dark blue that happens just after the sun sets. Everyone seems to have calmed down; Harriet and Alby were roasting marshmallows, Minho was tossing a frisbee with Teresa, and Brenda was laying in the sand, her head lightly bobbing to the music. Thomas looks over from the hood of his car, smiling softly as he watched his friends through the glow of the embers.

Harriet was right. He was lucky; but not just for Newt. All of his friends were incredible, and he was fortunate enough to meet them all in freshman year. No falling outs, no irreparable drama. And he knows that, after graduation, they’ll all still make an effort to see each other. Not many people could say that. He feels guilty for forgetting that, and tries to memorize this scene in his head, to come back to later.

“You alright?” Newt asks. Thomas turns; they were both laying down on the hood of his car, looking up at the stars. It was rare that they were this clear.

“Yeah,” Thomas answers. “Just thinking about them.”

Newt smiles, and Thomas can easily see the sadness behind it. Only a few weeks ago, Newt’s face was permanently a neutral wall, an impenetrable force. To see him so willing to be open and vulnerable was still a surprise, but in the best way.

“Imagine if you hadn’t been my roommate,” Newt speculates. “I probably wouldn’t have met any of them.”

“That’s true,” Thomas nods. “So, you’re welcome.”

Newt laughs, pulling Thomas in so his head rests on his shoulder.

“Oh, fuck off,” Newt jokes, giving Thomas a kiss on the head.

They watched the stars for a while, Newt naming some constellations that Thomas couldn’t really see, but tried to imagine anyway. But, mostly, they just laid there, the sounds of Harriet laughing and Minho singing in the background filling the air.

“Do you believe in fate?” Thomas suddenly finds himself asking. The stars always made him feel philosophical.

“Huh?” Newt asks, seemingly distracted.

“Do you believe in fate?” Thomas repeats.

Newt looks down for a moment, thinking.

“I think I believe in fate when I want to,” Newt smirks. “Like, when it’s convenient for me too.”

“What do you mean?”

“If something shitty happens to me, I can blame it on fate. You know, ‘Oh, just my luck.’ So I can feel like it wasn’t my fault. And then if something good doesn’t pan out, I can just say it wasn’t in the cards. So I can just use it to make myself feel better, I guess. A little less hopeless.”

“Hopeless of what?”

“You know, the idea that ‘fate’ just means that everything in your life is predetermined, and nothing you do can really change it. You’re just going on life’s path that was set out for you. If you give in to it, it sort of makes it less scary.”

“Oh, I can’t do that,” Thomas shakes his head against Newt’s chest. “That’s terrifying. I refuse to believe that I’m not in control of my life. I could fly to Mexico tomorrow and change my name. I have the power to do that.”

“But one could argue that flying to Mexico and changing your name was part of your life’s plan,” Newt counters. “It would still be your fate.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Thomas scoffs. “No higher power has the time to lay out all the insane, stupid shit I’m gonna do in my life. They don’t have the energy.”

“That, I’ll agree to. You’re still the most impulsive person I’ve ever met. I don’t think fate likes that very much.”

“Good. Fuck fate.”

“Yeah.”

“And fuck God!”

Newt laughs. “What?”

“Well he created it, right?” Thomas gestures. “So it’s his fault! Fuck him!”

Newt keeps laughing. “You’re insane. I still love you, though.”

Thomas stops his tirade, looking up at Newt from his chest. He pushes himself up and cups Newt’s face in his hands before kissing him. He knows everything Harriet said before is true, and good, and definitely the right thing. But in that moment, all Thomas can think is I don’t need anyone else if they’re not him.

He pulls away, Newt looking up at him in a way that makes Thomas think his hands are the only thing holding Newt together.

“Fuck fate,” Thomas repeats, knowing the words are meaningless but feeling the power behind them, anyway.

Newt gives a small smile. “Fuck fate.”

***

Graduation was about as boring as Thomas expected. He ran out of the snacks he snuck in, the speeches were long, and it felt like there were a million students who needed to cross the stage. He managed to make a few jokes to Harriet who was a few aisles over, but for the most part it was him struggling not to fall asleep, and then frantically cheering when he heard a name he recognized.

The atmosphere afterwards was starkly different. Everyone was running around trying to find each other, desperately calling their friends before their phones died, or simply screaming each other’s names. The hot California sun was relentless on their black gowns, and most people were using their caps to fan themselves. A long line of cars was formed trying to exit the venue, and the sound of horns honking from people trying to remember where they parked filled the air.

Thomas quickly pushes his way through the crowd to the spot he and his parents had already planned to meet at. As he hugged them and absorbed his mom’s tears into his gown, he couldn’t help but think about everything that had happened in the past week, and everything they still didn’t know. He had just come out to his friends; when should he come out to his parents? Should he come out at all? His stomach swirled with nausea at the thought, or maybe from the heat. Or both.

He eventually waved goodbye to them as they set off towards their car. With his parents gone, he whipped out his phone (and his portable charger, a tip that Teresa had given him) to see if Newt was ready to leave. Everyone had taken their photos before the ceremony, and now it was time for Thomas to bring Newt to the airport. Luckily, Newt only had one suitcase; he had been slowly shipping home non-essential things over the last month. Thomas wondered if it was painful to slowly see his last college dorm turn bare, rather than packing it all in one shot. It reminded him of how people remove bandaids; slowly and carefully, or all at once. I suppose people say goodbye the same way.

Thomas shuffles his way through the crowd, awkwardly maneuvering around the cars waiting to leave until he found his own car in the parking lot. He had been chanting the spot number in his head throughout the whole ceremony so he wouldn’t forget.

He watches everyone walk towards their own cars as he leans against his. Some people were crying, some were taking commemorative selfies, and some were flipping off the venue altogether, even though it wasn’t actually part of the school. Most people seemed happy to be done, or proud of what they’d accomplished. There were so many emotions running through Thomas the last few weeks, he’d almost forgotten about the fact that he’d earned a diploma. Something so momentous was somehow insignificant in comparison to the revelations he’d encountered in the last week.

Thomas is snapped out of his thoughts when he hears Harriet call his name. Just like yesterday.

“Thomas!” Harriet screams. “We did it!”

“Hell yeah, we did,” Thomas grins, giving her a hug. “Crazy to think about.”

“I know. And we’re not even done yet.”

“Yeah…”

Harriet sighs, pouting. “I still can’t believe you’re not gonna be at grad school with me in the fall. You have broken your promise.”

Thomas laughs. “You mean the one I made back in freshman year when I barely knew what I wanted to do with my life? Look, taking a year off will be good for me. I’ve been looking forward to it for months. I can save some money, relax a bit, de-stress, and then make sure I’m choosing a grad school I really like.”

“Which will be mine. Like you promised.”

Thomas shakes his head. “We’ll see.”

Harriet rolls her eyes. “Listen, let me know when you get home safe. And don’t forget, we’re all meeting for dinner next month.”

Well, not all of us, Thomas thinks reflexively. He wonders if, in time, that asterisk in his plans will go away.

“I could never forget. I’ll text you.”

“You better. Love you, Thomas.” She gives him another hug, squeezing his shoulder blades so tightly they hurt before waving and quickly running to catch up with her parents. Thomas watches her leave with a sad smile, reflecting back on what she told him yesterday.

All of his friends had been giving him advice on how to handle this situation. Harriet told him to leave room in his heart for someone else. Brenda told him to force Newt to America at gun point. Teresa told him to just focus on one day at a time. Alby told him to focus on his future. And Minho had told him to move to England. They all had good intentions, but it was hard enough to do one of those things, let alone all of them.

Who knows how he was actually going to handle it. Thomas certainly didn’t know.

Thomas waves to a few people he knows as they pass before seeing Newt’s familiar blonde hair bobbing its way through the crowd.

“Newt!” Thomas calls, waving his arms frantically. He watches as Newt scans the crowd before finding Thomas, smirking and jogging over.

“It’s World War Three out here,” Newt jokes as he reaches Thomas. “My arm nearly got ripped out the socket trying to get through the door.”

“Well, here’s your getaway car,” Thomas motions to his car like a chauffeur. “Your chariot awaits.”

“Why, thank you.” Newt takes his gown off and slides into the passenger’s seat. Thomas throws his gown into the trunk before getting in and starting the car.

“Alright, Teresa told me to double check everything with you,” Thomas says, reciting the list in his head. “You have your ticket?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“In my back pocket.”

“Show me.”

Newt pulls the ticket out of his back pocket, jiggling it in the air. Thomas secretly deflates; his one last hope was that Newt had somehow lost his ticket, and he would be stuck there until the next flight. A selfish dream.

“Do you have your passport?”

“Yes. In my bag. Front left pocket.”

“Do you have your ID?”

“In my phone case.”

“Do you have cash? Your debit card?”

“Also in my phone case.”

“You have your phone charger? Headphones? Book?”

“In my bag.”

“Your camera stuff?”

“Also in my bag. I don’t trust the airport with my camera.”

Thomas quickly goes through the list in his head again.

“I think that’s everything Teresa told me to ask,” he nods. “You’re ready.”

“Well, unlike some people, I don’t just shove everything in my bag at the last minute.”

“Hey,” Thomas argues, eyeing his bulky backpack in the backseat. “It’s an organized chaos.”

“Sure it is.”

Thomas laughs, his hand still resting on the gear shift. He awkwardly drums his fingers against it, knowing that once he took it out of park, the dreaded drive to the airport would officially start. Newt must have sensed his hesitation, because he puts his hand over Thomas’ and squeezes it.

“Tommy…” Newt starts, seemingly unsure of what to say. Thomas stops him before he can say anything, quickly shifting into reverse. He has to make it to the airport without crashing, and ugly-sobbing because of whatever Newt was going to say would not make that easier.

“Let’s, um,” Thomas stammers as he pulls out of the parking lot. “Let’s get you to the airport first.”

Newt nods, understanding. “Okay.”

They drive to the airport mostly in silence, Thomas not speaking out of fear that as soon as he opens his mouth, he’s just going to start crying. Or screaming. It seems like there’s no right words to say, no neat little prose that he can recite to wrap this all nicely with a bow, make all of their tragedy and lost time seem poetic and romantic rather than ugly and guttural. This was reality. There was no romanticising this, no twisting or turning it with a vow of affection that makes the coming days seem more bearable.

They finally pull into the airport. Thomas watches the planes fly overheard, feels the rumble of their engines. He’s never been in a plane before. The stupid, impulsive side of his brain tries to think of ways he can sneak on board, or somehow afford a ticket last minute. Desperate, scratching attempts from someone hanging off the edge of a cliff, nails digging into the dirt.

Thomas could have just said his goodbyes to Newt here, but they both knew that Thomas was going to walk with him straight to the gates, as far as the security would let him. There was no use pretending otherwise.

They hold hands as they walk through, a part of Thomas realizing that this is the first time he’s held hands with a man in public. He would be scared, but there are so many other emotions running through him that are more powerful. There’s simply no room for it.

He wonders if Newt can feel how clammy and shaky his hand gets the closer they get to the gates. If he can feel how fast his heart is beating through the pulse in his wrist. He thinks he does, because Newt keeps tracing his thumb over Thomas’ hand, slow and steady.

They finally reach the gates. Thomas was expecting something large, and looming; something equivalent to the pearly gates, or the entrance to hell. But nothing is ever that dramatic. This wasn’t the grand scene in a movie, where the two tearfully part as an audience of captive airport-goers watch on. There was no shadow chasing them, ready to consume them both. Nothing is ever as dramatic as that. It’s just life. And while Thomas looks at Newt, people are rushing by them, paying no attention at all. All with their own planes to catch, their own luggage to carry, their own lovers to leave or reunite with. The realization helps Thomas, unexpectedly.

Thomas can see how much Newt is struggling not to cry; his eyes are wet and shaky, and he’s bouncing on his feet. Thomas, surprisingly, doesn’t think he’s going to cry. Not because he isn’t sad, but simply because he doesn’t have the energy to.

“Well, shit,” Newt states. He gives a quick, weak laugh.

“Well, shit,” Thomas echoes. Another moment of silence.

“I, uh…” Newt stammers. He exhales. “You’d think I’d have a speech prepared by now, or something.”

“That’s okay,” Thomas admits. “I’m glad you don’t.”

“Me too,” Newt agrees. “I’d mess it up, anyway.”

More silence. Thomas doesn’t mind, anymore. The heaviness of it has become a welcome comfort.

“This sucks,” Thomas settles on. It’s blunt, and crude. But it’s the truth, and Thomas has learned by now the consequences of running away from the truth, or trying to twist it.

Newt laughs out of surprise. “That’s one way to put it.”

“I mean, it’s true. This fucking sucks.”

Newt’s smile fades. “Yeah.” A beat. “It’s not that easy, though.”

“What is?”

“This.”

Thomas scoffs. “I mean, it never was.”

“No, I know. But...look. I’m not gonna act like I know how any of this shit is gonna pan out. I don’t. I can’t.” Thomas nods, listening.

“But I know you,” Newt continues confidently. “And I know me, and I know us. And it just doesn’t…”

“Doesn’t what?”

Newt stops, looking at Thomas steadily. “It just doesn’t feel like the end.”

Thomas laughs without humor. “How can this not feel like an end?” I’ve had dreams telling me the world was ending because of you.

Newt smiles, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I just don’t think it’s that easy. It’s never easy with you. You always make things complicated.”

“Hey,” Thomas repeats.

“In a good way,” Newt corrects, squeezing Thomas’ hand. “Usually.”

Thomas rolls his eyes, but can’t help to smile.

“You make shit complicated too,” Thomas argues. “I’m not the only one.”

“You’re right,” Newt laughs. “I do. And I will.”

Thomas doesn’t know what And I will means, and he has a feeling that Newt doesn’t, either. But somehow he knows that they aren’t empty words. It means something. It holds some meaning, some truth. They both will figure out what that is, eventually.

Thomas looks at Newt, and they both decide that it’s time for their last kiss, and it’s not like any kiss that Thomas has had before. Thomas didn’t know that kisses could be like this; he always knew them as something positive, something filled with love and affection, or fun and lust. And it could be all of them, sure, but Thomas is now learning that kisses can be painful, and messy, and reaching, and pleading. And a thousand unsaid words, and a thousand unseen possibilities, and a million what-ifs. All passing through each other’s lips, unsaid and unheard but there, in the saddest kiss that Thomas has ever known, and likely will ever know.

They pull away after what was likely only a minute but feels like four years. Four years worth of preparation and longing. All crumbling in ways they never expected.

“Okay,” Thomas whispers, giving Newt’s hand one last squeeze. “Get on that plane before I do something stupid.”

Newt laughs, the breath warm on Thomas’ face. “Knowing you, you actually would.” He lets go of Thomas’ hand, grabbing his carry on by the handle.

“I love you,” Newt states, the sound of it both new and comforting to Thomas. “And I will love you.”

And I will. Newt, so confident despite standing on the edge of a cliff. Driving with a wheel that’s turning on its own, straight into a dead end. Staring at the bottom, the inevitable, and saying I will. No wonder kissing him felt like fighting against a tornado. That’s all they’ve ever done.

“I love you, too,” Thomas echoes, almost choking on the words. “And I always will.” A beat. “Now please get on the fucking plane before I hide in a suitcase.”

Newt laughs through his teary eyes, shaking his head. He sneaks in a quick kiss to Thomas’ forehead before turning and running through the gates, making a point not to look back. Thomas understands. He would have done the same thing.

Thomas waits until Newt is completely out of sight before leaving the airport. Part of him wants to wait in his car before the plane takes off, watch it fly through the sky. But he knows it's only going to hurt him more.

He looks at his now empty passenger’s seat, no receipts from Taco Bell or ash trays in the cupholder. No Brenda whining in the backseat, no blasting tunes from Newt’s playlist. Just suitcases and silence. Sighing, Thomas fiddles with his console until he gets a radio station, something he’ll have to use more often now on.

As Thomas starts his drive back home, he sees the gas station they always stop at coming ahead. Might as well get a snack he thinks, pulling into the parking lot.

He walks through the aisles and grabs some chips, rolling his eyes when they were out of Hot Cheetos. Figures.

He takes his snack and drink to the front, plopping them on the counter. Mary turns around from where she was standing, smiling when she sees Thomas.

“Hey, there,” she smiles. “Wasn’t sure I’d see you today. Congrats!”

Thomas pauses for a moment before remembering that he just graduated college. “Oh, right. Thanks.”

“Of course. You should be proud.” She starts ringing up the snacks, then eyes the cigarette counter next to her. “Does he need a pack?”

Thomas blinks. He looks at the pack of Marlboro’s, shiny and red in the display case.

“Yeah,” he decides. “I’ll take a pack.”