No Better Version of Me Than When I'm With You

Chapter 9

"Lucky for you, we don't have to be adults today though." Minho grinned. "Today, it'll be like old times in our dorm, playing all the video games we want and eating pizza and drinking."

"I think the drinking technically qualifies us as adults, though." Newt said.

"Don't be such a smartass, Newt." Minho rolled his eyes, but his laughter took the sting out of his words.

"If I remember, we were drinking long before it was legal." Thomas added.

"Thanks to Gally, we were never short of supplies when we wanted to party." Minho agreed, still chuckling. "That said, we can buy our own beer now. I have a whole ass alcohol cabinet like a proper adult."

Newt snorted, "Yeah, 'cause that's what makes you an adult."

"You just said-"

"I know what I said, shut up." Newt shoved Minho playfully, and Minho snickered.

Thomas watched the exchange with amusement, then Minho clapped his hands together and grinned at them. "Okay, so whaddya say, whoever has the least kills on Overwatch buys the pizza tonight?"

"You know I'm a bad shot, Min." Thomas groaned, and he saw his best friend's grin widen with glee.

"That's why this is such a good bet."

"You just wanna watch me suffer, don't you?"

"That, or watch you actually learn how to aim."

"There's a reason Gally still calls you 'Greenie', y'know." Newt added, and Thomas gaped dramatically in mock betrayal, putting a hand to his chest.

"Et tu, Brute?"

When both Minho and Newt burst into laughter, Thomas let his wounded expression slip, shaking his head. "Fine, fine, loser buys pizza."

Minho whooped, and held out his fist for Newt to bump.

They spent the next several hours talking, playing video games, and generally enjoying each other's company. Predictably, Thomas wound up with the least amount of kills when they played Overwatch, despite trying his damndest to aim well enough to actually shoot someone. He only 'accidentally' shot Minho once.

As the day passed, Thomas tried and failed to ignore the tickle that was growing in his throat and the throbbing that was growing behind his eyes. He tried washing it away with copious amounts of water, but it wouldn't budge. By late afternoon he was getting weird looks from both of his friends, and reluctantly explained that he thought he was getting a sore throat.

And that he had a bit of a headache.

And that his nose was stuffing up a bit.

"If you're sick, I'm kicking you out dude." Minho replied dryly, but Thomas could tell he didn't mean it.

By that night he had managed to mostly forget about it, having taken some ibuprofen to chase away the headache. The pizza helped, too, and the fact that around ten pm their group of three became a party chat of five, when Gally and Brenda joined to taunt Thomas in how terrible of a shot he was while they played round after round.

Midnight rolled around and Brenda signed off, then Gally, then Thomas noticed how heavy his eyes were feeling and watched Newt hide a yawn from behind his hand. He caught Minho's gaze and his best friend nodded slightly before announcing that after that round, they should figure out who was sleeping where.

"You guys are fine with sharing the pullout, I assume?" Minho asked as they logged off some ten minutes later. "It's no fancy king size like I'm sure you have at your place, but if I know anything, it's that you two aren't averse to cuddling." He winked, and laughed when Newt rolled his eyes.