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

Chapter 9

"I'm allergic to it, in fact." Newt deadpanned, and Minho raised his eyebrows.

"Well someone's cranky."

"The couch'll be fine, dude." Thomas interjected before Newt could reply. He could see him bristling from the other end of the couch.

"I have some spare pillows - and the blankets are over there." Minho pointed to an overflowing basket in the corner of the living room, spilling over with various blankets before leaving the room presumably to go find pillows. Meanwhile, Thomas made to go get yet another glass of water while Newt headed for the bathroom.

It didn't take long for them to get settled, it wasn't like they hadn't done that exact thing a hundred times before, but Thomas could feel Newt silently fuming beside him as they lay in the dark and wondered why he was so upset.

"Are you-" Thomas started, rolling to face him before flinching at the speed with which Newt did the same. Suddenly they were close enough to share breaths, and in the dark he could see Newt's eyes glinting. He backed up slightly to get a clearer look at him and breathed through his nose so as not to breathe on Newt.

"I just don't understand why he can't just let it go." Newt whispered furiously. "What does he think teasing us is going to get him? Does he think we're just gonna. . . fucking, make out in front of him or something? Suddenly admit something we don't bloody feel? And that bet he started. On us? His best friends? Why the fuck-"

"Hey." Thomas interrupted quietly. Newt's mouth snapped shut and pressed into a thin, angry line, silently daring him to defend Minho. "You're right, you're right. I don't know why he thinks teasing us constantly about getting together is so funny, or that reminding us about it is going to make us change anything - but I gave up trying to convince him otherwise months ago. He's not going to let it go, that's just who Minho is."

"He doesn't have to be so bloody annoying 'bout it." Newt snapped, voice still a whisper but not without bite.

"But also. . . I think he was genuinely just commenting on something that's true of us." Thomas suggested hesitantly, "He's not wrong, exactly, that we're pretty affectionate."

Newt rolled his eyes and huffed a sigh, "Still doesn't make the rest of his comments not annoying as hell. When will he see that I want to make it work with Nick?"

"Give him a little more time, Newt, he'll come around."

"Sure he will." Newt scoffed, rolling onto his back. Thomas did the same and stared at the ceiling. He was inclined to agree with Newt to some extent, but also knew that Minho teasing them was just how he showed how much he cared for them and wanted to see them happy, and he couldn't fault him for that.

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Thomas groaned, rolling over and attempting to crack his eyes open against the light that streamed into the room. For a moment he was disoriented, almost dizzy, and then rubbed his eyes and blinked, realizing suddenly that he couldn't breathe through his nose and his head felt stuffed full of cotton. He swallowed and it was as if he were rubbing sandpaper on his throat. Wincing, he sat up and looked around. The other side of the bed was empty, and he could hear from down the hall that Minho was up and moving around.

Minho appeared first, trailed by Newt, and they both stopped at the foot of the bed. Thomas frowned at them, "What?"

"I mean this in the nicest possible way, Tommy, but you look like shit."

"Well I feel like shit, too, so," He replied, trying to chuckle but ending up coughing instead.

"I can't believe you decide to spend the weekend here and end up having a cold at the same time." Minho commented wryly, but not without sympathy.