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

Chapter 9

"We're not."

"- And here the rest of us are, same as ever, still living in our shitty apartments with our overpriced rent because unlike you, we can't afford a down payment on a house. But you're like, proper fucking adults now and you do stuff without us and I don't know man. . ."

"Hold on, Min. Are you saying that me and Newt left you behind?" Thomas asked, more than a little confused with where he was going with what he was saying.

Minho shrugged, "I guess? I know you didn't - not really - you just came up with a plan that somehow is working out really well for both of you and now you orbit around each other instead of all of us orbiting around each other."

"Minho. . ." He struggled for words, entirely taken by surprise at what his best friend was admitting. Did he really feel that left out since they had graduated and he and Newt had gotten married? Thomas supposed he wasn't entirely wrong, their entire group dynamic had changed since they had tied the knot, but he hadn't considered quite how much. They had been spending somewhat less time with everyone as a group, even if they did still play games regularly, and their group chat never had a dull moment, but Minho wasn't wrong; things had changed. He thought it was just because after graduation they had all settled down into their more permanent work positions and were all busy, so none of their schedules quite matched up - but it was more than that, he now realized.

"I guess you're right, things have changed." Thomas said finally, looking to meet Minho's gaze. "But we haven't - I mean, we're both still us and you're still you and Gally, Brenda, Frypan. . .they're all still them. Sure, Newt and I have our things, but we're not trying to leave you out or anything. It's harder than I thought it would be, to be an adult like this and not have things change."

"Yeah." Minho nodded. "I guess I just didn't think that things would change this suddenly. It's taking some getting used to."

"Even if things have changed though. . .You know you guys are still my favorite people in the world, right? You and Newt. The three of us, always. No matter what changes. I'm not planning on going anywhere if you aren't."

Minho cracked a small smile, nudging Thomas' shoulder with his own. "Yeah, I know."

Thomas returned his smile, "Besides, this whole "adult" thing is so overrated. I wish I could go back to the way it was when we were in college."

Minho chuckled, "You and me both."

------

He and Newt stayed at Minho's Sunday night, deciding to do so on the advice of the contractor that told them to wait and let the dust settle and the house air out a bit from the fresh paint.

Thomas went to bed feeling slightly better than he had that morning and throughout the day, and was cautiously hopeful he was already getting over his head cold. That was, until he woke up the next morning feeling even worse. Both Newt and Minho had caught it too, it seemed, if the fact that Minho gave him a genuinely annoyed glare as he stumbled into the kitchen to down two advil as he complained of a headache, and Newt's voice had gone rough with the telltale signs of a sore throat was any evidence.

"Sorry, guys." He apologized, feeling bad he'd given them his illness.

"Is what it is, I guess." Minho shrugged. "I think I'm still feeling okay enough to work today, though."

"I already texted Janson saying I can't come in." Thomas said, shifting his gaze to Newt. "What about you?"

"I'll go in too. I can always leave halfway through the day if I start feeling awful. But right now I don't feel too bad." Newt said.

"Guess I'll just head home, then, since no one's gonna be here."

"Yeah, get outta my house you shanks." Minho joked. "Kidding, you could stay if you really feel like shit and don't wanna drive home."

"I feel well enough," Thomas shook his head, "Thanks, though."

"Anytime." His best friend gave him a less annoyed smile, and Thomas was reminded of their conversation the afternoon before. He was glad Minho had told him, and made himself a mental note to do better by him.

The morning was spent with all three of them packing up to leave, and soon enough he and Newt were on their way back home, and Minho was on his way to work.

"I might be a bit late, but I can't exactly go in without my uniform and my keys." Newt said, when Minho asked why he wasn't just going straight to work. "Plus, Tommy's in no shape to walk home."

Once again Thomas was left in an empty house, one that smelled of fresh paint and drywall dust rather than the comforting smell of something distinctly Minho's apartment, and found that instead of going to lie down, he grabbed a broom and dustpan to start sweeping the floors. He'd woken up somewhat now that he was home, and laying around in a dirty house sounded less than ideal, so he cleaned until he was too tired to anymore. He swept the floors, vacuumed the carpet, wiped off all of the surfaces in the kitchen and living room like the counters and coffee table and dining room table, then dusted the bedroom as well.

By the time he was finished, Thomas collapsed on the couch. His body complained that he'd worked too hard rather than resting, and found himself sore in places he hadn't expected. His shoulders, of all things, shouldn't have been sore from an hour's worth of wiping down surfaces, but there he was, prone on the couch and wincing in pain with every movement every time he had to grab another tissue.

Thomas didn't hear Newt get home, but woke when he felt something - no, someone - lay down on top of him, mumbling something incoherently. "Wassat?" He slurred, only half-awake as his brain finally realized it was his husband who was laying his head on his chest, taking up his personal space like he paid the mortgage there.

"I said: I just got over an episode, and you have to go and give me a bloody cold?"

"I'm nothing if not good at sharing." Thomas replied, chuckling halfheartedly.

"My head's killing me."

"Mine too."

"The DayQuil I took earlier isn't doing a hell of a lot."

"It's only given me one of my nostrils back." Thomas paused. "But hey, the ceiling looks good."

Newt halfheartedly craned his neck slightly sideways to look up at the ceiling from his face-down position on top of him, then gave up and closed his eyes again. "I'm sure it does. I'll look at it later; too tired."

Newt sighed and they lay there in silence. Thomas could feel Newt's heartbeat overlaying his own, a steady rhythm that put him back to sleep quickly.

When he woke again, Newt's head still lay on his chest tucked into his neck, still fast asleep; and the house was dark. Thomas didn't have the heart to wake him, though he knew it would be more comfortable for them both to move into a proper bed. They'd had a busy weekend, not to mention the cold he'd gotten and spread from god-knew-where. But if he admitted it to himself, despite all that, he had thoroughly enjoyed himself. As for his current situation - Newt sleeping tucked into him without a care in the world, mouth slightly open, hair a fluffy mess as if he'd been running his hands through it all day, rumpled work uniform and bare feet, his heartbeat slow and steady, his weight against him never more comfortable as just then - he found wouldn't mind staying there for a little while longer.