Under the Streetlight - Newtmas

E i g h t e e n

Thomas:
Everyone had just left, surprisingly early, for a sleepover. I wasn't mad at it, after all, I did have a pretty jumbled night, I needed a very well deserved lie-in. There was one thing, however, that unfortunately, wouldn't let me sleep. I was ecstatic to get to the party, even though it was still, eight in the morning, my stomach burned in anticipation. It wasn't just the party that excited me, though...

This would be the night.

I wasn't particularly invested on parties at this stage of my life, but tonight was the perfect time to finally gather the strength to get it over with.

I would confess to Newt; whether he likes me back or not... was another deal, but I had picked myself up and decided it was about time to stop chickening-out, I had done it a couple times, and it wasn't that scary, was it?

Well, those girls weren't Newt, no one could possibly be, that's what thrilled and simultaneously scared me to death, though, mostly the first thing, that's what pushed me to not back down.

On top of that, the talk I had with my mother had given me a newfound burst of positivity towards my possibilities. Recapping, she had simply asked me if I liked him —which had been the most awkward conversation I ever had to maintain, given the reason, she didn't know I fancied guys—, but after I confessed myself, she'd assured he definitely liked me back, because of the way he looks at me, that's the thing she had went on over and over again. The eyes never lie, she'd promised me. I could just hope she wasn't wrong, I really couldn't afford to lose him in such a dumb way.

Even if the answer was no.

I rolled over on the attic's big matress, the one I had the chance to sleep on with Newt —since my actual bed was in a questionable state—, the bedsheets still faintly smelled like him. Honey, or maybe it was vanilla? Anyhow, he smelled fantastic, just like you'd imagine the sun to be scented as, if it wasn't Inaccessibly hot. Another similarity between the two.

I felt my body getting progressibly number, the burden of tiredness pressing me against the soft material of the bed, my breathing getting slower.

The words of a poem, which I believed forgotten, began to stream through my head, like the bed of a river flowing serenely through a deep forest. My eyes closed from the weight of my thoughts, giving way to a deep, calm sleep.

If I were the sun, and you were the sky.

Id never set.

I'd hover above the edge of the water waiting for you to shine your stars on me, so I could become bigger than what I am.

For I'm brighter when I'm with you.

***

I had given myself a shower, combed my hair, and carefully picked the most appropriate outfit I owned, but not crossing the informal line, more like in the middle. My 'I want to look cool but not trying too hard' set, that consisted on some baggy jeans, Nikey sneakers, and a black compression shirt. Was it pretentious, was it risky? Yes and yes, but did I look pretty damn good? Also yes. Now I was stretched over my bed —the sheets previously changed—, waiting, for the first time for Minho to come pick me up, and not the opposite, when suddenly, my phone buzzed.