Newtmas Oneshots

Friends?

A/N: Happy Late Valentines Day! I wrote this at two in the morning, so sorry if it's not my best. Anyways, enjoy!

Hope you have a good day/night! Take care of yourself!

Friend.

'A person whom one knows and with whom one has a bond of mutual affection.'

Not bound in blood, no, but something similar. Not a sibling or cousin, but bicker and love all the same. One to aimlessly wander with, waste days laughing and weaving memories, stuffing snacks until sick, tracing the shimmering sky and brushing off frostbite with dozy smiles, someone of adventure, someone of value. Special. Surgery-sweet. Stupid.

But those are just dictionary words bold against the glow of a screen or blank of a book.

Gazing into swirling cosmos as lost time gnaws at sense, lazed across the peer, shoulder to shoulder; Newt begins to rethink the meaning.

Friend.

Specially bonded, loyal, mindless, yet right. Close to heart, yes, valued.

Friends waste summer away wandering malls, buying random fidgets and strange amusements, friends go to the beach and splash through waves, sun-tanned, friends stay up late and snuck out, fall asleep together on the peer connecting the constellations. Friends tease each other relentlessly, flustered for fun, light blush, friends crack jokes to see a smile, friends think of one another, fall asleep with sunshine on their minds, friends would notice hands brushing, small gestures, friends would sacrifice sleep for an dimond sky and ocean side, just to see each other.

Friends.

Newt stares into moonglow murk.

Right?

The world fuzzes. Swirling in fogged thoughts, falling deeper and deeper. Recalling thoughts of the boy sprawled next to him, all the smiles he gave, all the light blushing, the hours he floated among his thoughts, the ghost haunting dreams, him. It was always him.

Why?

Newt's thoughts silence.

His gut pretzel-twists with ongoing recognition. Like a churning rage to still sea, quiet yet murky, calm, but still dangerous; he doesn't know.

And it's terrifying.

A head slums against his shoulder.

Through the neon universe, Newt flinches, then two boys rest across shoulders. And they stay for what feels an eternity.

Heartbeats thump in harmony, stars twinkle in sync, and it becomes a music of its own. The music of the universe. The ocean offers beauty instead of darkness. Eyes close with warm comfort and melt into his body.

The world caves. Time freezes.

"Thomas."

A whisper. A slip.

The boy tilts his head up.

"Newt?"

Curious eyes. Ones that want to explore the universe. Smiling warmly. Soaking in the comfort of his best friend.

"Thomas." The laugh that flows along the name is honey-sweet.

Newt glazes a hand along the boy's jaw, trailing light blush across his cheeks before settling under his chin. They soak in silence. Just for a while longer.

"We're friends, right?" Newt asks.

Thomas gazes.

"Yeah. Why wouldn't we be?"

They seem to float to one another, and heat breezes on their necks. Newt can see every freckle. The blossom of pink tracing his cheeks. The curve of his jaw. Honey tinted eyes. Every perfection. Every feature. Everything.

Losing himself.

Closer.

"Maybe-maybe we're not," he breathes.

A beat passes. Conflict flashes through Thomas's eyes.

"Wha..." The words trail away as Newt hovers over his lips.

Eyes trace lingering lips and helpless eyes. Embers of warmth heat faces. Shutters finger down spines. Not just friends. Thomas knows. Newt knows. And they want it. They want it all.

The cosmos swirl. Water ripples. Summer daze seeps through and Newt closes the gap.

It's only when candy-sweet lips meet that they realize how badly they wanted each other.

And both melt.

Blooming warmth laces Newt's chest, twining across his cheeks, fingers gracing jawlines as hands rest along his neck. A gentle nature works way across lips, weaves throughout the kiss, comforting. It's imaginary. But it's not. The late hours of the night ebb into emotion, worry that they're dreaming, worry that one will pull away and it grabs, tugs, and they pull closer. Breath doesn't matter anymore. The world doesn't matter anymore.

And they hold each other in sweet relief.

Until lungs can't take it any longer.

Slowly, Thomas parts, strained breaths, eyes closed, forehead to Newt's, and with rosy lips, grins. Blissful.

Hands slip down Thomas's face, rest around his waist.

Their breaths sync.

"Not friends," Thomas puffs.

"Not quite," Newt murmurs.

And they both smile.

713 words