The Inventor

Chapter Forty Two; "No strings attached"

Hatred, hatred was strong and it drove people to do both motivating and terrible things. Either way, you at least have been able to do something because of it.

But when alcohol had stripped you of anything untrue you were left to deal with the horrible mournful feeling. Something overwhelming, hidden by hatred. It saddened you, brought despise to fester in your gut. You wanted it demolished, you had always thought that hatred would do that. You hoped it would.

Clearly anything you had tried to set up as self preservation failed dramatically because Minho was laying in your bed, one arm dragged around your waist when Newt came pounding at your door and yelling bloody murder.

You jolted awake and tried to blink through the haziness.

"Y/n! Y/n it's Tommy! He's hurt! Y/n hurry!" Newt pleaded from behind the door.

"Crap," You cursed, jumping up with Minho behind you and throwing on clothes at random.

"Are we horrible people for shucking while Thomas was out there getting hurt?" Minho hissed under his breath, desperately searching for his shirt after buttoning his jeans, "I can't find my shirt!"

"Get the spare you brought!" You kept your voice hushed, "And we are only slightly horrible! But we'll be really dead if you don't hurry up!"

"Y/n please hurry! Somethings going on I think he's dying!" Newt shrieked.

You tucked your shirt into your jeans and roughly combed your hair before opening the hatch and coming out beside Newt in a flash. Minho jogged up beside you.

Newt was already off, leaving you now choice but to run after him. You hoped you didn't reek of alcohol too much.

The three of you came crashing into the hogsmeade, Thomas shaking like a fish out of water. His eyes had rolled back, showing only the whites.

"He's seizing!" You called, hoping you were sober enough to do any good, "Clint get the antidote and sedative! Jeff turned him on his side!"

You cleared the space around the bed from any objects, standing over Thomas and waiting for Clint to come back.

"What's happening?!" Newt yelled, distressed.

"Did you not hear me say he's seizing- Clint hurry up!" You hollered.

"I'm back! I'm back!" Clint rushed in, trying to hand you the supplies but you shook your head.

"Do it! Go! Hurry!" You demanded, knowing your hands were unsteady from your hangover. Clint knew what to do and he did it right, very carefully injecting him with the antidote and sedative.

Slowly, his body stopped shaking, his eyes shut and he went limp. You checked his pulse, feeling it even out for now.

"Level," You announced, "He's fine, for now. Keep him on a regular sedative dosage routine. Be ready with food when he wakes up, he's going to be in for one rough few days. Feed him soups to keep blood sugar normal. That's all I can think of, I'll let you know if I remember anything else."

You held your pounding head, walking out of the room with a noticeable unsteadiness in your step as you made your way to Newts room. He still kept a stash of pills for headaches, you forced yourself to take them dry, gripping your head tight as if it would send the pain away.

"Y/n?" Newt asked.

You turned to him and unintentionally rammed your head into the side of his dresser, profanities flying like spit fire.

"And you're not sober," Newt noted, walking closer to you, "Your breath smells flammable."

You grumbled, rubbing your forehead, "I need a shower, and a nap. Everything hurts and is malfunctioning."

"So bloody dramatic, you almost put Minho to shame," He handed you a water bottle from his belt and let you pour some in your mouth. You wetted your lips, letting it help your dry throat.

Newt frowned deeply, eyes furrowing. One of his hands reached out and tugged at the collar of your shirt, "This is Minho shirt, why are you wearing Minho's shirt?"

You had to take a few moments to think of a response because you could barely pull up the memory of how it happened. Probably in the rush to get dressed.

"Must have mixed up clothes when we woke up," You answered.

"Mixed up the clothes? Why did you need to take you clothes-"

The most award winning gasp sprang out of him as he balled the shirt into his hand. You gave a startled jump at the sound and action, "What?!"

"Y/n, did you really shuck Minho?!" He yelled.

"No! No!" You quickly tried to backtrack, "He changed because it was hotter down in the bunker and he needed to change shirts and it had nothing to do with anything- God shucking hell Newt keep your voice down!"

"So you did!" He accused, "You're lying right to my face!"

"I'm lying right to your face!" You mocked back.

"Oh my god you smell like it too! Y/n! Were you even safe?!" He started to question.

"Shut up!" You signaled wildly for him to keep it down, "We are not talking about this!"

"Is this what you do with one of your last days? It's dangerous, it's reckless, not to mention your workshop isn't exactly sanitary! What were you thinking?!"

"Drunk me didn't want to die a virgin!" You got him to let go of the shirt and turned your back to him, taking it off and switching it for one of your spares you kept in his room, "And have you seen him! I hate his guts but man is he hot!"

"Bleh, bleh, bleh! I don't want to hear!" He covered his ears and started making random noises to tune you out until you slipped your own shirt on and forced his hands down.

"It's fine Newt! Just keep it quiet! It was just a hookup, no strings attached," You explained, "A sexual interaction between two people to satisfy needs in a drunken rush of lust, that's it."

You began to walk out the door but he followed on your heels.

"We both know there isn't no such thing as no strings attached between you two- Y/n if you try to get out of this conversation I bloody swear-"

You opened the door and he shut his mouth, Minho standing outside the door, eyes skipping from you to Newt.

"He knows we screwed," You said bluntly, "I'm taking a shower, your turn to get lectured."

You waltzed away and Newt took the chance to pounce on Minho, practically dragging him by his ear down the hall and scolding him like only he could. Nobody else would be able to tell Minho anything, only Newt with his persistence.

No offense to him, Newt was family to you for god's sake, but a shower sounded much better then being around him right now. Minho could get the worst of his wrath for the day.

And the idea of Newt scolding his ear off all day had you grinning through the haze of your hangover.