unlucky (newtmas)

37

I awoke the next morning to a dramatic groan.

"G'morning, sleepy," I said with my face still in the pillows. I opened my eyes, blearily seeing Newt sitting up on my bed, rubbing at his face.

"What happened?" Newt asked. His voice was scratchy and hot.

"Someone spiked the punch," I answered, rolling back over. It couldn't have been later than seven, and as it was a Saturday, I expected to get at least four more hours of sleep. I was not a morning person.

Newt groaned again and my bed creaked as he threw himself back among my pillows. After another few minutes of silence he broke the quiet to mutter, "My head hurts."

I sighed. "There's Tylenol on my bedside table," I replied.

"Tommy," he groaned in pain after another few minutes. My eyes opened again and I sat up, disgruntled. I gave him my best, I'm going to hit you look to which he returned with his best doe-eyed expression.

"You're annoying," I said as I climbed to my feet, stumbling to the blinds to close them. He sighed when the room darkened but otherwise ignored my brooding.

I left the room to get him a glass of water, returning a moment later with that and a candy-cane in tow. I threw the candy-cane at him, saying, "Suck on that, it helps."

"With hangovers?" He asked, staring skeptically at the candy.

I rolled my eyes. "No, with morning breath." I threw myself down on the bed beside him.

He opened the candy cane and began to suck, and again we were left in silence. His shoulder was pressed against mine and was comfortingly warm, and after about ten minutes I began to drift off again.

"Did I..." as Newt trailed off suddenly I jolted. "Did I--say anything last night?"

My eyes flew open and suddenly everything came back to me. All of his hushed words, drunken slurs, sloppy kisses.

"You told me I was the hottest piece of ass you've ever seen. Then you proposed," I said.

"You're kidding," he groaned, throwing a hand over his face.

"Yes," I laughed. "Well, not about the hot piece of ass part. You did however confess your undying love to me though."

Newt was quiet for a second. Then he started to laugh. I looked over at him in surprise, watching as his laughs grew in volume until he was positively cracking up at my side. I started to laugh too because his happiness was contagious.

"Oh my god," he said through his laughter. "I'm never drinking again."

I didn't reply, just watched him as his laughter subsided. I held my breath, then decided to take a jump.

"Then you said your mom pushed you down the stairs."

The reaction was immediate. His laughs subsided immediately and he tensed--but then, as if he had done it a thousand times, he forced himself to relax again and pushed out an uneasy chuckle. "I really was drunk, huh?"

"Newt," I said seriously.

His brown eyes met mine. There was a hundred thousand years between us. "It's not how it sounds," he admitted softly.

His phone began to ring. He jumped, staring around blindly as if just remembering where he was, and what was happening, and who he was talking to. He started to stand, still wrapped in my comforter, looking like he was trying to make an escape.

"Where's my phone?" He asked, staring blindly around. He looked like he was going to throw up.

I pointed to my pants pocket, thrown haphazardly over my desk chair.

"It's my aunt," he said, almost to himself, as his phone stopped ringing. He scrolled for a couple seconds on his lock screen, growing steadily paler by the second.

"Shoot!" He cursed, looking up at me with wide eyes. "It's Saturday! I have to go!"

"But--"

He grabbed one of my old t-shirts (clean, thankfully) from on top of my dresser and quickly threw it on. Then he grabbed his slacks from the night before and put them on just as fast, moving with the urgency someone with a hangover shouldn't have.

"Newt--" I tried again as he scooped up his dress shirt and tie. "You can't just--"

"Tommy, please," he stopped, and maybe I imagined it, but it looked like he briefly blinked back tears.

"No!" I said, finally snapping. "Tell me what the fuck is going on with you!"

He looked like a cornered animal. My t-shirt hung loosely around his frame, and his mouth was open as he tried to find words, tried to find explanations--

"It's not--" he swallowed roughly. Then it occured to me that maybe whatever this was, he wasn't sure how to explain it just yet. Maybe he had never explained it to anyone before. "I--I'll find a way to explain it to you," he said quietly. "I promise Tommy, I will, but I have to go now. Please."

The very last thing I wanted to do was let him go home to a place he probably wasn't safe, but I could tell he was genuine, and serious, and terribly, terribly scared. He wasn't running from me but running from time, and he seemed to have just realized that he was out of it. His face was screwed up in pain and his fingers were shaking. I had never seen anyone, ever, so lost.

"At least let me drive you home," I conceded, though it killed me. He nodded.