and here we are (again and again and again)

2078: Life 90

In the eighth grade, being a English student in an American school would win Newt all the friends he could ever want. Unfortunately, Newt is not in the eighth grade; Newt is in the third grade, and while kids still find his accent amusing, he fades into the background eventually. He doesn't mind all that much. He does his work and gets the best grades in the class. His teachers usually say something along the lines of this: "Newt is an extraordinary young boy and a delight to have in class. I wish all my other students were like him. However, I do wish he would socialize more." 

That statement becomes his catchphrase until his freshman year. 

Newt has never had much trouble with friends, mostly because he's never really had any, but it starts to take a toll on him. He starts to realize how alone he is. He wishes he was more outspoken, but in all honesty, he never sees anyone who seems worth talking to. 

Until he comes. He walks in the room like a quiet storm, beautiful and dangerous and frightening when seen by the right eyes. The girls in the class hold their breath because they think he is attractive. Newt holds his breath because he thinks he is a new type of gravity (he's being pulled in and he doesn't even know the boy's name).

Newt blushes fiercely when the new kid looks at him with gleaming eyes and a sideways smirk that causes global warming just by existing. He manages a smile in return, and the kid drops his bag beside the desk that is to Newt's left. 

"Hi," he says, something in his voice that's slow and questioning (the new kid felt it too, when he walked in, something about the blond boy in the corner caught his eye, something like familiarity, and he felt like an ocean and new kid loves oceans, he does). 

"Hello," Newt replies, trying to hide his grin (he can't). 

"I'm Minho."

"Newt." 

Minho looks at Newt and chuckles for a minute, but he's not sure why. It seems involuntary (something is nagging him in the back of his mind, he feels as if he's done that exact thing before, and he probably has with someone else, but something feels particularly special about this chuckle, and that sounds crazy but it's true). 

"Where did you come from?" Newt asks, trying to make conversation. Contrary to popular opinion, Newt is not a shy boy. He is very outspoken and makes sure the teachers know that in class, but he never feels the need to talk to anyone outside his family and teachers. This boy, Minho, feels different, somehow. 

"The hallway," Minho replies swiftly, a smirk on his lips, and Newt glares. 

"Slim it, shank."

Minho looks at him as if he's crazy. " 'Slim it, shank'? Is that some secret code or something?"

Newt can't help his giggle. "No, it's something I just started saying." 

Minho looks at him for a minute, trying to figure him out (there's not much to go on, admittedly, but Minho feels something tugging every cell in his body, not toward a specific point, just tugging, somewhere, somehow) but he can't, not just yet, so he smiles. 

"Alright then. Shank." 

~~**~~

It seems that Minho is an attractive force to everyone, not just Newt. Minho makes friends easily, like a comedian makes jokes or oceans make rain. Minho meets Thomas, and then Alby, and then Gally. Newt, of course, has known most of these people since the fourth grade (he knows their average report card grades, their sibling count, their clique, and their personalities from a distance) but it seems that they didn't really know him. 

But the way Minho glances over at Newt every few moments, the way his lips perk into the tiniest smile, the way his eyes are always shining assures Newt that he is not being replaced, not like he was anticipating. Minho chats with his other friends, but when it comes down to it, Minho always sits beside Newt at lunch or during free period or after school.

Newt becomes friends with Minho's friends, and he realizes that this is what he was missing all along. He never needed friends, not before, but they did make things easier, sometimes. 

They meet up in the cafeteria every day for lunch, all of them, and Thomas sees something while they're eating: Minho looks over at Newt, smiling like always, but they slide their chairs closer together, their arms are brushing, their glances aren't as fleeting. Thomas smiles to himself and doesn't realize exactly what he witnessed, but he thinks it's cute and says nothing. 

~~**~~

Minho gets a girlfriend. He meets this girl Sonya, who is strong and smart and funny and Newt keeps searching for ways to hate her but he can't find any. He doesn't even know why he hates her. He sometimes feels jealous when Minho wraps his arm around her waist, and he figures that must be it, he doesn't like that Minho isn't paying as much attention to him. 

Newt bites his tongue to keep himself from spitting snide remarks at Sonya, because really, she's a nice girl and under different circumstances, Newt would probably like her. But there's that anger boiling just beneath the surface, as if she crossed a line into his territory and he has to do everything he can to keep himself from releasing the dogs. 

Thomas gets closer to Newt, sees that Newt feels left out sometimes. He smiles at him and invites him to play video games and Newt finds himself accepting. Newt begins to realize that Thomas is becoming one of his best friends, and he worries that because of this, he will lose Minho, but he knows (and Thomas knows this too) that Minho is irreplaceable. 

Minho shows up at Newt's house one day to tell him that he and Sonya had a fight. Newt tries his best to look sad and comforting, but Minho sees right through it. Still, he doesn't say anything. They just sit and talk about it on Newt's couch, leaning against each other as if their contact would soothe some of the pain both of them were feeling. 

Somehow Minho comes to the decision that Sonya just isn't right for him, isn't what he's looking for. He calls her and breaks up with her. It's a gentle conversation, Newt notices, and he realizes that he's very happy about this turnout. He's guilty in the same way that he's happy: too much but not enough. 

Minho spends the night with Newt, and they both fall asleep curled under a blanket with a movie playing in the background.

~~**~~

Things fall back into a routine. It's Minho and Newt, always Minho and Newt, and everyone knows that, even those who don't know anything about the two of them. Where one of them is concerned, the other is always involved, even if he's just tucked into the tiniest corner of the room. They're interwoven like strings -- like tightropes, and they walk cautiously, keeping each other's balance when someone starts to tip. 

Thomas watches with muted fascination. No one else really notices them, but no one else really knows them as well. Thomas knows that the glint in Minho's eye when he looks at Newt is something special, it's not the same as the glint when he gets a good grade on a test or someone tells a stupid joke. Thomas knows that Newt's smile is typically laughing or joking, but when he smiles at Minho, something changes, the lines on his face smooth themselves out and the corners of his lips curl themselves upward just the slightest and his hands fidget just a little and his cheeks turn a soft pink, the color of his mouth. Thomas notices too much, sometimes, he realizes.

Minho, Newt, and Thomas join the track team. They're instant favorites, "made for running," Coach Janson said with a tricky smile. They grin and gather their tracksuits, all of them feeling a sense of unity about both themselves and the school. 

Runners are never the most popular athletes in the school, but mostly everyone knows them anyway. They flash people smiles in the hallway, a wave now and then, and everything is so spectacular that Newt is just waiting for the fallout. 

It comes in the form of a pebble. 

At practice one day, Newt is running as fast as he can (he simply has to beat Minho's record, he can't let the bloody shank stay so smug all the time), all his strength and will pumping his veins. But the pebble (if only the track had been checked beforehand, everyone curses later) is directly in his lane, and he doesn't see it, it's too small, but it's big enough for his foot to catch it just the wrong way and he tumbles. 

The track is situated on top of a small incline, and unfortunately for Newt, his lane is directly on the edge. He rolls down the rocky hill and feels something break. He cries out when he hits the pavement of the road and Minho comes running (if he jumped, he would have taken flight) down the hill, nearly tripping himself, and slides the last few feet on the bottoms of his shoes. 

Newt is groaning, there's a gash in his head and leg is is on fire, it feels as if it's exploded and it caught its own shrapnel. Minho is running his hands all over Newt's torso, then down his good leg, then down the bad one, and Newt yells. 

Minho is nearly too panicked to think straight, but he does it anyway. He lifts Newt from the ground and runs him back up to the track to Coach Janson, telling him he needs to call for an ambulance. 

Later at the hospital, Newt is told that his leg is broken unevenly, and by the looks of it, he may as well just give up on remaining on the track team. Newt clenches his teeth and Minho nearly growls because other than Minho and Thomas, track is all Newt has.

However, Newt is surprisingly calm about the whole ordeal. He tells Minho that it's fine, really, he was wearing himself out too much anyway, and he really needed to focus on school more than anything, so it's all for the best. Thomas (almost) believes him, but Minho sees right through it, sees the disappointment in his best friend's forehead, the smile without the crinkle around his eyes (Minho has always been good at identifying lies, especially those told by Newt). Minho still slides his hand across Newt's, not holding it, just resting it beside it. Newt gives him that special smile (Minho can always see the sign that always comes with it, reading "reserved for Minho" and he loves it, every time). 

~~**~~

Over the summer, Minho and Newt are hardly apart more than hours at a time. Track season has ended and neither of them have anywhere else to be. Newt is walking on his own already (he has a limp, but that's much better than that bloody wheelchair or those crutches, he just felt so weak) and finds much more joy in swimming than he did in track anyway (the fact that Newt is better at swimming than Minho may contribute to his opinion on the sport, just a little).

Even though Minho is a weaker swimmer than Newt, he still follows Newt to the lake every day he wants to go. He doesn't dislike it in the least. He actually really enjoys it (it meaning Newt in swimming trucks and wet hair and tanned shoulders and that smile). 

Thomas joins them nearly half of the time, and he still sees more than he should. He knows he shouldn't sneakily listen in on their cute conversations when he leaves the room to get a snack, but he can't help it, he knows they like each other in more ways than one, and he knows, honestly, that he shouldn't do anything about it. He leaves it alone, but he does make jokes sometimes, about the two of them, just to see their reaction. As far as he can tell, nothing is being kept a secret from him. 

He realizes why in the middle of the summer when he spends the night at Minho's house along with Newt. They're just having a night in, just hanging out and watching movies (if any of the other shanks knew about any of this, they would tease them incessantly for making it such a slumber party) and eating popcorn and candy. 

Thomas notices the way Minho is looking at Newt out of the corner of his eye. Thomas notices the way Newt is looking back. He squints at them and wonders exactly what is different between the two of them, what are all of them missing?

Thomas enters the kitchen to get a soda and sees Mrs. Lee, Minho's mother, doing the same thing. He smiles. "Hi."

"Hello," she smiles back. "How are you boys doing?"

"Good," he replies. "We're about to start the second movie." 

"You boys and your romance movies," Mrs. Lee shook her head with a chuckle.

"They're not romance movies," Thomas defended. "They're action movies with romance. There's a difference." 

"Oh, yes, I'm sure." 

Thomas laughs and grabs his soda. He's about to go back to the other room when he stops. He turns around to face Mrs. Lee again and, before thinking, says, "Is something going on between Newt and Minho?"

Mrs. Lee pauses for a moment, almost surprised, Thomas thinks. Then he also thinks that he definitely should not have asked Minho's mother that question, of all the people in the world. 

But then she smiles, something soft and kind and knowing. "Of course." 

Thomas looks at her curiously, wondering how she found out before he did, because he's their best friend he should have known before anyone, but before he can ask, Mrs. Lee says something else that is entirely too true and too heartwarming and almost too sad.

"They just don't know it yet."

~~**~~

 It's three a.m. on the same night, and Minho has fallen asleep on Newt's shoulder, a single arm draped around the boy's waist, and Newt is looking down at him with a fond smile, his fingertips feeling the fringe of Minho's brown hair. Thomas herds all of his courage into his mouth and says, "Do you have a crush on Minho?"

Thomas realizes without actually realizing it that this question has been coming for a long time. Newt knows this too, somewhere deep down that he doesn't like to visit very often.

Newt doesn't say anything. He stops playing with Minho's hair, swallows, blinks. Finally, he replies, "It's late. We should get to sleep."

Thomas grins, takes that as a yes. 

~~**~~

 So close, so close. Everything is so close, only inches away from something enchanting and terrifying (their eyes, their breaths, their lips, their hands, their chests, so close). The world around them is a smeared watercolor painting, nothing but the two of them is clear anymore, yes, they are in vivid detail, everything else could melt, for all they care. 

It had been an argument (a stupid one that shouldn't have been been discussed, now that they think about it). Newt had been bothered all day. He had been quiet and distanced and Minho was getting very annoyed because it felt as if Newt was ignoring him, and he couldn't be having any of that. He tried to ask a few questions without getting frustrated, but Newt was just being so stubborn about it that he couldn't help it. He yelled at one point (he can't remember what he said, not now) and probably said something insulting, he can't be sure. 

But somehow things escalated, someone stepped up to someone's face, said something in a quieter tone that meant something completely opposite what was said, and now they are here, so close, breathing, blinking, staring. 

The air in the room is chilly from the AC, but Newt and Minho feel warmth dribbling down their skin. Their eyes are attached to each other, as if there is something holding their gazes in place (there is, but they can't place it, don't know anything about anything anymore, their minds have gone blank). 

Newt swallows. Minho rolls his lips. They stare. They can feel it (something). It's there, whatever it is, whatever they've been missing this whole time, it's decided to step out from behind the curtain. It had expected raucous applause, cheering, excitement, but all it got was a shaky intake of breath, trembling hands, and pupils dilated to the size of saucers. 

Every breath is like an apology but also an act of defiance but also a wish on any star in the sky that happens to be passing over the Earth, they can't be specific right now, they probably can't even remember each other's names, much less their own. Everything is much too quiet, too serene, too much like a scene in a movie, but neither of them can bring himself to care about any of it. 

Distance is overrated, they don't want it, who needs distance anyway? They're slowly eradicating it, slowly making sure that none is left between them, and they've almost accomplished it when Newt jerks himself away from the magnetic force field that Minho has created. 

Breathing becomes even and deep again, pupils retreat back to normal circumferences, heartbeats slow to a healthy rate, and all of this is good when a doctor is asking you if you've been feeling well lately, but all of this is bad when you're asking yourself if you've been feeling well lately. 

No. No, you haven't.

~~**~~

Minho and Newt would love to say they they have forgotten about the incident and moved on, but neither of them are very successful liars. They still think about it when no one is watching (it's all either of them can think about, there's nothing else anymore, what else could be worth contemplating?) and let themselves wonder, for just a millisecond, if they had wanted to change something about it, making something happen that didn't (they were never sure if they liked their answers or not). 

Weeks after, nearing the end of summer vacation, things have fallen back into the very same routine (albeit with sly glances and extra smiles and curious thoughts and a bit more physical contact than strictly necessary) that they had always had. They are hardly apart for more than hours at a time, and they are still inseparable, still fundamental components of each other's lives. 

It is a scorching day in August and there isn't enough cold air in the world to cool the two of them down to an appropriate temperature, so they grab some towels and walk to the lake. It isn't very far, short enough so that Newt has no trouble traveling it on foot (his leg still gives him trouble, but he's learning to cope with it).

The water is cold and soothing and Minho sighs when he steps into it, then dives beneath the murky surface, his eyes shut tight. Newt follows him underwater, holding his breath as long as he can and coming up just as Minho does (still a better swimmer). 

They swim for hours, splashing water in each other's faces and joking and sitting on the edge of the dock. This is what they're doing when it happens. 

They're sitting, and the sun is going down after a long day of hard work, and something more than humidity is hanging in the air between them. Neither of them speaks. Newt scrubs his hair with his towel and wipes his face, then tosses the towel backward onto the dock. He looks over at Minho and grins for no apparent reason, but he's sure there is one, somewhere. 

Their shoulders are touching, knees knocking as they swing their legs over the edge of the dock, every hint of contact sending jolts into their skin. It's sudden; there is no slow build, no whispers, no confessions, just sudden and desperate. 

Minho turns to Newt, takes his head in his hands, and kisses him on the lips, deeply and frightfully. Newt is frozen, but he knows he should sink into Minho's hands, so he does, he falls headfirst into something he can't see, his eyes are closed, but he knows that it's beautiful. Everything is so beautiful and their lips are moving and their skin is wet and their cheeks are burned by the sun but none of that really matters, nothing really matters but the way their hearts are hammering in their chests and the way they feel as if their whole lives have been leading up to something like this, something worth waiting forever for. 

In the back of his mind, Newt notes that Minho smells like lake water and sunscreen and his mouth tastes like Kool-Aid and he can't think of anything more appropriate. His hands find Minho's neck and they grip tightly, as if something will send them flying off in separate directions if he doesn't hold on with all he's got. He can't be away from Minho, he realizes, not now, not ever. 

Their lips move in something less than harmony, and their noses bump and their teeth click on each other and someone bites someone's lip harder than necessary but neither of them cares, there's nothing to care about but how they're feeling right now, how their hearts are leaping out of their ribs because this is something they never even really knew they wanted (and then come to find out that they didn't even want it, they needed it). Minho notices in some corner of his mind that this kiss is like everything else about the two of them, so imperfect but so poetic, so unparalleled. 

They slowly drift away from each other, detaching their lips and hands and foreheads, but never their eyes. Their lids open at almost the exact same time and they finally see something that had been staring them in the face for so long (themselves). Their breathing is ragged and their veins are pumping blood through them at a pace too fast to be healthy and their eyes are wide with surprise and excitement, because this, this right here, is a high that nothing can ever surpass, this is an adrenaline that remains unequaled. 

And they laugh. They laugh until their stomachs hurt because it's easier than deciding what to do next, how to go about determining whatever that was. They don't leave until the moon has replaced the sun in the sky completely and stars begin peeking out from behind their veil of daylight. They gather their towels and walk in silence, crickets and rustling leaves the soundtrack of the night. 

At some point during the walk, Minho takes Newt's hand and Newt lets him, he doesn't know why but he does all at the same time, and he's thinking that he doesn't know if he can ever live without Minho. He doesn't think he can. 

Minho spends the night again. They eat dinner with Newt's parents (they notice something is different but they've seen it coming too, it's no surprise at this point) and are quiet through that. What are they supposed to say? They have no idea, they don't know what they want to say, they barely even know what they feel, and they know that talking about it would be the intelligent course of action, but they just don't know how to put that into play. 

Beautiful things often can't be described in words, especially not something as beautiful as them. 

But they're lying down to go to bed, Minho in his sleeping bag on the floor and Newt in his bed when Newt grabs Minho's wrist and says, "Come here." 

Minho looks at him strangely but obeys. He stands and leans onto Newt's mattress with one knee and Newt raises an eyebrow, tugging him harder. "No, here, you bloody shank." Minho chuckles at Newt's vernacular and follows suit, settling into the bed. 

Newt is the fist to speak again. "What was that earlier?"

Minho doesn't say anything for a long time, but Newt is trying to be patient. He props his head up on his hand, looking down at Minho, who is staring up at the ceiling. "I don't know." 

"You started it." 

"You didn't end it." 

"I'm just trying to figure out what we are now." 

"Friends."

"I don't believe that." 

"Why not?"

"You know why."

Neither of them says anything for several minutes. There's just the whisper of breaths in the darkness and blue eyes watching brown ones. Newt comes to the conclusion that Minho is not going to say anything (he never has been good with feelings) so he gathers his courage and takes matters into his own hands. Without warning, he leans down and kisses Minho again, softer this time, but with a purpose. It's almost as if there is an engraving in it that reads, "This is why I can't just be friends with you, this is why, you are why."

Minho kisses him back slowly, thinking it through more this time, trying to analyze the situation because this time he has time, everything is more deliberate instead of desperate. He comes to the conclusion that Newt is something he never wants to let go of (he realizes that he cannot let go of him, he doesn't know what it is, but something is gluing him to Newt, Newt is a glue). 

They pull away gently, opening their eyes and seeing everything despite the darkness. Everything is so clear now, how could they have ever missed it before?

~~**~~

Newt and Minho grow up. They go to different colleges and break up because the strain is too much on their relationship. It isn't what either of them wants, they still love each other too much to bare, but it's what they need, at least for now. 

Newt becomes a successful lawyer, something he wasn't even interested in until much later in his college career. Minho becomes a police officer, nothing fancy, but he likes it, he likes the danger and the running and the goodness of it. They think of each other all the time, too often to claim that they've moved on (they haven't, not at all, but at least they can get through the days now). 

Newt is hired to defend a cop for shooting a kid and almost killing him during a robbery. The cop's name is Teresa Agnes (that name sounds so familiar, he doesn't know why) and Newt genuinely believes she didn't do it on purpose. Everything is going perfectly until Agent Agnes's partner comes to testify. 

Newt catches his breath and swallows. He hasn't seen Minho in years, but he knows it's him, he couldn't miss him even in a crowd he's spot those eyes and that smile. 

Minho sees Newt and his mouth drops open, then he grins something fantastical and walks over, hands on his hips. "Newt," he says with a tone that is too nervous to be so familiar. 

"Minho," Newt replies, smiling back. "How've you been?"

"Good, yeah, good, you?"

"Fine."

"Good." 

And they smile at each other for several minutes because this is something entirely unexpected, they never thought they'd see each other again, and they realize that they are still in love with each other after all these years and it's magical. 

Newt easily wins the trial and takes Minho out for coffee when court dismisses. Minho gladly accepts and they talk in a way that shows everyone who hears that they are perfectly matched in every way but their fingerprints. They can't seem to get enough of each other, and they don't leave the diner until late in the evening, closing time. 

So they walk around, which probably looks pretty awkward, because Newt is still in his suit with his briefcase and Minho is still in his uniform but they can't bring themselves to care. 

Minho kisses Newt on the cheek and promises that he'll see him again tomorrow. Newt blushes and agrees, and they go their separate ways, but just for the night, because any longer away from each other would result in something disastrous, they know it. 

~~**~~

They fall back into old habits around each other, but it's not a bad thing, they're very happy and they feel like teenagers again and it's wonderful. They stay out until the late hours of the night and they kiss as if it's their first time, even on the thousandth kiss of the night. 

Everything just feels so easy around each other, something they've missed, and they can't help but love everything about everything they become. 

~~**~~

"The universe seems to be bending around us, doesn't it?"

Minho looks at Newt curiously. "What do you mean?"

Newt shrugs, snuggling closer to Minho on his living room couch. "It just seems like we didn't have any choice in it."

"In what?"

"In us." 

Minho purses his lips. "Is that a bad thing?"

"No," Newt replies. He kisses Minho shortly and smiles with his eyes. "No, it isn't." 

~~**~~

Newt and Minho have been together for years and they wouldn't have it any other way, everything is perfect and just the way it should be. Their worlds are turning again, and their hearts are whole again and they will never leave each other again, never, because nothing is ever better than what they have right now. 

One night, Minho is thinking back to when they broke up during college because things were just too hard, they didn't get to see each other every day anymore, not like they always had, and it was painful, he couldn't stand being away from Newt. 

Newt is sleeping beside him silently, like he always does, and Minho has his head propped against his hand, watching Newt's face with content. He vows to himself that he will see Newt every day for the rest of his life, no matter what.

And he does.