Fuck Everything
“Fuck everything,” Newt swore. “Why now? Why bloody now? If it’s because someone burnt chicken again I swear to God...”
“Is he okay?” Thomas muttered, nodding at Newt.
“He’s just a tad cold,” Alby said, eyeing his hastily bundled roommate.
“Of course, I’m fucking cold,” Newt said. “There’s bloody snow on the ground, our college is on a fuckingwind tunnel, and some dumbass decided to fucking set off the fire alarm at 2 in the fucking morning.”
“Also you only grabbed a blanket and boots before you left,” Alby added helpfully.
“I will fucking stab you in the face,” Newt snapped.
“He’s very disorientated when he wakes up,” Alby tells Thomas conversationally. “Doesn’t make the best decisions, but at least it leaves him in a cheery mood.”
“Fuck you,” Newt said. “You bloody should’ve thrown a jacket in my face before we left. You call yourself my roommate. You disgust me.”
“But I’m the roommate with the key to our room,” Alby said, dangling keys from his finger.
Newt glared. “I hate everything.”
“You’re a cheery ball of sunshine,” Minho said, jogging over. Their stupidly attractive RA slowed a few feet from them, his sleep-tousled, but probably still unfairly perfect, hair peeking under his beanie. Newt had the worst crush on him at the beginning of the semester. And then Minho warmed up to them and revealed he actually knew how to hold conversations. It was then made apparent what a gigantic fucking dork he is. And Newt’s crush grew to unfair proportions. It was almost impressive.
A gust of wind slapped him in the face. Newt shivered under his blanket. He hated the cold. He eyed Minho’s puffy jacket and gloves enviously. “Don’t talk to me about sunshine. It’s bloody freezing.”
“I never noticed,” the Asian boy drawled, hopping in place. He looked like an idiot. An idiot who should give Newt his beanie or scarf or jacket or entire body so Newt could cuddle against him and steal Minho’s warmth. He was not picky.
Thomas huddled against Alby. “I should have brought out my car keys,” Thomas said wistfully, staring at the nearby parking lot. Other students planned ahead and were sitting cozily in their running cars. Newt despised them. Everything was so grating.
“You should have,” Newt agreed. Perhaps too bitterly because Thomas glared at him. Not that Newt could bring himself to care.
“You’re the last one who should be getting on me for not planning ahead,” Thomas said, staring pointedly as Newt wrapped the blanket around himself defensively. Newt stuck his tongue out. He was trying to forget that all he had under his blanket were sweat pants and a ratty t-shirt.
“Are you okay?” Minho asked, raising his eyebrow. “Your face might get hypothermia.”
“That’s not how hypothermia works,” Newt said. His teeth were chattering. Of course, it’s not like he’s surprised. Where were the fire trucks? They had to clear the building so Newt could go back to the heat. Heat. Mmm yes. Cold was stabbing him everywhere. He was not prepared for this fucking single digit temperature. Next time, he would have a jacket, any jacket would be an improvement. Or maybe he would actually start a fire. That way he had a heat source instead of the wind steadily stealing the little warmth he had.
“Here,” Minho said, moving to take off his jacket. Newt’s eyes widened. Minho wasn’t actually supposed to gallantly give up his jacket. Blood rushed to his face. Course, his face was flushed anyway from the cold—apparently cold had another use besides to make everyone miserable.
“No, you’ll freeze,” Newt protested.
“Dude, you have no layers on,” Minho said.
“Your chest will get hypothermia.”
“I thought you just said hypothermia didn’t work that way.”
“I’m trying to speak your language.”
“Cute.”
“I try.”
“You succeed.”
Newt coughed, glancing away from Minho embarrassedly. Alby was openly grinning at Newt’s predicament. Bloody wanker. He refused to let Minho distract him. “But—”
“Relax,” Minho rolled his eyes as if Newt was being the outrageous one. “I have another jacket underneath this one.”
“You havetwojackets on? Why?”
Minho shrugged. “I was still up trying to do biology homework. I may have been watching Breaking Bad instead. But I had enough time and awareness to plan ahead and prepare for the cold. It is nearly winter.”
“It’s not nearly winter. Thanksgiving hasn’t bloody happened yet,” Newt said. “Thanksgiving means fall. So this weather is premature. It’s not rocket science.”
“Do you even celebrate Thanksgiving?” Minho asked, frowning.
Newt rolled his eyes. “I moved here when I was 12. I’m not completely obtuse to American customs. We Brits do like to eat so why would we ignore Thanksgiving?”
Minho may have flushed. It was impossible to tell. He pushed his puffy jacket into Newt’s arms. “Just take it.”
Newt eagerly slipped it on, he didn’t need to be told twice. Minho would be warm because he refused to be caught on unprepared during fire alarms apparently. He frowned, swearing when the zipper got caught. Minho smirked as he reached over to zip Newt up. He flushed, not meeting the Asian’s amused gaze.
“Still cold?”
“Well,yes,” Newt drawled. “Your lovely jacket is not an instant cure for cold, I’m afraid. It takes time for it to actually trap body heat and—” Newt did not squeak when Minho yanked him forward, easily wrapping his arms around Newt as his face squashed against Minho’s chest.
“I’ll help.”
Newt sputtered. “You can’t just pull me around like a...a...”
“Do you want me to let go?”
Newt burrowed further into Minho. They touched occasionally—they were friends, after all—but never anything so close to cuddling. Newt was more than willing to take advantage of it.
“...I’ll take that as a no?”
“You don’t have to sound so bloody smug,” Newt muttered, pressing his face against Minho’s neck.
Minho hissed. “Your nose is cold.”
“Good, you deserve it.”
“After all the effort I went through to warm you up? Some thanks I get.”
Newt bit back his snarky retort. Minho was being insanely nice. He was getting the raw end of the deal here really. “I am grateful.”
“I know you are,” Minho murmured, snuggling his face against Newt’s hair. He felt himself melt into Minho’s touch. Cold still bit at his legs and back, but everywhere Minho pressed against felt toasty. Of course, that could be his wishful thinking and his slight crush of the large variety on Minho. He could ignore a lot when Minho was holding him, Newt discovered.
Including wailing sirens.
Newt had not been prepared for the whack to the back of his head. He whined and then let a satisfied smirk cross his face as he felt Minho turn and glare at the offending person.
“The building has been cleared,” Alby said. “Come on, love birds.”
Newt held up his middle finger. Alby laughed. He hated his roommate. But Alby had the keys so he couldn’t kill him, which was unfortunate. Unless Newt killed him and then stole the keys. That was a much simpler solution. Newt was fond of it instantly.
He reluctantly removed himself from Minho. Fuck he had really been plastered against him. How embarrassing. At least, Minho seemed equally displeased at their separation. Of course, that might have to do with Newt acting as a personal space heater. Once Newt warmed up enough to reciprocate Minho’s body heat anyway. Newt flashed Minho an awkward grin before trudging slowly back towards the building. Minho was a few steps behind.
The heat in the building wrapped around Newt like a blanket. But he still found himself longing to be outside, cuddled around Minho. Newt shook his head. Disgusting. His bloody infatuation made him want to suffer through cold for Minho. Newt hated the cold, despised it. He sighed. He was becoming quite pathetic. His gaze slipped back towards the Asian. Minho smirked.
Newt refused to acknowledge the blush that heated his face. He stopped outside of Minho’s door, watching as Alby continued down the hall with Thomas until he reached his and Newt’s room. Alby better bloody leave the door unlocked.
“Um...here’s your coat,” Newt said, as eloquently as ever. “Thanks again for...all that.”
“No problem,” Minho said, taking his jacket back. “You can make it up to me.”
Newt cocked an eyebrow. His gaze shifted from the ground to Minho’s face. Minho looked smug again. “That sounds ominous.”
“It’s not,” Minho said.
“Why are you so smug? I don’t trust your face right now.”
“I was just thinking I could take you out to a concert of that one band you talked about,” Minho said, scratching his hair. He tugged his beanie off his head, his matted hair soon returning to their usual style once Minho ran a quick hand through it. Oh fuck. Minho was talking to him and being sweet and awkward andremembering something Newt said in passing onceand Newt was over here bloody fantasizing about Minho’s bloody hair. “They’re playing this weekend and I thought that you could come. We could go together. If you wanted to—”
“Stop,” Newt said, holding up a hand. Fuck, he never heard Minho nervously ramble before. It was adorable. Minho stared up at him with wide eyes, his usual confidence draining away the longer Newt stared at him. Right,words. “Yes.”
Minho blinked before a slow grin spread across his face. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Newt agreed, a smile matching Minho’s.
“About time!” a yell echoed down the hall, coincidentally ruining their moment. Minho and Newt whipped around to see Jeff wave as a grinning Thomas pulled his roommate into their dorm.
“Bloody wankers all of them,” Newt said, staring down the hall.
“Yeah,” Minho said fondly, “I like them.”
“What terrible taste you have.”
“I likeyou.”
Newt ignored his fluttering stomach. “I’m the one exception to your terrible taste. I’m fantastic. Good on you.”
Minho snorted.
“And I like you obviously.”
Minho preened. “Really?”
“Obviously,” Newt enunciated.
“Not really.”
Newt frowned. “You sure? The lads teased me from day one about how flustered I got around you.”
“I was never really sure,” Minho admitted. “You’re quite sarcastic.”
“Not that sarcastic.”
“Whatever you say, babe.”
“Are we already at the pet name stage of our relationship? We haven’t even been on a date yet.”
“Yes, but I feel like there was a hall betting pool on when we would finally get together.”
Newt hummed. “Then let’s be obnoxious about it, darling.”
“That’s what I was saying, pookiebear.”
“Sugar.”
“Bae.”
“Boytoy.”
“Puddingpop.”
“Buttercup.”
“As you wish.”
“Such a nerd I bloody swear,” Newt said, his mocking tone probably completely countered by his grin.
“Nerd enough to get the Game of Thrones facts wrong until you’re irritated enough to correct me,” Minho teased.
Newt rolled his eyes. “It’s because you should bloodyknowbetter. We watched the entire third season together.”
Minho shrugged, smirking.
“You’re useless.”
Minho’s smirk widened. “Aren’t you glad that the fire alarm happened?”
“What? No, I hate the cold,” Newt instantly protested. “And people’s stupidity and being forced to leave my bed—”
“Yes but look at us.”
Newt hummed, blatantly checking Minho out. Minho blushed prettily and Newt barely—as in not at all—hid his glee. “You’ll do, I suppose.”
“You say the sweetest things.”
“You’re lucky to have me.”
Minho snorted. “But good start to the day, yeah?”
Newt’s smile softened. “Definitely.”
