"Well, what should we bloody do?”
Thomas sighed at the same question everyone else had been asking; what should we do? Jorge had taken a break from flying the Berg and was with him, Minho, Newt, and Brenda in the sitting room. The five all agreed that no one wanted to sleep just yet, but there was nothing to do.
“We could play ‘let’s throw the shank that keeps repeating the same question over and over out the window,’” Minho retorted, crossing his arms in an effort to look cool.
“Can I suffocate him with this pillow?” Newt asked, holding up the pillow he was leaning against.
“No you may not,” Jorge replied, chin resting on his hand as he stared at the rest of the group. Thomas couldn’t help but feel a bit bad for the guy—he spent all day in a hot control room concentrating while the rest of them got to lounge around all day. The one time he got a break, they couldn’t come up with anything to do.
“I’ve got it,” Brenda started. “How about we play truth or dare?”
“What the bloody shuck is that?” Newt replied, tucking the pillow back behind him and relaxing again.
Brenda stared blankly at him. “Oh come on. I know you lost your memories and all, but that’s sad. Have any of you—besides Jorge—played it before?”
Thomas, Minho, and Newt and shook their heads in unison. Brenda face palmed and threw her hands up in exasperation. “That settles it, we’re playing.”
“Tell us how to play,” Thomas said.
“Okay,” she began. “It’s not that hard, even for people as brainless as—“
“Excuse me, I’ll have you bloody know”—Newt was cut off when Minho chucked a pillow at his face.
“Let the lady speak,” the Runner said. Newt rolled his eyes and made an overdone motion with his hands for her to get on with it.
“As I was saying,” Brenda continued in a more annoyed tone, “all you do is you ask someone truth or dare. If they pick truth, you ask them a question that they have to answer truthfully. If they pick dare, you dare them to do something. If they don’t do it, they’re out of the game. I’ll start.” The brunette glanced around the room, looking for her victim.
“Minho, truth or dare,” she finally said.
“Hmm, which should I pick…” he questioned.
“I don’t know, they’re both such good choices.”
“Why are you forcing me to make choices?”
“I pick dare,” Minho quickly cut in, not wanting to lose his turn.
Brenda thought about it for a moment before smiling deviously. “I dare you to sit in Newt’s lap until someone in the room farts.”
Minho narrowed his eyes at her and then looked to Newt, who was raising his eyebrows and smirking. “Come on over, shuckface. I won’t bite. Much.”
“You better hope it’s not me that farts, Newt.”
Jorge whistled. Thomas watched as Minho moved off of his recliner and trudged his way over to where Newt had sat up. The blond patted his legs, showing no shame in what was about to happen. In fact, he looked like he was amused that he was a part of the whole ordeal. Thomas hoped that if Brenda ever dared him she would spare his poor mind from any trauma that could arise.
Minho stared at Newt for a moment before he finally plopped down on the other boy’s lap. Jorge clapped, joined in by Brenda and then Thomas. Minho sent death glares to the three of them, then leaned back against the blond, who appeared to be a bit squished.
“You’re bloody heavy for a fit shank, you know that?” he said. The only response he received was Minho reclining back even more so that he practically covered him.
“Your turn, muchacho,” Jorge said.
He smirked. “How about our beloved Thomas?”
“Oh, god…” Thomas murmured under his breath. Whatever the black haired boy had in store for him after Brenda’s dare couldn’t be good. He decided to go with truth. “I pick truth.”
“Ruin the fun, why don’t ‘cha,” Minho muttered. Thinking about it for a moment, he snapped his fingers in conclusion. “Is it true that you’ve done the do with Teresa?”
“The do?” he asked in confusion.
“You know,” Minho said, “parked in the closet, watered her garden—“
Thomas got it now. “No,” he said quickly. “Is it my turn now?” His friend looked disappointed with the short answer but shrugged all the same. The brunet looked to Brenda, who nodded.
“Okay. Newt, truth or dare.”
“Dare so I can get this buggin’ fatty off of me.” Thomas thought long and hard. His mind wasn’t as humorous enough as the other’s to come up with anything worthwhile.
Slumping in his chair, he said, “Can I phone a friend?”
Jorge stood up immediately. “I volunteer to be that friend, muchacho,” he replied, coming over to where Thomas was sitting. Not who he had in mind, but it worked all the same. Jorge crouched down and leaned next to Thomas’s ear, whispering so the others couldn’t hear. “Do something that has to do with keeping Minho with him all night. I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed, but Minho gets a little… strange at night, if you know what I mean.”
Thomas followed him all the way. He thought back to a disturbing night in the Glade when he heard Minho having a conversation with himself about how much he could use a friend to cuddle with. He wasn’t sure what that was about, but he got the gist of it. Without sleep, Minho couldn’t function properly; and that turned out to be highly entertaining.
He instantly knew what to do. “Newt, your title was ‘The Glue,’ right?” Newt looked confused, then nodded.
“I dare you to be glued to Minho for the rest of the night. At least one part of you has to be touching him at all times,” Thomas answered smugly. He was proud of himself for coming up with that one. Jorge grinned and walked back over to his seat. Newt and Minho both wore the same look of astonishment on their faces.
“I thought we were friends, Tommy,” the blond said, false sadness dripping from his voice. “It’s bad enough this shank’s on my bloody lap, but now I have to hold on him for the rest of the buggin’ night?”
“You got it.”
“There’s no way that’s happening,” Minho butted in.
“Then you’re both out of the game and there’s no breakfast for you in the morning,” Jorge said.
“Hey! Since when was that a rule?” Newt argued. Minho groaned.
“Since I made it one. You’re on my Berg, you play by my rules, muchachos. Unless you two lovebirds don’t want breakfast, I suggest you hold on to each other for dear life. Go on now, do it,” he responded, making a gesture with his hands. Thomas wasn’t exactly sure what Jorge wanted them to do; they were already touching in a rather awkward position.
Newt rolled his eyes. “Fine. But I better be getting extra jam on my bloody toast for this.” Rolling his eyes, he wrapped his arms around Minho’s stomach and brought him closer—if that was even possible—to him. He poked his head from around Minho’s body. “Happy now, shuckface? Is this the kind of thing you had in mind?” The sarcastic comment was directed at Thomas.
“Not really,” he shrugged, “but it works.”
“I hope you know you’re gonna pay for this, shank,” Minho growled. He shifted himself in Newt’s lap in an effort to make himself more comfortable. Newt, on the other hand, looked about as comfortable as someone caught in a bear trap, but there was no helping that. Brenda snickered in the chair beside Thomas.
“Now it’s my turn,” Newt announced. He chose his target without hesitation. “I choose the shank that started this whole thing.”
“Dare,” Brenda said, leaning forwards. “Take your best shot at me.”
Minho tilted his head backwards so that he could talk into Newt’s ear. After a minute of the two whispering back and forth, they both smiled triumphantly. “Alright then. Since you’re so bloody eager, come here.”
“So you’re not going to tell the rest of us?” Thomas asked. He hated to admit it, but he had been eager to hear it. He hoped it had been about him.
“Oh you’ll see, shuckface. You’ll see,” Minho replied. Brenda rolled her eyes and crossed the room to where the two were sitting and leaned in to hear the dare. Her eyes went wide as Newt whispered it then pushed her away.
“Fine, I’ll do it,” she said quickly, heading back to her seat and sitting down. She crossed her arms; she looked like a pouting child.
“What was the dare?” Jorge questioned.
Brenda opened her mouth to speak, but Newt quickly cut her off. “That’s for us to know, and for you shanks to find out.”
Thomas rolled his eyes. “Brenda, your turn.”
“Jorge,” she said immediately.
“I pick truth, muchacha.”
“Is it true you secretly enjoy watching Minho and Newt get it on like this?”
Thomas suppressed a laugh as he watched Jorge’s face contort into pure and utter confusion. Minho and Newt both groaned at the same time, the blond’s arms still around the other. “We’ve let this go way too far,” Newt sighed. Minho rubbed his temples and took deep breaths.
“Where did you get that idea?” the Spaniard asked.
“I don’t know, just answer the question.”
“If you’re looking for some huge confession that I’m secretly into guys sitting in each other’s laps, then you’re not going to find it here, muchacha. The answer is no,” Jorge stated firmly. He looked away from the group and Brenda chuckled.
“Good enough for me. Your turn,” she said.
“I’ll go with Thomas. Truth or dare?”
Thomas hesitated. “Dare,” he finally said, a newfound confidence swelling up inside him. He could take whatever Jorge could dish out; he knew it.
“I dare you to let our friend Minho here give you a haircut.”
Minho stood up abruptly—bringing Newt with him—and clapped. “Now that’s something I’m for!” he announced.
“Sit down, this is uncomfortable!” Newt said.
“You want me to sit down? Okay.” Minho gave Newt a shove with his back and fell back with full force, not sparing the blond in the least bit. Thomas winced as the black haired boy landed hard on the other, crushing his friend against the sofa.
“Someone help me…” Newt mumbled against Minho’s back. Then the reality of Jorge’s dare kicked in.
“Wait a second!” Thomas said, standing up as Minho had done—thought not in pure joy at being able to attack someone with scissors. “I like my hair perfectly fine as it is, thank you very much. What if I don’t let him cut it?” He looked at Jorge for an answer.
Jorge simply shrugged. “Then it looks like someone will be going without breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
“Please no,” he pleaded. But Jorge wouldn’t budge. Not even the glare Brenda was sending her companion wavered his resolve.
“Slim it, Tommy,” Newt said, now able to stick his head out from behind the black haired boy. “Minho here’s been practically giving me a lapdance over here for the past thirty minutes and you can’t even man up enough to get a bloody haircut?”
“Says the one with hair down to his shoulders…” Thomas muttered.
“What was that, shank?”
The two had a staring competition until Minho decided to cut in. “Newt, honey, what have I told you about being nice to Thomas?”
Newt rolled his eyes. “Could someone just fart already?”
“I’m honestly surprised someone hasn’t,” Brenda commented.
As if triggered by words, Minho let out one of the loudest farts Thomas had ever heard. And Newt—poor Newt—was right in the line of fire. Said boy immediately released Minho and pushed him off of his lap, who landed on the ground with a thump.
“Oh bloody hell! It smells like a buggin’ sewer plant now!” the blond shouted, hands flying up to his face to cover his nose. Despite the fact that Thomas thought he could smell traces of it over where he was sitting, he began to laugh.
Brenda waved her hand in front of her face. Jorge whistled and plugged his nose. “Dude, I never knew you had so much firepower,” Thomas said over his laughter. Minho grinned from his spot on the floor.
“Looks like I’m sleeping on the couch tonight,” Minho said, earning him a kick in the side from Newt. “Do you want another one?” he asked, looking up.
“Oh God, please no,” Newt begged. He started over for the recliner previously occupied by Minho at the start of the game, but was stopped when the black haired boy reached up and grabbed his arm. “Now what do you want? You’ve already caused enough damage.”
“We’re supposed to be glued together, remember?” Minho replied, a look of pure innocence on his face. Thomas would have felt bad for Newt if it weren’t so freaking funny. He wasn’t sure how the guy could keep a straight-face through the whole thing.
“Bloody—you know what? Fine.” He pulled Minho up with surprising strength and then tossed him at the recliner. Off balance, the black haired boy stumbled and fell right into the chair. Before he could get up, Newt ran over to the recliner and pushed him down before he hopped onto the chair—and Minho—sideways, his feet hanging over one side and his head hanging over the other. Now it was Minho’s turn to be sat on.
“How’s this, shuckface? You buggin’ like this, huh?” Newt taunted, moving back and forth and rocking the chair, along with Minho. Thomas couldn’t help but feel heat rise to his face at the scene; it was a little much, even for Minho and Newt. It didn’t even seem like they were doing it for the dare anymore. No, they were in a competition.
“Yeah, I like that you shank. Keep doing it and you’ll be the one on the couch tonight,” Minho growled. It only made Newt continue to do it, and faster. Thomas heard Brenda sigh next to him.
“Are they always like this?” she said over the sound of the two in the recliner bickering.
“Well, I’ve only known them for a little while, but, yeah,” Thomas answered.
“I think I’m going to call it a night, muchachos,” Jorge said.“I need some sleep to pilot tomorrow. About them…” he trailed off, looking at Newt and Minho still in the chair. Minho was now aggressively caressing Newt’s cheek and tugging at his hair, while Newt was flopping around like a fish screaming at Minho to tell him that he liked it. “Make sure they get sorted out,” he finished and hastily left the room.
“I think that’s it for me, too,” Brenda announced. “Goodnight, Thomas,” she said.
“TELL ME YOU LIKE IT!”
“Night, Brenda.” She hurriedly followed Jorge’s path, leaving Thomas alone with the two shanks that wouldn’t shut up about who liked what Thomas knew he had never witnessed anything like it before; and he planned on never witnessing it again.
Thomas watched them for another minute before he decided to tell them that it was over. “Hey, guys,” he said, clearing his throat. In the brief moment that Newt stopped flopping Minho slapped him and looked around as if someone else could have done it. Newt’s brow furrowed and he narrowed his eyes.
“Yes, Tommy?” he answered.
“I’m heading to the bedroom, so if you want to take… that in there, you’re welcome to it,” Thomas replied. Just as Newt opened his mouth to reply, Minho’s hand flew over it.
“That’s a wonderful idea!” the Runner announced.
Putting his arms under the blond, Minho lifted Newt bridal style and began to speed walk to where the three unfortunately shared a bedroom. Thomas followed, not wanting to miss if Minho got kicked or punched in the face by Newt’s flailing limbs.
“Would you just—“ Whack. The Runner got a fist to the face and abruptly stopped. Thomas covered his mouth to stifle a laugh as he imagined his friend’s face. “Okay. That’s it.”
Minho dropped Newt without any warning. He landed flat on his back and banged his head against the floor. Newt moaned and clutched his head. “What’d you bloody do that for?”
Minho didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed the boy on the ground by one of his legs, then looked back to Thomas. “Help me carry him,” he said. “This shank doesn’t deserve to be held by my strong arms.”
Thomas chuckled quietly as he grabbed Newt’s other leg, then followed Minho with the moaning blond in tow.
“I can bloody walk, shuckfaces,” Newt said as he was dragged through the hallways of the Berg.
Minho looked back at him. Thomas couldn’t help but imagine the smirk on his friend’s face as he said, “But I’m not supposed to let go of you, my dear Newt, and you can thank Thomas for that.”
Said brunet grunted in response; Newt was getting heavier by the minute. The boy on the floor stayed silent the rest of the trip and didn’t try anything. The second the trio reached their bedroom he dropped the blond’s leg and rushed to one of the two beds, suddenly tired. Minho tugged Newt fully into the room and shut the door behind them. Thomas hit the light switch next to the bed, illuminating the room.
“Come on, shank; get up now,” Minho said, nudging Newt with his foot.
“Maybe I don’t want to.”
Thomas listened as the two began their bickering again, taking off his shirt in the process. He was thoroughly entertained as he lied in bed, watching Minho and Newt struggle. Newt eventually got up and began to make his way over to the other bed, but Thomas had other plans in mind.
“Aren’t you two supposed to be glued together?” he said with a smirk. “I’m sure Jorge won’t be happy to know that you didn’t complete your dare.”
Minho and Newt exchanged a look with each other.
“Oh, you’re right, Thomas. We are,” Minho said slowly, making his way over to where Newt now was climbing into bed. “Scoot over, Newt.”
The blond smiled. “My pleasure, Minho.” Thomas watched in awe as the two boys climbed into bed with each other. Newt turned on his side to face Thomas, a wide grin settling on his features. Minho lied down right next to him and pressed his back against Newt. The blond wrapped an arm around the other’s waist. “Like this, Thomas?”
The brunet should have seen it coming; after all, he was dealing with Minho and Newt. “Yep,” he said, “exactly like that. Stay like that for the whole night.”
“Oh don’t worry, we will,” Minho replied. Thomas sat up to kill the lights and saw that Newt had snuggled himself into Minho; he had even buried his face in Runner’s hair. They’re really going all out with this, he thought as he flipped the switch and the room sank once again into inky darkness.
It took him a while to fall asleep. He listened to the steady breathing of the two in the bed beside him, wondering if they would ever touch each other again after tonight. Eventually, Thomas fell into a deep, undisturbed sleep.
Thomas awoke to hair tickling his face. He tried to brush it out of the way, confused as to why there was so much of it. When did he grow this much hair? Opening his eyes, he had the shock of his life.
There was Brenda. In the bed. With him. She had only a tank top and extremely short shorts on. Looking under the covers, Thomas saw that he only had his boxers on.
And that was when he passed out.