The rain taps the windows as the cold air huddles against it, ghosting and lingering through the cashmere fabric of Newt's sweater. His hands clasp the little mug of tea, keeping warm as his lips gently touch the brim, taking a few sips; staring out the window. Faceless bodies pass by, sheltering themselves from the drizzle, holding umbrellas tight as the wind tore at their coats and jackets.
The bell on the shop's door rings, signaling that a new customer was heading in and with a glance to the clock, Newt saw that it was the same exact time like the days before. His dark brown eyes shift over, spotting the brown haired, honey eyed boy in his favorite Mets hat. The boy was named Thomas Murphy; a twenty-one year old who got transferred to London due to his father working for some big shot corporation. He was extremely nice—at least from what Newt had seen from afar since he was shy. Without saying much, Thomas seemed intimidating to him and not in bad way, but, in such a way that Newt could never physically bring himself to head up to him and speak words. So instead, he keeps his distance, quiet, and studies him in silence.
Thomas goes up, ordering his Chai Tea Latte with whip on top and dash of cinnamon, and his Rice Krispie Treat, paying the amount that Newt figured out to be £7.09—which would be $9.92 in America. He smiles, taking out his phone and texting his one friend that he had met once he arrived named Brenda; she was a year older than him and came here because she really wanted to have schooling in Oxford for Engineering Science like her mother. The school's counselor made them become friends on their first day and since then, they've been inseparable.
Over the shop's static sounding stereo system, the song Flawless by The Neighbourhood plays quietly which matched the mood of the pitter pattering rain. It always played at this time since it was the same radio station that repeated over and over again, never changing. With a small sigh and another drink of his tea, the bell rang again and Brenda strutted in with her newest boots that she bought the day before, playfully grinning at Thomas and gave him a great big hug. Thomas laughed, holding her tight and greeted her as usual before his order was called.
A feeling washed over Newt as he stared intently at Thomas who was speaking to his friend, grinning as wide as ever, sitting down at one of the many bay windows. During the conversation Brenda kept on touching his bicep—out of habit—every time he made her laugh, throwing her head down then back, smiling. Newt craved that closeness with Thomas, but, how could he? He wasn't confident in himself. That's always been a struggle with being a transferencer; he could control his Swift—his term for transforming from a boy to a girl—but for some reason, the thought of joining Thomas' side would prompt him for failure. And Newt, he didn't want that.
"Hey." Minho remarks, running up and jolting Newt to the point that he almost spilled his tea on his lap.
"Minho!" He loudly whispered to him, scowling as he sat in front of him, taking off his barista hat. "A bloody warning would've been quite nice to have."
Minho was a very good friend of Newt's since last year, they met due to him studying abroad and becoming each other's roommates. He was majoring in Physics and Philosophy whereas Newt was in Mathematics and Philosophy, both kinda went hand in hand so they helped one another out whenever they could. With all of their bonding and learning about each other, they became brothers. They shared desires, hopes, dreams, crushes, and secrets—well, most of them. Newt still hadn't told him about being a transferencer.
A light scoff had escaped Minho's throat. "You know that I always get off at this time." He retorted, inspecting Newt's body language and automatically knew something was up. His dark eyes wandered over, scanning around the area before seeing Thomas and Brenda. "You goggling him again?"
"No." Newt sat down his cup on the stand that was next to him, seeing Minho receive his smirk. ". . Maybe."
"Would you stop being a little sissy girl and go, talk to him?"
"Sure," he shot back without a second thought. "As soon as you stop being a little cunt and tell Brenda that you fancy her."
Minho lost his grin, sneering at Newt playfully and leaned close to him. "Alright, Isaac." He nodded, clearing his throat like how he always did whenever they began a Cuss Off. "Step up to the plate, and grow and drop your balls, shithead."
Newt mirrored his actions but instead of a whoop, he clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. "Hearing you wanking to the thought of Brenda at night is going to lower my IQ, wanker."
"Asshole!" He gaped.
"Twat."
"Fucker."
"Bastard."
"Dick."
"Choad."
Minho gasped, shooting up from his seat, stunned. "Newt," he flicked out his pointer finger, aiming it at him sternly. "You take that back, right now!"
"No." Newt stood. "Isaac Newton's fourth law of motion is that you're a little bitch, Min Min. Deal with it."
Slowly, Minho pulled back his finger and began clapping for him. "Okay, you win the Cuss Off. I applaud you." He then smiled, impressed. "Bravo." A pause. "Still can't believe your parents named you after him."
A huge grin appeared on Newt's face, being worn proudly as he jokingly bowed and picked up his mug to take a victory gulp. The bell rings and he quickly ran his eyes over, seeing Brenda and Thomas leaving which made him sad but confused more than anything; they always left at three but it was only two-forty. Where are they going? Newt thought.
Brenda threw up her hood while Thomas just shrugged off the rain, sipping his drink through the straw and began opening up his marshmallow cereal bar. She turned to him, speaking about something and Newt tried to read her lips through the foggy window but was having difficulty. Whatever she said, Thomas seemed to blush, embarrassed and as clear as day mouthed, "Yeah".
"Newt." Minho sounded and he snapped out of his trance, focusing back on him in an instant.
How long did I zone out for? Newt mentally asked himself. How long was he saying my name before I finally realized it?
"You hear me at all?"
"U-Uh . . Can you repeat what you said?"
He rolled his eyes. "I was wondering if you were going to go to the movies tonight because that movie that you've been wanting to see leaves the theater soon and you still haven't seen it yet."
Newt then nodded. "Oh, yeah. I bought a ticket tonight for it. I'm going."
"You deserve to treat yourself to something nice." Minho placed his hat and apron in his little bag, wrapping his one arm around Newt's shoulder. "Come on, let's get home and have some lunch, play some foosball, maybe even Uno, then I'll make myself dinner and you go see your movie at, what? Like, eight-ish?"
His brown eyes glanced up at Minho as a chuckle erupted from him. "You read me like a book."
"I have photographic memory." He cheekily beamed, removing his arm from Newt and grabbed his jacket.
"Pornographic more like it." Newt murmured.
"That, too. Especially when it comes to Brenda, ooh la la." Newt shook his head, laughing as he went to pick up his mug and place it over into the dirty cup bin. "No, no. Leave it."
"Why?"
"Gally is working."
Newt raised an eyebrow. "So?"
"I like to make him work harder." Minho then did his trademark smirk, zipping his jacket and pulled his hood up. "He needs the exercise."
"I heard that!" The boys turned, seeing the short haired blond boy standing there in his hairnet, brown t-shirt, rolled up jeans, and sneakers with his green apron tied around his waist and hands on his lips. In his left hand, he held a whisk that had pink icing dripping from it and onto the floor. "I've been slaving over making cupcake icing, throwing out my arm, and you dare to tell Newt not place the mug in the dirty bin because I need exercise?"
"Gally," Siggy—an African American boy who was their friend that they nicknamed Frypan—popped his head out from the swinging door that led to the kitchen. "Unless you become a reversed Michael Jackson with your skin, you don't have the privilege to say the term slaving. Now, finish the icing, gather up them mugs and clean them." He ordered, going back to baking the cupcakes.
Gally huffed, exhaling loudly and maintained his cool as he went back into the kitchen. Minho looked to Newt, satisfied and they began strolling to the door, chatting about their classes and homework. The two of them headed out in the now sprinkling rain and went southeast down on Cornmarket Street toward Golden Cross, turning right onto Queen Street, then making left onto St. Ebbes Street.
Once the boys made their turn and headed down, Newt gazed at the Modern Art Oxford—like how he usually does—in admiration. With being born in London and having lived there for twenty-three of his life, he never visited the gallery. He desperately wanted to go and enjoy himself there but Minho had no appreciation for art unless it came in the form of a woman . . . Or Brenda. Newt figured that one day he'll get to go and that day will mean something very special.
They continued heading straight, arriving onto Littlegate Street for a few hundred feet before going off to the right to still stay on it. Minho was exhausted, making the statement that they either needed to start taking a bus or riding bikes home. Newt shrugged, saying that walking wasn't much of a bother to him and how it was quite relaxing. Minho scrunched up his nose in disgust, not agreeing with him and began to give examples for why they needed to stop strolling around. Needlessly to say, another Cuss Off began but this time they threw in some other languages, spicing up the argument.
"If I'm drunk off my ass I don't want to stumble home and pass out on the sidewalk, you mierda."
"Min Salope, you can't ride a bike drunk and even if you did take the bus, would you even remember to get off the stop? Or bring money with you in the first place?" Newt paused in stepping, glancing to him.
Minho froze as well, thinking it through. ". . . Awe, shit." He ran his hand through through his hair, exhaling loudly. "Fine, fine. You win, again."
"Besides, this walk, it's only nine minutes."
"Feels like an eternity after work."
Newt searched his pockets, grabbing his set of house keys as he started walking again, avoiding puddles. "Just bloody think of Brenda, it'll get ya through the 'agonizing' torture of exercising."
The corners of Minho's lips curved upwards, his eyes fluttering close. "Now, I don't mind that idea one bit."
"Come on, you tonto del culo." He placed his hand on his back, leading him to turn left on Faulkner Street. Minho opened his eyelids, playfully nudging Newt in his ribs as they went on their merry way.
Crossing Speedwell Street, making a left on Thames Street and heading down until they were at the back of their house. Newt and Minho glanced up and down the street before jaywalking over, heading into the parking lot. The keys jingled in Newt's grasp with every step he took, rounding the corner and watched as a few boats floated by on River Thames. Most were occupied with teenagers like them but on other days, such as this wet one, it was fishermen since fresh rainfall brought out insects which baited the fish. Newt had known this from his father, but that's just become a mere memory.
He opens their little iron gate, walking up the stone path and unlocked the door, pressing it open. Minho filed into the tiny living room, sprawling out on the couch and relaxed. "Now, I can properly nap and dream sweet dreams."
With the door shut and hanging up the keys, Newt chuckled to himself. "You do that, Min. I'll make us lunch." Minho mumbled something, curling up with a Britian flag pillow. He headed over, grabbing a blanket from the one chair and threw it over Minho, making sure that he'll be snug.
Newt then headed to his safe, calming place; the kitchen. He turned the knob, pulling it open and beamed widely at the huge open space as well as the beauty of the wood tile floor, oak dining table, oak cabinets, and huge bay window that let in sun rays. This room was the reason why he bought the house in the first place, it captured his attention straight away and he couldn't say no. He bought it straightaway with his own money, not bothering to use his parents' wealth; Newt was an independent boy, no help was needed.
The house was a two bedroom and quite big for appearing small on the outside which meant more room than what Newt required. He lived there for a month before feeling lonely, lost. But once he met Minho, became friends and found out that he was lacking a stable place to stay, Newt offered him a room. The rest became history and a year later, he still stayed and its been the best thing that ever happened. Or as Newt would now say, the second best thing; Thomas being the first.
His cell phone buzzes in his pants pocket and he takes it out, seeing his reminder for the movie that was going to be playing in four hours. "Alright." Newt whispered to himself, putting his phone back in his pocket and went to the freezer to pull out ingredients to make tator tot casserole.
Later that night, while Minho was in his room and playing on his Xbox, Newt went into his walk in closet and heading towards the back. He moved a few of his shirts away, finding his secret stash of Newelle's clothes in cardboard boxes. Newelle was the female him who completely differed by being an artist, listening to angst music, wearing the color black, leather jackets, and boots. She certainly was her own person while Newt was his; both two sides of the same coin. Made of the same material but having two faces. That's how Newt explained it to himself.
He pulled out a nice white tank top, red and black long sleeved plaid button up, and dark blue skinny jeans with a simple white bra and black hipsters. It had been a full week since Newelle went out to have fun and Newt felt like he owed it to her, so what would be better then to go see a movie that they both wanted to see? Nothing. Newt got undressed, putting on the clothes, and stared at himself in the mirror before closing his eyes tight and focused.
The black that consumed eyesight broaden out, turning to a light shade of grey before fading out to white. Colors of the room became vivid, exploding into hues and being dazzling.
A glance to the mirror revealed the dirty blonde haired female who was slender, five foot four, had hazel eyes, and is an American. She wore the outfit that Newt picked out for her which caused her to smile, feeling unique. This was Newelle Isaac. She's the artist, the motorcycle enthusiast, the girl who adores animals and leather jackets—and blue jean jackets.
Newelle grabbed her phone, checking the time and seen that she had thirty minutes. She smiled happily since it only took seven minutes of walking distance to get the Curzon Oxford theater in the Westgate Shopping Centre. A quick write of a note and slipping it under Minho's door, she grabbed her one leather jacket, putting it on and headed down the stairs, grabbing the house keys. Locking the door and fixing her coat, she headed off across the street, strolling down, turned right onto Speedwell then a left on Greyfrairs Street. Continuing on down to Norfolk, she rounded the shopping centre and entered the doors.
There was a short line for tickets so Newelle wandered up, waiting patiently, checking her phone to see that there was still about a good twenty minutes left.
Five minutes passed and Newelle went up, ordering her ticket for The Shape of Water and got a small Coke with a small bag of popcorn. With getting her items, she headed over to the butter machine, placing her bag under it and pressed the red button to dispense it. Shaking it every once in a while so the liquid butter could get around and down into the bottom portion of the paper bag. Newelle was too focused on working the machine that she didn't hear someone head up next to her, watching her working.
"You like a lot of butter, huh?"
Newelle froze in place, releasing the button and slowly rotated her head to see Thomas smiling at her. "Uh, w-what?" Her words stuttered.
"Butter," he pointed at her bag, "you like a lot of butter on your popcorn."
"O-Oh, yeah." She nodded nervously, withdrawing back the bag to her chest and held it tightly just like her ticket and Coke.
Thomas caught sight of her ticket, chuckling. "Hey, Shape of Water. I'm going to see that, too."
Her eyes locked on his. "Really?"
He nods. "Yeah. Looks interesting, besides, I love Guillermo del Toro."
Newelle then smiled widely. "So do I. He's a genius when it comes to horror thrillers and psychological stories." A pause, licking her lips to moisten them. "I loved his movie Don't Be Afraid of the Dark."
"You kidding?!" Thomas exclaimed, grinning. "That's my absolute favorite! Next to Crimson Peak."
"Crimson Peak is my second favorite as well!" She blushed.
"Get out of here!" Newelle then lost her smiled, nodding sadly. She turned on her heal, going to walk into the screening but Thomas ran up in front of her. "No! No, I didn't . . I didn't mean literally." He chimed. "I mean, we have favorite movies in common. How come I've ever seen you before?"
"I've . . Been around, here and there."
"You go to Oxford? A transfer?"
"Yea—No!" Newelle shook her head quickly, getting scared for a quick moment since he said the word transfer. Quickly, she realized what he was meaning and fumbled with her words to cover up her sudden spurt of urgency. "No, no. I, uh, I'm cyberschooled through Oxford. So, yeah, I'm a tran-transfer student, kinda. I, I do . . . Mathematics and Philosophy." She stated shyly. "And, you? What do you do in Oxford College?"
"Human Sciences." Thomas spoke smartly, nodding. "I like learning about the biological, social and cultural aspects of human life. It's interesting." His honey eyes stayed on hers, never straying away and Newelle just enjoyed the feeling. This is the first time that she's been this close to Thomas and it was making her gush; Thomas even noticed it. "You, uh, you want to kinda be my date for the movie?" He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to the entrance for the screening. "I mean, I'm alone and you're alone . . ."
"And what makes you think I'm alone?" She teasingly asked.
Thomas' face turned, showing slight fear. "You're . . You're not alone?"
"No, I am." She laughed as Thomas calmed himself down, placing a hand over his heart in relief. "Just wondering why you must've thought I was."
"Because no beautiful girl like you should be here alone."
The heat in her cheeks expanded bigger, forcing her lips to smile without hesitation and she had to look away in embarrassment. She couldn't believe that Thomas was in front of her, complementing her, and was basically asking for tonight to become a small little date.
Her stare went back on him and he just still held his goofy grin. "Is that a yes?"
With a nod, she agreed. "Yeah. I'd like that."
He then extended out his hand. "First thing first, I'm Thomas."
I already knew that, she thought to herself happily. "And I'm Newelle." She replied, taking his hand into hers and shook it to the best of her ability since she had her hands full.
"Here." Thomas reached over, "let me help you on out." First, he grabbed her popcorn, shifting it into the crook of his arm. He then fixed her drink she had since it was bending and about to break open and leak over her. She thanked him once he finished and they both entered the screening, finding seats.
Once they sat, the lights dimmed, the screen opened, and the previews began rolling. Newelle felt content, happy, and more importantly, like she was living.