Enjoy :)

Newt lay curled up in a ball with his back to Gally, who was sprawled on his front, completely asleep. He, on the other hand, had been up almost all night, falling into short bursts of nightmares before waking up sweating again. Judging by the clock on the wall, just illuminated by a sliver of daylight from the curtains on the other side of the room, it was just gone half six – he'd have to be up soon to sort everything out before Gally went to work.

If he could get up.

Wincing, he propped himself up on his left elbow, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and twisting into a sitting position. He had been right the night before – there was a bracelet of bruises around his left wrist. His legs and arms were also pocked here and there with purple, and his stomach still felt really tender. A wave of nausea overcame him, and he gripped the edge of the bed, squeezing his eyes shut until it passed. Gally rolled over next to him.

As quietly as he could so as not to wake him, Newt got to his feet and began to creep out of the room. He winced slightly as the door creaked, and looked back, but Gally was still out. Closing it softly behind him, and grabbing a robe, he slunk down the hall and turned right into the kitchen. The tiles were cool under his feet, a relief against his skin, which had been burning up. He let the lack of heat seep into him for a moment, tying the robe shut, before creating a mental checklist of everything he was going to have to do before Gally got up in about an hour. Make breakfast. Have a shower. Try and hide the evidence of last night.

He sighed and checked the fridge. As he'd expected it was virtually empty – a couple of milk bottles, a tomato and a small block of cheese being the only things to grace his presence. It looked like it was just going to be cereal. He would have to ask Gally for grocery money. At least he was going to have a bit more time.

Newt sneaked back into the bedroom, grabbing a handful of clothes out of the dresser, and checking the time. 6:47. He was fine. He had plenty of time. Gally, at a glance, was still completely asleep, and showed no signs of waking. Newt inwardly hoped he would wake up on his own in time – having to rouse him was always a bit of a gamble. Gally was not a morning person at all.

Slipping into the shower released the tension he didn't release he'd been holding. He quickly scrubbed himself clean, and then just stepped back, leaning against the wall, letting the water fall over him. The droplets cascaded across his face, stinging slightly in the cut he'd forgotten he'd had. Newt raised a hand to his face and winced at the contact. He slowly sank to the floor, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, and then he was crying, the tears mixed in with the flow of water around him so that they became indistinguishable. Everything crashed down then, everything that had happened the previous night, and the night before that, and all the weeks before, the months before. It wouldn't be long before Gally would be up, before he'd have to pull himself together, but he let himself have the moment.

And then he had to snap out of it.

…

Newt watched as Gally took another sip of coffee, and stirred his nervously for about the tenth time without actually drinking. His boyfriend noticed his glances and put his mug down, glaring at him.

"Okay, what's up?"

"Nothing much."

Gally raised an eyebrow. Newt stirred his coffee again.

"We're…we're running low on stuff, that's all. Have… could I have this week's money to sort it out today please?"

He went back to staring at his coffee, trying to avoid Gally's gaze. He could almost feel the other man's eyes rolling.

"Sure."

Newt looked up to see Gally reaching inside his jacket and pulling out a tattered envelope, which he slid across the table towards Newt. He took it with an appreciative smile and tucked into the back pocket of his jeans.

"Thanks."

"There's money in there for a new mirror too. Make sure you get a good one."

Newt nodded, clutching the coffee (but still not drinking it.).

"I'm going to be late back tonight. Eight, maybe nine."

Newt said nothing, just carried on twisting his fingers until Gally finally got up, kissed the top of his head and left the apartment, leaving the door unlocked.

Newt shifted the plastic bags in his hands for what felt like the hundredth time as he trudged the four miles back to his and Gally's place. His boyfriend had helpfully forgotten to include enough in the envelope for the bus fare, and so he'd been forced to walk into town, which was a good three quarters of an hour each way, and felt like two. It was three in the afternoon, and unusually warm, and Newt was itching to roll up his sleeves, but he didn't want people to see the bruises – he was already getting enough funny looks for the fact his face was covered in foundation. Though it had probably melted of by now – when he'd picked out the new mirror (to be delivered the next day) he'd been starting to look quite purple down the left of his face.

He was probably about halfway back to the apartment, and he was knackered. The pain in his stomach had been getting worse throughout the day - it wasn't anything more than a dull ache, but it was still worrying him. Gally had struck him in the stomach too many times to count, and it had never hurt this much, or this insistently the day after. He felt another wave of nausea, and had to stop and just breathe for a moment until it passed. It really didn't help that it was so damn hot.

It was another couple of minutes until he heard the sound of a vehicle drawing up close the path.

"Hey, Newt!"

Newt felt his stomach drop, and looked right to see Minho and Thomas lounging in what appeared to be Thomas's truck – he was the one driving.

"Hey." He said, stopping and turning, squinting against the sun.

"What're you doing walking around here?"

"Oh, I've just being shopping and I didn't have anything left for the bus so…"

Minho rolled his eyes.

"Why didn't you just call me? We'd have given you a lift."

Newt shrugged.

"I'm out of credit."

He made as if to carry on, but Minho was having none of it.

"Come on." He said, clicking the door slightly open. "We're taking you home."

"No, I couldn't…"

"In." Minho said definitely, smiling at him.

Newt reluctantly swung the door fully open and slid inside the cab of the truck, keeping his face down and angled slightly to try and hide the bruises. Minho pulled him up onto the seat as he got in – Newt tried desperately hard not to flinch away and by some miracle just managed it – smiling at him again. Thomas said hi, then revved up the engine and they drove off away from the pavement.

"So, fancy coming back to mine for a bit?" His one time best friend asked.

Newt shook his head slightly.

"I ought to get back I've got a lot to do this afternoon."

Minho gave him a look.

"Come on, we haven't had a proper catch-up in ages!" He whined. Newt had almost forgotten how much of a whiner he was. Almost.

"I'm busy." Newt replied quietly, looking at his hands.

"Okay." Minho responded, but he didn't seem convinced. They spent the rest of the two minute journey in an uncomfortable silence, amplified by the presence of Thomas, who didn't seem sure what to do with himself.

When they got to the parking lot outside Newt's building, Minho directed Thomas in, and then followed Newt out of the cab. He muttered a quick thanks to the two boys, expecting them to just leave, but Minho followed him towards the building.

"Hey, Newt, are you sure you haven't…"

And then he stopped. The other man had grabbed Newt on the shoulder, had spun him around, and had noticed the bruises. His eyes went wide and he drew back fast. Newt didn't know how bad it really was, but judging by Minho's reaction it wasn't pretty.

"Jesus Christ Newt, what the fuck happened to your face?!"

He hung his head down to hide it again even though it was obvious the damage had already been done.

"It's nothing, you know I got really pissed last night, ended up falling up the stairs and face planting." He mumbled.

Minho stuck his hands on his hips, and once upon a time Newt might have found it funny, but the look the guy was giving him made him feel really uncomfortable.

"Oh come on Newt! You weren't that drunk when you left! You expect me to buy that?!"

Newt tensed up at the shouting.

"Minho, please just leave it, I need to go in." He whispered, his voice shaking slightly, and he started walking towards the entrance to the building. Minho grabbed his shoulder again, harder this time, and Newt flinched violently. He folded in on himself as much as possible with all the bags, hurtling as fast as he could towards the building. He must have looked like a right idiot, but he didn't care.

He couldn't really hear Minho following, but he still let his guard down until he'd struggled to get his and Gally's door open and shuffled in, dumping the bags on the floor in the hall and leaning against it. He hadn't realised, but he was breathing in short pants. As he stood there his chest constricted, and he closed his eyes, trying to talk himself out of the madness. It didn't work, and he felt his hands start to shake and his vision go blurry at the edges.

He was just slipping into total freak-out mode when there was a soft knocking on the door behind him. Jumping back against the wall, he could see the outline of someone who could only have been Minho through the frosted glass window. There was another short rapping.

"Newt? Are you okay?"

Newt almost responded, but his throat was too tight, and he just felt the overwhelming desire to curl up on the floor.

"Look, Newt, I'm sorry I freaked out on you. I just haven't really seen you in a while, and those bruises are bad…"

Newt swallowed painfully and managed to force out a few shaky words.

"Minho, please just go."

He squeezed his eyes shut, imagining the look of hurt on his face, but instead the man surprised him.

"No. I can't Newt. Not until you're okay."

"I'm fine." He forced. He knew, instantaneously, that Minho was rolling his eyes.

"You're obviously not. Come on, let me in."

Newt shook his head, before realising that Minho couldn't see him.

"I can't."

"Then at least talk to me?"

He didn't respond; just bit his lip, trying to calm his breathing. He sat down, curling his arms around his knees. Minho also appeared to have sat down outside. One thing that could be said about Minho was that he was bloody stubborn.

"Newt, did you really get those bruises from face-planting on the stairs?"

He pulled his legs closer, squeezed his eyes shut harder.

"Yes." He lied.

"Are you sure?"

"I promise." He whispered. There was a pause.

"You've gotten so quiet Newt. You were never this quiet before."

Newt felt his breathing become slightly less forced, felt the tension drop slightly in his chest.

"You know I'm always here if you need to talk." Another pause. "God that was so clichéd."

Newt laughed a bit at that.

"Well, are you gonna be alright? You sound…slightly less bad?"

"Yeah. You should go, Thomas will be waiting."

"Okay Newty. You have my number if you need me."

"Bye Minho."

"See ya Newt."

The shadow of Minho got up, and Newt heard his footsteps echo down the hall. He pressed his head back against the wall, failed to push the last of the tension out of his chest, and then got up to put the shopping away, his hands shaking the entire time.