-Here we are, another chapter, finally! I imagine this fic as having only a few more chapters. Still haven't decided on a happy ending though... I'm sorry, sometimes sad endings are needed, but it doesn't mean I'll make this sad yet! You'll just have to wait to find out what I choose, haha.
Again, thank you all for being such lovely reviewers, and if you haven't reviewed, then thanks for being a devoted reader up to this point. You're all the only reason I keep writing (apart from the tiny fact that I'm a bit addicted to Minewt...XD)
Enjoy this next chapter, and get ready for more! :)-
When Newt woke up the next morning, he was in a drowsy, half-asleep state of bliss. The covers were softer than silk under him, his body stretched out languorously. The first, soft rays of morning light were filtering in between the curtains drawn over the windows. He basked in the feel of the warm sheets and sunlight. This was what heaven felt like: waking up in a bed that wasn't cold or scratchy, with walls that were cozy instead of sterilely white. He stifled a yawn and tried to burrow down farther into the mattress beneath him. His hand searched absently for Minho's arm around his waist.
Minho wasn't there.
Blinking groggily, Newt propped himself up on an elbow. Glancing over his shoulder in confusion, he saw that Minho wasn't lying beside him anymore. Instead, there was a message, written on a yellow post-it note. It was short, written in blocky handwriting: Went out to get breakfast. I'll be back in ten minutes. Love you. –Min
Newt smiled slightly. Minho was going out to buy breakfast for him. He was much too sweet, too kind. Newt didn't know how Minho made it through life without people taking advantage of such kindness. Then he remembered.
The hospital.
Yesterday.
Last night.
A shudder tightened his skin and he looked down at himself. With a comical gasp of embarrassment, despite no one being around to see, he scrambled off the bed and raked his hand over the floor in search of his clothes. He hadn't planned on spending the night there. He wasn't supposed to. The hospital staff would be angry with him and he'd never get out again. And God, he'd actually...he'd actually slept with Minho.
They'll know, Newt thought, groaning to himself as he pictured the doctors' faces. They'll know why I didn't come back until today.
Was nothing in his life private anymore?
He'd stood up too fast and waves of dizziness racked his mind as he finally found his boxers. He slipped them on fast, his cheeks heated after discovering that he'd worn absolutely nothing all night and had woken up like it too. Newt had never, ever done anything like that in his life. How could he expect to, when he was sick? It was unnerving to him at first.
But then he clambered onto the bed again and sat at the edge. He raked a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. The initial embarrassment and guilt was fading. Now he only felt pleasant little shivers running down his spine. He'd slept with Minho. He'd made love to Minho, his most important person, the love of his life. He couldn't believe it. He touched two fingers to his lips, remembering Minho's needy, smoldering kisses. His fingers traveled down, wonderingly tracing a map down to a tiny mark on his collarbone: Minho's teeth scraping his skin. He remembered how it'd felt, every part of it, all of Minho.
Newt smiled at his lovestruck daydreaming and shook his head. "I've got it so bad for you," he murmured. And how true it was. Minho could say anything at all and Newt would have to obey now.
In calmer, slower movements, Newt pushed away his dizziness and stood up again. Bending down, he picked up two shirts from the floor. One was his, navy and familiar. The other was white and plain; Minho's. Glancing over, Newt saw that Minho's jeans had been left in a heap near the foot of the bed. Newt's were somewhere else. He looked back down at those shirts. Dropping his, he studied Minho's instead. Awkwardly, he lifted it to his nose.
"Ohhh..." Damn, it smelled good, like skin and soap and Minho's cologne. Newt forgot his awkwardness and buried his face in the T-shirt, inhaling. Even Minho's scent was enough to make him high. After only a moment's hesitation, he pulled the shirt over his head. It hung on his thin frame, obviously meant for someone built more like Minho. Newt curled his fingers in the fabric and tried to imagine that he wasn't so weak. That maybe he'd have that effect that Minho had on Newt. Yes, Newt loved Minho for more than just his appearance, but come on. There was no denying it: Minho was hot as hell. Newt? Newt...wasn't.
He loves you, Newt told himself. He told you, he thought you were...beautiful. Newt snorted. "I'm not," he muttered.
He decided that was enough time spent talking to himself. Wandering over to the stairs, he climbed his way down them. Looking down stairways wasn't easy for him. The height made the steps bob and twirl in his vision. He had to grip the railing tight to stop himself from tripping. Damn Flare. Why did it have to ruin EVERYTHING? Reaching the bottom without killing himself, he padded barefoot into the kitchen. The walls were caressed gently by the pale yellow of the dawn sun. The marble island sat alone in the center of the room. Steel appliances gleamed. Newt trailed his fingertips over the stovetop, then the cool surface of the island. Envy burned in his heart.
He was there. He was at the edge of another life, the life he could have with Minho if only he could be cured. He could feel the ghost of it around him, as though future memories ached to be made in this house. That life wasn't even possible...was it? He wanted it so badly, it made him lose his breath.
The sound of the front door suddenly opening made him turn. It was followed by a slam as it closed and footsteps down the hall. Newt waited in anticipation, his heart already racing.
Minho stepped into the kitchen, carrying a plastic bag with the name of some restaurant printed on the side. Something that smelled wonderfully warm and delicious seeped from it. He was about to set it down, when he glanced up and noticed Newt. His eyes lit up that way they always did and he broke into a radiant smile. "Hey, you're up!" he greeted cheerfully. "Sorry for leaving like I did. I didn't wanna wake you."
"It's fine." Newt shuffled his feet.
"There's a new restaurant a few blocks away," Minho went on. "They have the best breakfasts ever. I thought you'd like something different from that hospital food."
"Thanks," Newt replied quietly. He felt foolishly shy. He was waiting for Minho to say something about last night. Wasn't that what people did? Or did they just...have sex and then never talk about it? Surely it was more than that.
"Sleep well?" Minho asked conversationally. He rounded the island to reach a cabinet next to Newt. Standing up on his toes, he opened the door and reached inside.
"Y—yeah," Newt stammered. He stared dumbly at Minho. The way Minho searched in the cabinet made his body stretch gorgeously. He seemed to have thrown on jeans and a tank top that morning, because the jeans clung so low on his hips. His tank top inched up as he reached, showing a slice of smooth skin at his waist. Newt couldn't remember how to speak properly.
"That's good," Minho replied, breaking the moment. He pulled down two plates, one stacked on top of the other. Setting them down on the counter, he turned back to the bag on the island. He bent across the marble island to grab it, unaware of how the action made his jeans hug his body. Newt blushed and mentally ordered himself to NOT keep staring at Minho's ass. He failed miserably.
"Okay, you want food?" Minho slid the bag closer and glanced up at Newt. He blinked when he saw that Newt was gawking at him stupidly. "What?"
"You." Newt couldn't think of what else to say.
Minho's eyebrows rose. "What do you mean?"
"Do you seriously not know?" Newt asked incredulously. He'd decided to take a different approach to this.
Minho shook his head in adorable confusion.
Newt strode forward abruptly and planted his hands on the marble island, on either side of Minho. He heard Minho's gasp, saw Minho's hands grab the edge of the counter behind him as though he needed it for support. It felt so good, for Newt to be so small compared to Minho, but to still have the ability to pin Minho to a counter. He'd never really thought about it before, but it occurred to him now just how helpless Minho was with him.
Newt quirked his mouth into the smirk he knew Minho loved. "Just...you," he said, letting his nose brush over Minho's. "You, your eyes, your voice, your body." He trailed his eyes over Minho's body as he said it and felt Minho shiver. "You're so damn sexy and you don't even realize when you're making me crazy."
Minho swallowed. "I'm making you crazy?" he asked, proving Newt's point.
Newt couldn't take it anymore, he had to hear it, had to know that this was real. It had to mean something. He lowered his eyes to Minho's mouth. "Do you remember last night?" he asked softly.
Minho visibly tensed. This was a new Minho Newt was seeing, a Minho so helplessly in love that he'd do anything Newt said. "Yes."
Newt's heart leaped at the answer. But, evilly, he wanted to drag this out longer. It felt new and daring to be a tease. "What do you remember about it?" he asked, still hushed. As he spoke, he placed one hand on Minho's stomach. Body heat seared his palm.
"I—I..." There was that stutter, Minho's weakness slipping through. "We..."
"Made love," Newt finished for him in a murmur, "for the first time." He slipped his hand under Minho's tank top and pressed his palm flat to Minho's stomach. Hard muscle rippled under his touch and he couldn't resist rubbing his thumb over Minho's skin. What he wouldn't give to kiss the place he was touching now.
Minho whimpered, both from Newt's words and his touch. "W—we did," he breathed out.
It was too polite. Newt wanted Minho to admit what he'd felt last night. "And?" he asked, sliding his hand higher. He settled it on Minho's chest and let his nails lightly scratch the skin.
Minho was trembling. "And what?"
Newt leaned in and kissed Minho's earlobe. Gently, he caught it between his teeth and ran his tongue over the soft curve. He heard Minho make another, less-chaste sound. Newt smiled in triumph. He didn't have to say another word. Minho caved and confessed, "I loved every minute of it. Every single second. I loved hearing you, and feeling you, and knowing that you let me see that vulnerable side of yourself. I loved it, and I love you."
Newt pulled back. That was all he wanted to hear. "I love you, too, Min," he whispered.
Minho didn't take that as an acceptable answer. He snatched Newt's face in his hands and crushed their mouths together. They were immediately all over each other, kissing crazily, hands roaming. Newt could feel Minho's hands falling down to grip his waist and his fingers had found themselves knotted in Minho's tank top. He couldn't stop, because it tasted so good, and love was surging overwhelmingly inside of him. He loved Minho. The thought had him dizzy again.
Minho suddenly braced his hands on the counter behind him. Lifting himself up onto it, he grabbed Newt's waist again. With easy strength, he hefted Newt up and leaned back with the blonde sinking down on top of him. Newt's mind buzzed. It was too hot to be making out on top of a marble island. He kissed Minho harder, shoving his hands up under his tank top. He stroked his hands the whole way up Minho's body before raking his nails down Minho's chest. Minho broke the kiss as his head fell back and he moaned. "Newt. Angel." The words were pleas.
"What do you want?" Newt asked breathlessly, raining kisses down Minho's neck. "I'll give you anything."
"You," Minho gasped, clutching at Newt desperately.
Newt nipped at Minho's throat. "Then I'm yours."
Minho shuddered and hooked his thumbs into Newt's boxers. Newt fought the urge to beg Minho for more and instead ground his hips into Minho's seductively. Both of them groaned out loud at the feel of it. Newt felt Minho's hands pulling his waistband lower. Newt reached for the counter for something to keep him sane and accidentally hit the plastic bag of food. With a loud thump, it slid off the edge and dropped onto the floor. The sound made them both jerk slightly, snapping out of their drunken trance.
Breathing heavily, Newt stilled and tried to focus on thinking straight. Beneath him, he could feel the rise and fall of Minho's chest. He glanced down at Minho's tousled hair and fogged-over eyes. "You know," he began breathlessly, "I wasn't really supposed to stay here last night."
"I know," Minho replied, a bit guiltily. "But I just...I couldn't let you go."
Newt shook his head, a smile playing over his lips. "You're really in love with me, aren't you?"
"Yes," Minho admitted softly. He let out a quiet laugh. "I am. God, I am. I've never been this in love." He glided his hands up and down Newt's back. "I'm glad it's you I fell for," he murmured.
Newt felt it again, the wonderful happiness and then the twist of pain in his heart. "You shouldn't be," he whispered.
"Stop saying things like that." Minho sat up and slipped off the counter, taking Newt with him. They stood up, Newt's nose level with Minho's shoulders. Minho bent his head and pushed his nose into Newt's hair, breathing in his scent. "You're sick. You have the Flare. I get that. But I still love you more than anything."
Newt closed his eyes and buried his face in Minho's shoulder. "Okay," he mumbled, emotion making his voice thick.
Minho wrapped his arms around Newt and pulled him up against Minho. "Just don't let me go again, okay?" he asked in a whisper.
Newt nodded. "Okay," he said again.
He knew he wouldn't let Minho go, not now.
It was Minho who would have to let Newt go, when the time came.
-x-x-x-
Life back at the hospital was just as bleak as ever.
Newt trudged his way through the front doors, taking his good old time as he did. He hated this place. Absolutely hated it. The floors were cold linoleum, the walls were dull, and it was always too chilly. He hugged himself as he shuffled through the front lobby, wearing his jeans and navy shirt from the day before. He was going to be changing out of them soon anyway. Back into the crappy, blue hospital clothes they made him wear. He could feel a headache beginning to throb at the back of his head as he made his sluggish way toward the front desk. To his annoyance, it was that redhead, Mary working again.
"Hey," he greeted, once he was in front of the desk. She glanced up and her eyebrows shot up. "I'm gonna need those old hospital clothes again."
The look of astonishment on Mary's face changed then, her eyes narrowing in disapproval. She didn't answer him. Instead, she glanced back down at her computer screen and typed something in.
Newt's headache increased, the pressure in his head pulsing. "Did you hear me?" he demanded rudely. "I'm standing right here."
She didn't look up from her screen. "Where were you last night?" she asked, her fingers clicking over the keyboard.
Newt gritted his teeth. "Where do you think I was?" he asked slowly.
She arched a brow at his tone. "With him."
"Looks like someone's finally catching on," Newt replied sarcastically. "Now where can I get my clothes and some shucking medicine for this headache?"
"You shouldn't have been out all night," she pointed out warningly. "It's not good for your system. Flare patients are hardly allowed out at all, and they're certainly not allowed to be doing the things you were doing." She glared, then turned to squint at her computer. "Clothes should be in the room for you." She studied him for a moment, then scanned the room behind him. "Where is he anyway?"
Newt was just about sick of her crap. He clenched his jaw. "He has to work today. He dropped me off."
"Good," she replied, as though she was a teacher satisfied with a student's answer. "You could use some time away from him."
"Excuse me?" Newt asked dangerously. The back of his head was raked with flames.
"You can't honestly think that what you two are doing is healthy."
"It doesn't matter."
"Yes, it does." She looked around, then lowered her voice. "You know full well what the Flare can do to you. Straining yourself when you're in this condition is not acceptable. And going about, doing things like—like—" she shuddered and said the word like it was a curse, "—sex is not helping you at all."
"I never said anything about that."
"You didn't have to. It was obvious why you didn't come back last night."
Newt didn't want this. He wanted his stupid hospital clothes, and that foul, scratchy bed, and some damn painkiller for this shucking headache. He didn't have time to listen to her telling him what to do, and who he shouldn't be doing it with. "Does being a patient here mean that I have NO privacy at all?" he demanded irritably. "It's none of your business what I was doing."
Mary stared at him for a long moment. "Do you realize what exactly it is you're doing here though? Setting that poor boy up to have his heart broken. What is it to you? A free trip out of here for a night? Sex from someone who'll actually give it to you? You're playing with his heart, Newt, and it hurts me to see it." She shook her head. Her years of being here and seeing Newt's attitude had convinced her that he wasn't a good person. He'd done a good job keeping his wall up around her. "I just want to know why. Why would you do this?"
Newt could feel the throb in the back of his head spreading up to the front. He kneaded his forehead with two fingers and winced. Her words stung. He knew Minho would be heartbroken eventually, when Newt was gone. But Mary had gotten some of her facts wrong too. Newt sighed. "I'm in love with him."
Mary's lips parted in shock. "What?"
"I said, I'm in love with him."
She continued to stare at him for a few more seconds. The darkness in her eyes faded. "I didn't realize you..."
"Yeah, well," Newt sighed, rubbing his throbbing head, "me neither."
She nodded, and then typed in a few more things on her keyboard. Peering at the screen, she went on in a kinder tone. "Your things should be in your room, like I said. And I'll send Brenda in with your medicine."
"Thanks." Newt speared his fingers through his hair, his touch cool on his burning nerves.
"And...I'm sorry." Mary cleared her throat awkwardly, cheeks flushed.
Newt blinked at her. He had to admit, he hadn't expected an apology from her. Perhaps he'd proven that he wasn't as terrible a person as he'd made himself out to be. He was about to reply, when suddenly, his vision tilted. Gasping, he snatched for the edge of the counter and clung to it as the room swirled around him. The dizziness it produced stirred a wave of nausea in his throat. He heard Mary's voice, a muted question in his ears, but he couldn't answer. The flames in his head morphed into lightning bolts. There was something at the back of his head now, something black and awful and wicked. It rose up in his mind, flooding it with dark water, muffling his senses. He knew what it was. It was the same thing that had made his parents see things, and had made them forget his name. It was the thing in the Flare that made patients slowly disintegrate into mindless, raged people.
Not now not now not now. He wasn't ready. He'd thought he'd have more time before the Flare reached this point, and put him on the threshold of death.
The last thing he heard was Mary's frantic shout, before the world spiraled into blackness around him.
