Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Thomas pushed open the door to the cozy Italian restaurant, the warm glow of string lights and the hum of conversation welcoming him like an old friend. It was Friday evening, and this was one of those weekly occasions when he met up with his colleagues-turned-friends, Gally and Minho, for dinner. 

The place smelled of garlic and fresh basil, a comforting contrast to the sterile office air he'd breathed all week. He spotted them at a corner table, already settled in with their partners—Brenda beside Gally, her hand resting casually on his arm, and Teresa next to Minho, laughing at something he'd just said.

"Hey, man," Minho greeted with a grin as he saw Thomas, waving him over. "You're late. We almost started without you."

Thomas slid into the empty chair, offering a tired smile. "I need to revise some proposals first before heading out. Sorry about that." He glanced around the table, nodding at everyone. 

Gally gave him a solid pat on the back, while Brenda and Teresa both leaned in for quick hellos.

The meal unfolded easily, dishes passed around, wine poured, stories from the week exchanged—as the three of them placed in a different department. 

Thomas listened more than he spoke, content to let the others carry the conversation. Gally ranted about a stubborn client, Brenda shared a funny story from her job at the marketing firm, and Minho boasted about a recent promotion. Teresa, ever the peacemaker, steered things back to lighter topics when tensions rise.

As plates were cleared and they lingered over coffee and tiramisu, the chatter turned personal. Minho leaned back in his chair, smirking at Thomas. 

"So, Tommy-boy, when are we finally gonna meet this mysterious girlfriend of yours? You've been dodging these dinners solo for months now."

Thomas felt his cheeks warm slightly, but he kept his expression neutral. "Come on, Minho. Not this again."

Gally chuckled, sipping his espresso. "Ease up, Min. If he doesn't want to bring anyone, he doesn't have to. No pressure."

But Minho wasn't one to back down, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Nah, I'm just saying—every time we do this, it's me and Teresa, Gally and Brenda, and then there's you all alone. You sure you're not making her up? Like, 'Oh yeah, she's real busy with... stuff.' Spill it, dude. Is she imaginary, or what?"

Teresa slapped Minho's arm sharply, shooting him a glare. "Minho! That's rude. Apologize."

"Ow! Fine, fine. Sorry, Thomas. But seriously man, bring her next time. Make it a full house."

Thomas grumbled under his breath, stirring his coffee a bit too vigorously. The teasing hit closer to home than he'd admit—he'd been single for years, and the loneliness gnawed at him more than ever lately. 

"You know what? Fine. I'll bring her next week. Happy now?"

Minho's grin widened. "Attaboy! Can't wait to meet the lucky lady."

Gally raised an eyebrow but said nothing, while Brenda changed the subject to weekend plans. Thomas forced a laugh, but inside, he was already regretting his decision to lie. As the group wrapped up, hugs and goodbyes exchanged on the sidewalk, he waved them off and headed to his car, the cool night air doing little to shake off the unease.

Back at his apartment, Thomas kicked off his loafers, greeted by the enthusiastic thump of Tony’s tail against the floor. 

“Hey, buddy,” he said, crouching to ruffle the golden retriever’s ears. Tony licked his hand, eyes bright. 

The apartment was as he’d left it, neatly organized, with a stack of self-help books on the coffee table, a single mug in the sink, and a faint doggy smell mingling with air freshener. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and sank onto the couch, Tony hopping up to curl against his side. The plan was to unwind with a movie, something to drown out the week’s stress and Minho’s teasing earlier.

He opened his laptop, fingers tapping ‘movie recommendations’ into the search bar. Lists popped up, cheesy rom-coms, action blockbusters, Pixar classics. But as he scrolled, a bright ad banner slid into view in bold, cheerful font, with a stock photo of a couple laughing on a beach.

‘Build a Partner!’

Thomas let out a dry laugh. Total scam, he thought, his cursor hovering to dismiss it. But then he paused. The dinner, Minho’s words, the empty chair beside him—it all suddenly pressed down. He’d spent his life doing everything right, checking every box, yet here he was, 25 and alone, with only Tony for company. 

He didn’t have a girlfriend, never had. Not for lack of trying, he’d gone on dates, asked girls out with nervous smiles back in uni, even joined a few dating apps after graduation. But every time, it fizzled. They’d call him “nice” or “sweet,” but too plain, too predictable. No one wanted decent Thomas, the guy who paid his bills on time and never caused a scene. 

The ad stared back at him, tempting, absurd. 

Then with a loud sigh, he clicked it.

The page loaded, sleek and professional, not the sketchy pop-up he’d expected. There’s a description at the top, in elegant script: 

‘Build a Partner: Craft your ideal companion for life! Customize every detail to suit your heart’s desires. Join thousands who’ve found their perfect match.’

Below, a button pulsed: ‘Start Now.’

His pulse quickened, nerves tingling with suspicion. Is this a prank? Some creepy trap? 

But loneliness was louder than caution. He scrolled down to the reviews, 5,000 of them, anonymous, averaging 4.8 stars. 

‘Changed my life forever.’

‘My partner is perfect, exactly what I needed.’

‘Married my built partner last month. Couldn’t be happier.’

The last one caught his eyes. Thomas cursed under his breath, feeling pathetic yet oddly hopeful. He scrolled further, landing on the ‘BUY NOW’ button. His heart thudded, am I really doing this?

He clicked.

The screen shifted to a form, clean and intuitive. The first field asked for Partner Gender. He hesitated, then selected ‘Female,’ his cheeks warming slightly. 

Next, Age Range. He moved the slider to 20-25, reasoning someone a bit younger might balance his too monotone life. 

Hair Color came with a dropdown—blonde, brunette, red, black, or Any. He clicked ‘Any,’ figuring it didn’t matter much.

Then, a text box: ‘Describe your partner’s personality traits.’ He cringed, hands hovering over the keys. After a moment, he typed ‘obedient, cuddly, warm,’ each word making him wince with embarrassment. It felt like writing a wish list for Santa, but desperation pushed him through. 

The next page was Shipping Info. He typed his full name, Thomas Edison, into the name field, the letters appearing one by one. Then 25 in the age box. 

Address came next—he carefully input his street, apartment number, city, and zip code, double-checking each detail. He was half-expecting a SWAT team to show up for ordering a person online.

A section labeled ‘About You’ asked for likes and dislikes to ensure compatibility. He wrote thoughtfully, ‘liked quiet nights in, weekend hikes with my dog, coffee, and old sci-fi novels. Disliked crowded bars, overly spicy food, and mornings before 7 a.m.’ Each word felt like exposing a piece of himself, vulnerable but necessary. 

Then he clicked ‘Next,’ and the final page displayed the cost: $350. 

Thomas scoffed, leaning back. Really? Doubt crept in—too cheap for a scam this elaborate, too weird to be real. He stared at the screen, thinking of every failed date, every polite rejection, every night spent alone with Tony. His life was too safe, too predictable, too decent, and too empty. 

“Fuck it,” he whispered, grabbing his credit card from his wallet. 

He typed the card number, each digit deliberate, then the expiration date, the CVV, and his billing address, matching his earlier input. He hovered over ‘Confirm’ for a long moment before clicking.

‘PROCESSING…’ flashed on the screen and Thomas held his breath, the laptop’s hum loud in the quiet room. 

‘PAYMENT SUCCESSFUL. Your partner will arrive soon. Thank you for building with us!’

He exhaled, slamming the laptop shut. Hope he didn’t just get scammed out of 350 bucks. 

The urge to watch a movie was gone, replaced by a jittery mix of regret and anticipation. So he shuffled to the bathroom, took a quick shower to rinse off the day, and climbed onto bed. Tony leapt up, curling at his feet with a soft huff. Thomas stared at the ceiling, rethinking about his life decisions until sleep finally pulled him under.

Thomas stirred slowly, the soft hum of the air conditioner filling his small bedroom with a cool, steady breeze. It was Saturday, and for once, he let himself linger in bed, wrapped in the warmth of his blanket. Tony, his golden retriever, was still sprawled beside him, snoring faintly, one paw twitching in a dream. 

Thomas sighed, a quiet contentment settling over him as he snuggled deeper into his pillow, the world outside his apartment feeling far away. The clock on his nightstand read 9:47 a.m. which was considered late and very unproductive for him, but he deserved it after a long week.

By 10, he dragged himself up, stretching until his joints popped. Tony blinked awake, tail thumping lazily against the mattress. 

“Morning, buddy,” Thomas murmured, scratching the dog’s ears before padding to the kitchen. 

He poured kibble into Tony’s bowl, the familiar clatter waking the dog fully, and refilled the water dish. For himself, he kept it simple—black coffee, brewed strong, and a plate of bacon and eggs, sizzling in the pan. Too simple, maybe, but it was his routine and he liked it that way.

He carried his breakfast to the couch, settling in with Tony curling up nearby. The TV flickered on, the morning news droning about local traffic and weather. 

Thomas half-listened, fork scraping against his plate, his mind wandering to last night’s impulsive purchase. 350 bucks for a girlfriend. What was he thinking? He shook his head, dismissing the thought and focused on his eggs.

After breakfast, he tackled his chores. He sorted laundry, tossing shirts and socks into the machine with practiced ease. A quick shower followed, the hot water easing the tension in his shoulders. He washed the dirty dishes from earlier, the sponge gliding over plates and mugs, then dried his hands and returned to the couch. 

Tony hopped up as soon as he landed on the couch, settling across his lap, and Thomas picked up the novel he’d thrifted last week—a worn Sherlock Holmes paperback with yellowed pages. He lost himself in the story, the quiet hum of the apartment broken only by Tony’s soft snores.

Around 2 p.m., a sharp buzz from the intercom jolted him upright. Tony’s ears perked, and Thomas frowned, setting the book down. 

“Mail?” he muttered, heading to the door. He pressed the button, expecting a package slip, but the delivery guy’s voice crackled through. 

“Got a delivery for Thomas Edison. Need you to sign.”

Downstairs, he found a pet carrier sitting by the front desk, plain but sturdy, with a label taped to the side. His stomach dropped as he read the sender.

Build a Partner. 

Inside, an orange tabby cat stared up at him, letting out a single, curious meow. 

Annoyance flared hot in his chest. “A cat? Seriously?” he muttered, gripping the carrier’s handle. “350 dollars for a cat?”

He hauled the carrier upstairs, embarrassment burning alongside his frustration. He’s such an idiot. He’d actually believed a website could “build” a girlfriend. Pathetic. 

He set the carrier on the living room floor, kneeling to unlatch it. The tabby stepped out cautiously, its soft orange fur catching the light. It tilted its head, then rubbed against his hand, scratching its cheek against his knuckles. 

Despite his irritation, Thomas’ heart softened. The cat’s fur was velvety, its brown eyes wide and oddly endearing. 

“Alright, fine,” he sighed. “You’re cute, I’ll give you that.”

But the sting of being scammed wouldn’t let go. Muttering curses under his breath, Thomas grabbed his laptop from the coffee table and opened it, navigating back to the website. He scrolled frantically, looking for a customer service link. 

There, buried at the bottom of the page, was a phone number. He snatched his phone and dialed, pacing the living room as the cat watched from the floor.

A cheery voice answered after two rings. “Build a Partner, how can we make your day even better?”

Thomas didn’t hold back. “What the hell is this? I ordered a partner—you know, a person? Not a damn cat! I paid 350 dollars for a girlfriend, not a pet. Is this some kind of scam?”

The voice on the other end didn’t falter, still bright and unbothered. “Oh, we’re so sorry for the inconvenience, sir! We’re always looking to reduce shipping costs, and your order was fulfilled with our eco-friendly option. We hope you love your new partner!”

Thomas blinked, his mouth open. “Eco-friendly? What does that even mean? I didn’t order a cat! I want a refund or—”

“Thank you for choosing Build a Partner! Have a wonderful day!” 

The line went dead.

He stared at his phone, disbelief turning to fury. He hit redial, but the call wouldn’t connect—just a flat, endless tone. He tried again. Nothing. 

“Unbelievable,” he growled, tossing the phone onto the couch. “I’m totally scammed.” The cat meowed softly, as if in sympathy, and Thomas shot it a look. “Don’t you start. This is your fault.”

But the thing is, he loved animals. Always had. So he couldn’t just ignore the little cat’s pleading look. 

“Guess you need food,” he said, sighing. “And a bowl.” 

He grabbed his keys, leaving the cat to explore, and headed to the nearby pet store. He then returned with a bag of premium cat food, a water bowl, and a small dish for feeding, setting them up in the kitchen corner.

Tony, who’d been napping, woke up with a start when he spotted the cat. His tail wagged furiously, and he bounded over, sniffing the tabby with unrestrained excitement. 

The cat froze, ears twitching, but didn’t hiss or run. Tony circled it, letting out a playful yip, his body practically vibrating with the urge to play. The cat blinked, then swatted gently at Tony’s nose, which only made the dog more eager, bouncing around like a kid meeting a new friend. 

Thomas chuckled, watching the two. “Easy, Tony. Give the cat some space.”

By 5 p.m., Thomas was sprawled across his L-shaped couch, the day’s chores done. Tony had wedged himself between Thomas’ legs, snoring softly, his warmth a familiar comfort. The cat, to Thomas’ surprise, leapt onto his chest with a light thud, kneading briefly before settling into a perfect loaf, paws tucked under its body. 

Thomas froze, then laughed, scratching the cat’s head gently. “Make yourself at home, huh?” 

The cat’s eyes half-closed, a low purr vibrating against his chest.

“350 bucks,” he muttered, his fingers still stroking the cat’s soft fur. “Thought I was getting a girlfriend, not a freeloader.” He sighed, cursing his own gullibility. “Should’ve known better than to trust some shady website.” 

The TV droned on—a cooking show now, all bright colors and sizzling pans. He let his focus drift to it, the cat’s warmth oddly soothing despite his grumbling.

Thomas was a great cook, a skill he rarely showed off. For dinner he grilled a steak and plated it with a side of mashed potatoes, the kitchen filled with the rich scent of seared meat, 

He set Tony’s food bowl on the floor, the dog digging in eagerly. The cat, however, refused its own bowl in the corner, staring at Thomas with unblinking eyes until he relented and moved its food and water beside his plate on the small dining table. 

“Picky, aren’t you?” he said, setting the bowls down. The cat hopped up, eating daintily, completely ignoring Thomas’ steak. He snorted, cutting into his meal. 

“Guess you are obedient, in your own weird way. Just like I ordered.”

Later, after brushing his teeth and washing his face, Thomas climbed into bed, the familiar creak of the mattress grounding him. Tony leapt up instinctively, curling at his feet with a contented huff. 

Then came a soft thump from the floor—the cat, padding closer. It sprang onto the bed, landing with a quiet grace, and dropped beside Thomas’ side, tucking itself against his arm. A faint sigh escaped the cat, almost human-like, and Thomas couldn’t help but laugh. 

“You’re really taking over, huh?”

He hesitated, glancing at the cat’s orange fur. He didn’t know where it came from, whether it was vaccinated or even clean. Should he let it sleep here? But it has already settled, eyes closed, purring softly. 

“Fine,” he murmured. “I’ll change the sheets tomorrow.”

He reached down, rubbing the cat’s side absentmindedly, its warmth seeping into him. Without realizing, he drifted off with one hand curled around the cat, its small body nestled close, a quiet comfort in his otherwise empty bed.

Thomas woke up slowly, the morning light filtering through his curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. 

A weight pressed against his chest, warm and heavier than expected. His first groggy thought was the cat, that orange tabby curled up on him again. But as his senses sharpened, he realized the heaviness wasn’t just on his chest—it draped across his entire body, his legs, his sides, like something large and solid had molded itself to him. 

Not a cat. Something... human-sized.

His heart stuttered. He opened his eyes slowly, and froze once he saw the thing. 

Strands of fluffy blond hair spilled across his chest, catching the light like spun gold. Then a face came into focus, a guy, unmistakably, with long eyelashes fanned against pale cheeks and pink lips parted slightly in sleep. 

He’s pretty, breathtakingly so, in a way that made Thomas’ breath catch. In his 25 years, he’d never imagined being drawn to a man—not that he had a problem with it, it just hadn’t crossed his mind. But this guy, this stranger in his bed, was soft and warm and so strikingly beautiful that Thomas couldn’t tear his eyes away.

His hand moved on instinct, sliding down to wrap around the blond’s waist, seeking the warmth of the moment. But his fingers brushed bare skin, smooth, warm, naked skin. Thomas’ eyes widened. The guy was completely bare, pressed against him without a stitch of clothing.

He screamed, a sharp, startled yelp, bolting upright. 

The blond jolted awake, eyes flying open in panic, brown and wide like the cat’s. Tony leapt to his feet at the foot of the bed, barking in surprise, tail whipping wildly.

“Who the hell are you?” Thomas shouted, scrambling back against the headboard. “And why are you naked?!”

Chapter Text

Thomas’ heart pounded as he scrambled back against the headboard, the blanket half-tangled around his legs. “Who the hell are you?” he shouted, voice cracking. “And why are you naked?”

The blond guy blinked, startled awake, his brown eyes wide with panic. Tony barked sharply, leaping to his feet at the foot of the bed, tail whipping in confusion. 

The stranger sat up, rubbing the side of his face with his hand in a slow, deliberate motion, like a cat nuzzling into its own paw. For a fleeting moment, Thomas’ breath caught. 

The guy was—and still is—pretty. His skin was pale, almost luminescent in the morning light, and his fluffy blond hair fell in soft, messy waves. His frame was thin, delicate, but there was a warmth to him, a softness that made Thomas’ gaze linger despite the absurdity of the situation. 

And then his eyes dropped lower, to where the blanket had fallen away when he’d yelped, revealing—well, everything. The guy was completely naked, and, Thomas noted with a flush of embarrassment, entirely hairless down there.

“You ordered me, remember?” the blond said, his voice soft, almost melodic, with a faint accent Thomas couldn’t place.

Thomas blinked, his brain short-circuiting. “Huh?”

The blond’s lips curved into a small, shy smile, his long eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks. “Build a Partner? You ordered me yesterday.”

Thomas’ mouth opened, then closed. The website. The ad. The $350 he’d thrown at a scam, or so he’d thought. 

“Oh yeah, right…” he said slowly, the pieces clicking together. “I did order a… girlfriend… yesterday.”

The blond’s face shifted, his expression so innocent it was almost childlike. His lips formed a soft “o” of surprise, and his brows lifted slightly. 

“Okay…” he said quietly, tilting his head. “Do you want to return?”

“What?” Thomas’s voice came out sharper than intended.

The blond’s gaze dropped, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “Well, it seems like they sent you the wrong order. Do you want to return me?”

Thomas stared at him, his heart doing something funny in his chest. Return him? The guy was too pretty, too soft, too… something, to be returned. Those brown eyes, wide and earnest, made it impossible to even consider. 

“No!” he blurted, then winced at his own volume. “I mean, I would never! Why would I return you? It’s… it’s okay.”

His eyes flicked up, searching Thomas’ face. “You sure?”

“Yeah, definitely!” Thomas said, too quickly, his cheeks warming. 

He wasn’t sure of anything, but the thought of sending this guy—this impossibly pretty stranger—back to wherever he came from felt wrong.

The blond nodded, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “Okay, then.”

Thomas cleared his throat, suddenly hyper-aware of the situation. “Uh, hold on. You need… clothes.” 

He scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over Tony, who’d settled back down with a curious huff. He rummaged through his dresser, pulling out a soft gray sweater—way too big for the blond’s thin frame—and a pair of clean boxers. 

“Here,” he said, tossing them onto the bed. “Put these on.”

He turned around, facing the wall to give the guy some privacy, his ears burning. The rustle of fabric filled the quiet, and Thomas stared at a crack in the paint, trying not to think about how bizarre this was. A minute later, a soft voice broke the silence. 

“Done.”

Thomas turned back, and his breath hitched. The sweater hung loose on the blond, the sleeves dangling past his hands, the hem brushing his thighs. The boxers peeked out underneath, and somehow, the oversized clothes only made him look softer, more endearing. 

Thomas rubbed the back of his neck, standing awkwardly beside the bed, unsure what to do with his hands—or himself. His apartment, his routine, his life felt suddenly unmoored.

The one on bed tilted his head, his blond hair catching the light. “Aren’t you coming back to bed?” he asked, his tone casual but with a hint of curiosity, like it was the most natural question in the world.

Thomas’ heart skipped. “Oh—uh, yeah, right…” he stammered, his voice betraying his nerves. 

He climbed back onto bed, movements stiff and awkward, sliding under the covers as far from his said “partner” as he could manage without falling off. Tony, unbothered, curled back up at his feet. While the blond settled down too, closer than Thomas expected. 

Thomas lay stiffly on his side of the bed, the mattress creaking faintly under his weight as he stared at the ceiling. His heart was still racing, the absurdity of the situation—a naked stranger, now clothed in his oversized sweater, lying beside him—making his thoughts spin. 

The blond shifted, the movement subtle but deliberate, inching closer across the sheets. Thomas held his breath, hyper-aware of every rustle of fabric. Another shift, and their sides brushed, the guy’s warmth seeping through the sweater until their bodies pressed lightly together. 

Thomas froze, his nerves buzzing, unsure whether to move or stay perfectly still. He wasn’t used to this—any of it. 

Little by little, the blond curled into him, his head tucking against Thomas’ shoulder, one leg brushing against his. Instinctively, Thomas’ hand moved, sliding to rest on the guy’s waist, the soft fabric of the sweater grounding him. It was easier now that the blond was clothed, the initial shock of bare skin replaced by something softer, more manageable. 

Their bodies settled into a quiet cuddle, the guy’s warmth bleeding into Thomas’ side, steady and real. Tony, oblivious, snored softly at the foot of the bed, back in his dream journey. The only sounds were the low hum of the air conditioner and the distant honk of cars outside, faint through the closed window.

A warmth crept through Thomas, slow and unfamiliar, spreading from his chest outward. He’d never held someone like this, never felt the weight of another person against him in the quiet of his own space. It was strange, nerve-wracking, but oddly comforting, like a piece of his loneliness had been gently lifted.

The blond’s voice broke the silence, a soft whisper that barely stirred the air. “This okay?” 

His pale, long fingers traced random patterns on Thomas’ chest, light and tentative, as if testing the boundaries.

Thomas swallowed, his voice coming out awkward, a touch too loud in the quiet. “Yeah, it’s… it’s okay.” He cringed at how clumsy he sounded, but the guy didn’t seem to mind.

“What d’you want for breakfast?” the blond asked, still whispering, his tone so soft it felt like he was trying not to wake Tony. Thomas found it cute, the careful way he spoke, like they were sharing a secret.

“You cook?” Thomas asked, glancing down at him, their faces closer than he’d expected.

The blond’s lips quirked, a sheepish smile lighting his features. “No, actually. Not really.”

They both giggled, the sound muffled and quiet, a shared moment that felt fragile but warm. Without realizing it, Thomas’ arm tightened around the blond’s waist, pulling them even closer, their bodies pressed snugly together. The tension in his chest eased, the awkwardness melting into something softer, something that felt almost right.

The clock on the nightstand glowed 9:30 a.m., the soft morning light spilling through the curtains. Thomas’ stomach gave a quiet rumble, pulling him out of the warm haze of their cuddle. His cheeks warmed as he realized how close they’d been, the blond’s body pressed against his, his arm still loosely draped over the guy’s waist. 

He cleared his throat, sliding out of bed with a touch of awkwardness. “Uh, I’m gonna make breakfast,” he said, his voice low and a bit shy. “If you need more rest, you can… stay here.”

The blond shook his head, his fluffy hair bouncing slightly, and slid out of bed, the oversized sweater slipping off one shoulder. 

“I’m good,” he said softly, his voice carrying that same gentle lilt. 

He followed Thomas out of the bedroom, his bare feet padding quietly on the hardwood. Tony, tail wagging, hopped off the bed and trotted behind, forming a small, comical procession—like kids playing follow-the-leader. 

Thomas glanced back, a faint smile tugging at his lips at the sight of the blond and Tony trailing him like a pair of ducklings.

In the kitchen, Thomas poured kibble into Tony’s bowl first, the familiar clatter prompting the dog to dive in eagerly. 

He gestured to the small dining table. “You can sit, you know. I’ll handle breakfast.”

The blond nodded, settling into a chair, his long fingers fidgeting with the hem of the sweater. Thomas turned to the counter, pulling out ingredients for pancakes. He wasn’t sure why he chose pancakes—maybe because they felt warm, comforting, something he hoped the blond would like. 

He glanced over his shoulder. “Feel free to walk around, check out the place.”

The blond’s cheeks flushed faintly, his eyes dropping to the table. “Oh, yeah… I kinda did that yesterday,” he mumbled.

Thomas froze, a spatula in hand, his face heating up. “Right. Forgot you were… a cat.” The words felt ridiculous out loud, and he winced, focusing back on the batter to hide his embarrassment.

15 minutes later, they sat down to eat at the small dining table, face to face, a stack of golden pancakes between them. Thomas poured himself a mug of black coffee, while he’d warmed milk for the blond, figuring it suited him better. 

The blond cut into his pancakes, his movements careful, almost delicate. Tony sprawled nearby, licking his bowl clean.

Thomas took a sip of coffee, then set his mug down, realizing something. “I, uh… I don’t even know your name.”

The blond paused, a forkful of pancake halfway to his mouth. He looked up, brown eyes meeting Thomas’. 

“It’s Newt,” he said softly, almost shyly. “Newton, but… just Newt.”

“Newt,” Thomas repeated, testing the name. It fit, somehow, simple and warm like the guy himself. “I’m Thomas. Guess I didn’t say that either.”

They ate in quiet for a moment, the clink of forks and the hum of the fridge filling the space. Then Newt spoke, his voice tentative. “So… what d’you do? For work, I mean.”

Thomas swallowed a bite, surprised by the question. “Office stuff. Data analysis, reports, that kind of thing. It’s… not exciting. What about you? I mean, before…” He gestured vaguely, unsure how to phrase before you were a cat and then a person in my bed.

Newt’s lips quirked. “Don’t remember much, honestly. Just… here now.” He paused, then added, “I like your place, though. And Tony’s a good mate.”

Thomas chuckled, glancing at the dog, who was now snoring softly. “Yeah, he’s the best. Keeps me sane.” 

After breakfast, Thomas cleared the dishes, the clink of plates mingling with the soft hum of the apartment. He and Newt then migrated to the L-shaped couch, Tony sprawling across the floor nearby, already dozing. 

Newt settled close—really close—his side pressed against Thomas’, his warmth seeping through the oversized sweater. Thomas shifted slightly, his heart doing a nervous little flip. Does this guy have attachment issues? he wondered, half-amused, half-flustered. Newt seemed to gravitate toward him like a magnet, always glued to his side, and Thomas wasn’t sure how to feel about it. It was new, strange, but not entirely bad.

He glanced at Newt, who was idly tracing a finger along the couch’s seam, his blond hair catching the late-morning light. The question that had been burning in Thomas’ mind since he woke up finally spilled out. “Okay, what are you?”

Newt’s head tilted, his brown eyes blinking up with an innocent, confused look. “Huh?”

“I mean, what kind of… creature are you?” Thomas asked, his voice tinged with both curiosity and exasperation. “You were a cat yesterday. A cat.”

Newt’s brow furrowed, like Thomas had just asked him why the sky was blue. “I’m human,” he said simply, as if it were obvious.

Thomas leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at him. “Then why were you a cat yesterday?”

Newt’s lips quirked, a faint smile breaking through. “Eco-friendly shipping, remember? They said it on the phone.”

Thomas’ mouth opened, then closed. “Eco-friendly shipping?” he repeated, his voice rising. “What does that even mean? So you’re not a cat?”

Newt shrugged, his expression maddeningly calm. “Well, depends.”

“Depends?” Thomas’s head was spinning. “What does that mean?”

Newt giggled, a soft, musical sound that made Thomas’ frustration waver. The blond’s eyes sparkled with amusement, and for a moment, Thomas was too distracted by how unfairly pretty he was to press further. Newt’s laughter was infectious, and Thomas found himself shaking his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. He pivoted, grasping at another question to ground himself. 

“Okay, fine. Do you even have, like… real documents? An ID or something?”

Newt’s head tilted again, considering. “Yeah, that should be in the carrier,” he said casually, nodding toward the pet carrier still sitting by the door.

Thomas blinked. “You’re kidding.” 

He got up, half-expecting this to be another bizarre twist, and knelt beside the carrier. He unzipped a small side pocket he hadn’t noticed before, and there it was—a slim folder. Inside, a crisp ID card, a birth certificate, and a few other papers, all looking unnervingly official. The ID had a photo of Newt—same fluffy blond hair, same brown eyes—listing his name as Newton, age 20. 

Thomas stared at it, his jaw slack. “Holy shit,” he muttered, holding the ID up to the light like it might reveal a hidden prank. “This is… real?”

Newt giggled again. “Told you,” he said, his voice light and teasing. 

Thomas’ cheeks flushed, his heart doing that nervous flip again. “Oh, yeah…” he said awkwardly, his voice trailing off. 

Thomas sank back into the couch with Newt tucked against his side, the blond’s warmth a steady presence that both comforted and unnerved him. 

His mind was a whirlwind—yesterday, Newt was a cat; today, he was a human with a name and an ID. 

Thomas had never had a relationship, not a single date that stuck, and the idea of a boyfriend—especially one this pretty and affectionate—made his palms clammy. He wanted to be cool about it, to act like he knew how to handle this, but his stiff posture and the way he kept fidgeting with the couch cushion betrayed him.

Newt, oblivious to Thomas’ inner panic, stretched languidly, his movements fluid and cat-like, the oversized sweater slipping to reveal a sliver of pale collarbone. 

He yawned, covering his mouth with the back of his hand, then rubbed his cheek against his own shoulder in a way that reminded Thomas of the orange tabby nuzzling his hand yesterday.

“You alright?” Newt asked, his brown eyes flicking up to meet Thomas’, bright and curious. His voice was soft, but there was a vibrant spark in it.

Thomas blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, yeah. Just… processing.” He gestured vaguely between them. “This. You. The whole… not-a-cat thing.”

Newt’s lips curved into a playful smile, and he tilted his head, a strand of blond hair falling into his eyes. “Fair enough. It’s a lot, innit?” 

He shifted closer, his knee brushing Thomas’, and reached out to gently nudge Tony, who was still snoring on the floor. The dog huffed in his sleep, and Newt chuckled, a sound so warm it made Thomas’ chest ache in a way he wasn’t used to.

“So, uh,” Thomas started, his voice stiff as he tried to fill the silence. “You’re really… okay with this? Being here, I mean?”

Newt’s smile softened, and he leaned in, resting his chin on his hand like a cat curling up for a nap. “Yeah, I’m okay. More than okay.” He paused, his fingers absently tracing the edge of Thomas’ sleeve, another cat-like tic that made Thomas’ heart skip. “You seem genuinely nice, Thomas. I like that.”

Thomas’ face heated, and he ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh. Thanks.” 

He wasn’t used to compliments, especially not ones that felt so sincere. Newt’s words hit something deep, a part of him that had always wanted someone to see him, really see him, and not just pass him over for being too plain.

Newt seemed to sense his discomfort and didn’t push. Instead, he hopped up, his movements light and quick, and padded to the bookshelf. He ran his fingers along the spines of Thomas’ sci-fi novels, pausing at one with a worn cover. 

“You like sci-fi?” he asked, pulling it out and flipping it open. “Bet you read ‘em late at night with a coffee, don’t you?”

Thomas’ jaw dropped slightly. “How’d you know that?”

Newt laughed, a bright, bubbly sound. “You’re easy to read, Tommy.”

“Tommy?” Thomas echoed, his voice a mix of surprise and amusement. No one called him that except Minho, and even then, it was to tease. 

But from Newt, it felt… different. Affectionate.

Newt’s cheeks pinked, but he didn’t back down. “Yeah, Tommy suits you.” 

The morning slipped into early afternoon, the apartment bathed in soft sunlight filtering through the blinds. 

Thomas stood at the stove, the sizzle of chicken and vegetables filling the kitchen with a savory aroma. He’d decided on stir-fry for lunch—nothing fancy, but it felt right to make something warm and hearty. 

He glanced at the living room, where he’d turned on the TV for the blond to keep him occupied. 

“Hope you like documentaries,” he’d said, clicking on a nature show about ocean life before heading to cook.

Every few minutes, Thomas stole a glance over his shoulder. The blond—Newton, but he’d said to call him Newt—was sprawled on the couch, playing with Tony. 

The golden retriever was in heaven, his tail wagging furiously as he licked Newt’s face, earning a bright giggle from the blond. Newt hugged Tony close, ruffling his fur, his laughter mixing with the TV’s narration about coral reefs. 

The sight made Thomas pause. Tony had always been his best buddy, but seeing the dog so smitten with Newt, and Newt so genuinely happy, stirred something in him.

Lunch was ready soon after, and they sat at the small dining table, plates piled with steaming stir-fry—chicken, bell peppers, and rice, seasoned just right. 

Thomas took a sip of water, watching Newt dig in with an enthusiasm that caught him off guard. The blond’s eyes lit up with every bite, and he hummed happily, his shoulders swaying slightly as he chewed. He clapped his hands together softly, a quiet little gesture of delight, and looked at Thomas with a beaming smile. 

“This is bloody good,” he said, his voice warm with that faint, charming accent. “You’re a great chef, Tommy.”

Thomas’ cheeks warmed, his usual awkwardness creeping in under the praise. “It’s just stir-fry,” he mumbled, poking at his food. 

But Newt’s excitement was infectious, and he couldn’t help feeling a flicker of pride. No one had ever been this… into him, his cooking, his life. 

“You keep this up, I’m gonna get spoiled,” Newt teased, taking another enthusiastic bite, his hum turning into a soft melody. 

Thomas chuckled, shaking his head, and for a moment, the loneliness that had always shadowed him felt a little lighter.

After they finished, Newt leaned back in his chair, patting his stomach with a contented sigh. 

“Tommy?” he said, his tone softer now, almost shy. “Mind if I take a shower?”

Thomas blinked, then nodded quickly. “Yeah, of course!” 

He stood, heading to the linen closet to grab a clean towel, then ducked into his bedroom for another set of clothes—a plain white t-shirt and a fresh pair of boxers. 

“Here,” he said, handing them to Newt, who took them with a grateful smile. “Bathroom’s down the hall. Take your time.”

Newt padded off, the oversized sweater swaying as he went. Thomas heard the bathroom door click shut, followed by the faint rush of water. 

He settled back on the couch, Tony hopping up beside him, tail thumping. The TV was still on, now playing an episode of Bluey that Tony seemed to watch with rapt attention, his head tilted at the colorful dogs on screen. 

Thomas opened his laptop, figuring he’d use the quiet to check his work emails. Tomorrow is Monday, and the thought of his cubicle and spreadsheets loomed, but it felt less heavy with Newt’s laughter still echoing in his mind.

He scanned through a few messages—meeting reminders, a report due Wednesday—his fingers hovering over the keys. But his thoughts kept drifting to Newt, to the way he’d clapped over lunch, the way he’d played with Tony, the way he seemed to fit in a life that had always felt too empty. 

Thomas wasn’t used to this. It was new, overwhelming, and maybe, just maybe, exactly what he’d always wanted.

The bathroom door creaked open 20 minutes later, and Newt emerged, his damp blond hair sticking up in soft tufts, the white t-shirt Thomas had given him clinging slightly to his still-wet shoulders. The boxers hung loose on his slim frame, and he carried the towel slung over one arm, a faint scent of soap trailing behind him. 

Thomas glanced up from his laptop, his fingers pausing over an email draft, and felt his cheeks warm at the sight. Newt looked… homey. Fresh and somehow even more at home in Thomas’ space than before.

Without a word, Newt padded over to the couch and nestled close, his side pressing against Thomas’, his warmth immediate and familiar. 

Tony, who’d been sprawled beside Thomas watching Bluey, perked up instantly, abandoning his spot to hop down and nudge his head onto Newt’s lap. The guy chuckled, a soft, melodic sound, and scratched behind Tony’s ears, the dog’s tail thumping happily against the floor. 

Thomas watched them, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. They’re like best friends already, he thought, a flicker of warmth easing the usual tightness in his chest.

The afternoon stretched on, lazy and unhurried. Thomas tapped away at his laptop, replying to work emails—confirming a meeting time, flagging a report for review—while Newt stayed glued to his side, his head resting lightly on Thomas’ shoulder. 

The blond’s presence was a steady weight, comforting in a way Thomas wasn’t used to. It made his usual routine—work, emails, the hum of the TV—feel less lonely, less like a checklist to get through.

Newt, meanwhile, seemed perfectly happy to chat with Tony, his voice soft and playful. 

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” he murmured, ruffling the dog’s fur. Tony let out a low, contented woof, his head tilting as if he understood every word. “Shh, your dad’s working. We don’t want to disturb him.” Another woof, and Newt laughed, his cheek brushing Thomas’ shoulder as he leaned closer. 

Thomas glanced over, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. “You two are ridiculous,” he said, but there was no bite in it. 

He was glad—really glad—that Tony and Newt got along so well. It made the whole situation feel a little less like a fever dream. Newt’s easy affection, the way he talked to Tony like they were old mates, was exactly the kind of vibrant, warm energy Thomas had always wanted in a partner, even if he’d never dared to hope for it.

Newt’s head stayed on his shoulder, his fingers absently playing with a loose thread on the t-shirt. 

“You’re good at this,” he said suddenly, nodding toward the laptop. “Bet you’re the best at your job.”

Thomas’ cheeks flushed, “I’m… just okay,” he mumbled, eyes fixed on the screen to avoid Newt’s gaze. “It’s not that exciting.”

“Doesn’t have to be exciting to be good,” Newt said, his voice soft but firm, like he meant it. 

He shifted closer, his knee brushing Thomas’, and Thomas felt that now-familiar rush of warmth. Newt was so present, so genuinely interested in him—something no one else had ever been. It was overwhelming, but in the best way, like a door opening to a life he hadn’t known he could have.

They stayed like that for the rest of the afternoon, Newt’s head on Thomas’ shoulder, Tony’s head in Newt’s lap, the TV humming softly in the background. 

Thomas typed, Newt chatted with Tony, and the quiet rhythm of their shared space felt like something Thomas could get used to—maybe even something he’d been waiting for all along.

Chapter Text

The workday crawled by, a haze of spreadsheets and meetings under the fluorescent glow of the office. Thomas sat in the company cafeteria during his lunch break, picking at a turkey sandwich and sipping lukewarm coffee. 

Across the table, Minho and Gally were engrossed in their phones, Minho chuckling at a text from Teresa while Gally typed a quick reply to Brenda, a faint smile on his face. 

The sight stirred something in Thomas, a nagging sense that something was missing. His fingers twitched toward his own phone, then paused. 

Usually, people text their partners during lunch, right? A quick how’s your day or miss you. But he hadn’t texted anyone. 

Because Newt—his partner—didn’t have a phone.

The realization hit him like a brick. Newt had no way to reach him, no way to check in or know if Thomas would be late tonight because he didn’t have a phone. 

Guilt twisted in his chest. Newt had waited by the door with Tony yesterday, from 5:30 sharp because he told him he’ll be home by then. He’d cooked him a simple breakfast this morning, kissed Thomas’ cheek with that bright, easy smile. And Thomas hadn’t even thought to get him a phone or proper clothes. 

Thomas’ sandwich sat forgotten as he imagined Newt waiting again, those brown eyes lighting up at the sound of the key in the lock.

He was jolted from his thoughts by Minho’s voice. “Tom, you hear me? Ratman’s got us staying late tonight. Some report’s due, and he’s breathing down our necks.”

Thomas’ stomach dropped. “Tonight?” 

Janson—nicknamed Ratman for his beady eyes and twitchy demeanor—was notorious for last-minute demands, but this one stung. No shopping trip, then. No chance to make things right with Newt, who’d be waiting again, probably right by the door like yesterday. 

The thought made Thomas wince, his fingers tapping nervously on his coffee cup. Even though he knows Newt won’t be mad, it makes him feel bad for not treating the blond right.

He glanced at Minho and Gally, still tapping away at their phones, and blurted, “What do you get your girlfriends as an apology? Like, if you… messed up?”

The table went silent. Minho’s head snapped up, his sandwich frozen mid-bite. Gally’s eyebrows climbed, his phone lowering slowly. They stared at Thomas, their shock palpable. 

They knew about his “girlfriend”—he’d blurted out that lie at dinner months ago to shut Minho up—but Thomas had always been mute about his love life, which, until Newt, had been nonexistent. He’d never asked for relationship advice, never hinted at needing it. 

And now here he was, asking about an apology gift?

“Hold up,” Minho said, eyes narrowed. “Your girlfriend? The one you’ve been dodging questions about? You’re finally admitting she’s real, and now you’re in the doghouse?” He grinned, sensing a story. “What’d you do, Tommy? Stand her up? Forget a date?”

“No, it’s not like that,” he said quickly, his voice betraying his nerves. “I was just… I made a mistake and I feel bad, okay? I want to make it right.”

Gally snorted, but his expression softened. “Never thought I’d see the day.” He leaned back, folding his arms. “Flowers are a safe bet, Brenda likes roses. Or something she’s into—snacks, maybe. Shows you’re paying attention.”

Minho nodded, still eyeing Thomas like he was unraveling a mystery. “Yeah, Teresa’s big on little stuff. Get her chocolate or something sweet. But, dude, come on—what’s her deal? You’ve been so cagey about this girlfriend, and now you’re asking for advice? What’s her name? She hot?”

Thomas’ face went scarlet, Newt’s fluffy blond hair and bright smile flashing in his mind. “She’s… nice,” he mumbled, his voice stiff. “Likes my dog a lot.” 

It sounded pathetic, but it was all he could manage without explaining the cat-turned-human insanity.

“Likes your dog?” Minho’s grin widened, relentless. “You’re blushing, man. She’s got you good. Blonde? Brunette? Give us something.”

Thomas shifted, desperate to steer the conversation away. “Just… drop it, okay? I need ideas, not a quiz.” 

He couldn’t exactly say his name’s Newt, he’s a guy, he was a cat two days ago, and he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

Gally chuckled, shaking his head. “Fine, fine. Get her something personal—like a book if she reads, or take her out when we’re not stuck with ratman tonight. Just don’t piss her again, or you’ll really be in trouble.”

Thomas nodded, mentally cataloging their suggestions. Flowers, maybe, or another slice of chocolate cake he bought him yesterday. Something to apologize for the wait, for not thinking about a phone or clothes sooner. 

Thomas hunched over his cubicle desk, the glow of his computer screen burning his eyes as he typed furiously at a report that refused to cooperate. The office was quieter now, most of his colleagues gone, but the weight of the day pressed heavier than ever. 

Just after 6 p.m., Janson—Ratman himself—had loomed over his desk, his nasal voice announcing that the team needed to stay until at least 9 to wrap up an urgent report. 

He hadn’t even tell Newt that he’ll be home late again tonight—not that he could, with no phone for the blond. 

Around 7:30, Gally appeared at the edge of Thomas’ cubicle, leaning against the partition with a curious look. 

“So, this girlfriend of yours,” he started, his tone casual but pointed. “You bringing her to Friday’s dinner right? Minho’s been dying to meet her, and I’m not gonna lie, I’m kinda curious too.”

“Uh, maybe?” he mumbled, his voice stiff. 

He hadn’t thought that far ahead—introducing Newt to his friends was a whole new level of terrifying, especially when he could barely explain Newt to himself. 

“She’s… busy sometimes,” he added, wincing at how weak the excuse sounded.

Gally raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You said that last time. Come on, Tom, you’ve been dodging us forever. Bring her. Brenda and Teresa’ll be there, it won’t be weird.”

Before Thomas could respond, Minho popped up behind Gally, a grin plastered across his face. “Yeah, Tommy, no more excuses. Or are you screwing up already?”

Thomas groaned, rubbing his temples. “I’m not screwing up,” he said, his voice sharper than intended. “I was just late yesterday, okay? And now I’m stuck here, and… she’s probably waiting, and—” He cut himself off, realizing he’d said too much. Minho’s eyes lit up, sensing blood in the water.

“Oh, she’s that kind of girlfriend,” Minho teased, leaning over the cubicle wall. 

“Drop it, Minho,” Thomas muttered, his cheeks burning as he focused on his screen. But his mind was on Newt. 

The blond was everything Thomas had ever wanted, even if he’d never known how to ask for it, and the thought of him waiting alone again made Thomas’ fingers type faster, desperate to finish.

Gally and Minho kept circling back, tossing questions and teasing jabs between their own work, but Thomas barely registered them, his stress mounting as the clock ticked closer to 9. 

Finally, at 8:40, he hit save on the report, emailed it to Janson, and bolted from his chair, grabbing his briefcase and jacket. He was out the door before Minho could get another word in.

The streets were dark as Thomas sped toward home, his heart racing with urgency. He stopped at a florist near his apartment, its neon sign flickering as the staff mopped the floor. The clock read 8:55—five minutes until closing. Thomas practically threw himself at the counter, breathless. 

“Please, I need a bouquet,” he said, his voice edging on a plea. “Something simple, for an apology.”

The older woman behind the counter gave him a grumpy look but sighed and nodded. “Fine, give me a minute,” she muttered, grabbing a handful of white daisies and soft pink roses, wrapping them in brown paper with a quick, practiced hand. 

Thomas thanked her profusely, shoving cash across the counter, and darted out.

One more stop—a 24-hour diner a block away. He ordered a cream soup to go, something warm and comforting, hoping Newt would like it. The plastic container was hot in his hands as he climbed back into his car, pushing the speed limit as much as he dared. 

Please don’t be waiting by the door, he thought, the image of Newt and Tony standing there for hours gnawing at him.

He pulled into his building’s lot just past 9:30, his heart pounded as he pushed open the apartment door, bracing for the sight of Newt and Tony standing eagerly by the entrance like yesterday. 

He let out a soft breath of relief when he saw Newt curled up on the couch, fast asleep, his blond hair messy against the cushions. Tony was nestled against his stomach, a golden ball of fur, but the dog’s head shot up at the sound of the door, his tail thumping as he leapt to his feet and bounded over with a happy bark.

The noise woke Newt, his head jerking up, brown eyes bleary but brightening as they landed on Thomas. 

“Hi,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep as he stretched. He padded over slowly, rubbing one eye with the back of his hand.

Thomas smiled, warmth spreading through his chest despite the long day. Before he could say anything, Newt closed the distance, wrapping his arms around Thomas’ neck and draping himself against him, his body soft and warm. 

Thomas’ right hand, still clutching the bouquet, instinctively slid to Newt’s lower back, steadying them both as he returned the hug. Tony barked loudly, circling them with an excited wiggle.

“Sorry,” Thomas said, his voice low as he rubbed Newt’s lower back, the motion almost natural now. “Work ran late, I had to stay till 9. I didn’t mean to make you wait so long.”

Newt sighed happily, leaning into the touch, his cheek pressed against Thomas’ shoulder. 

“S’okay,” he murmured, his accent soft and sleepy. “Just glad you’re home, Tommy.” His words were so earnest, so unguarded, that Thomas’ heart did a funny little flip.

Thomas pulled back slightly, holding up the bouquet with a sheepish grin. “Got you this. To, uh, say sorry.”

Newt’s eyes widened, his sleepy haze vanishing as he took the bouquet, fingers brushing the delicate petals of the daisies and roses. 

“For me?” he said, his voice rising with delight, his face glowing like he’d been handed a treasure. “Tommy, they’re beautiful!” He launched himself into another hug, nearly knocking Thomas off balance, the bouquet crinkling between them. “Thank you, thank you—I love them so much!”

Thomas laughed, his arms wrapping around Newt again. After two nights of Newt’s cuddly affection—sleeping curled against him, kissing his cheek, practically glued himself to Thomas—he was starting to get used to it. 

“You’re welcome,” he said, his voice softer now. “Figured I owed you.”

They moved to the kitchen, Newt clutching the bouquet like a prize as he set it on the counter. Thomas opened the soup container, the creamy aroma filling the small space. 

“Got this too,” he said, grabbing a single bowl from the cabinet. “Cream soup. Thought you might like it.”

Newt’s eyes lit up again, and he slid into a chair at the dining table, Tony settling calmly at his side. 

“We’re sharing, yeah?” Newt said, his tone insistent but playful. “One bowl’s enough.”

Thomas hesitated, but then nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. “Alright, together it is.” 

He set the bowl between them, handing Newt a spoon. They ate from the same bowl, their spoons clinking softly, and Newt hummed with every bite, his shoulders wiggling in a happy little dance. 

“This is bloody comforting,” he said, licking a bit of soup from his lip. “You’re spoiling me, Tommy.”

Thomas chuckled, his face warming. “I’m glad I did.” 

As they ate, Newt leaned forward, his elbow on the table, chin propped on his hand. 

“Today was fun,” he said, his voice bright despite his earlier sleepiness. “I watched a couple movies—Star Wars, then Bluey. Played with him a bit, chased him round the living room.” He reached down, rubbing Tony’s head, and the dog leaned into the touch. “I also rearranged your kitchen shelf out of boredom. Looks better now, I think.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow, glancing at the counter where his spices and jars were indeed neatly lined up, more organized than he’d ever bothered to make them. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said, but there was no real protest in his voice. Newt’s energy, his need to tinker and make himself at home, was oddly endearing.

“S’fine,” Newt said, grinning. “Kept me busy till you got home.” He gave Tony another head rub, his fingers moving in lazy circles, and the dog sighed contentedly, eyes half-closed.

When the soup was gone, Thomas stood, stretching his aching shoulders. 

“I’m gonna take a quick shower,” he said, glancing at Newt. “You, uh… wanna wait for me in the bedroom after you’re done?”

Newt nodded, his smile soft but eager. “Yeah, I’ll be there.” He scooped up the bouquet, holding it close as he headed to the bedroom with Tony trailing behind.

Thomas lingered for a moment, watching them, the flowers bright against Newt’s chest, Tony’s tail still wagging faintly. The apartment felt fuller, warmer, like it was finally a home instead of just a place. 

Thomas stepped out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later, steam trailing behind him, his hair damp and a clean t-shirt clinging to his shoulders. 

The apartment was quiet, the only sounds were the faint hum of the fridge and the distant murmur of traffic outside. He padded down the hall to the bedroom, pushing the door open. A soft smile spread across his face. 

Newt was sitting on the bed, legs crossed, his blond hair a tousled mess. Tony was curled up beside him, head nestled against Newt’s thigh, tail twitching faintly in sleep. Newt’s fingers absently ruffled the dog’s fur, his expression soft but tired, brown eyes half-lidded in the dim lamplight.

Thomas climbed onto the bed, settling beside Newt, the mattress dipping under his weight. He pulled his knees up, mirroring Newt’s position, and felt a flicker of ease. 

They were getting better at this—sharing space, settling into each other’s presence, even if Thomas’ inexperience made every touch feel like a leap. But as he leaned back against the headboard, he noticed Newt’s hands move to his own calf, kneading it with a small wince.

“You okay?” Thomas asked, his brow furrowing. “Did you hurt your leg?”

Newt glanced up, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “S’fine… just a bit sore.” He hesitated, then added, his voice quieter, “I was standing by the door with Tony from 5 until… maybe 7? But then got tired and gave up, ended up napping on the couch.”

“Seven?” he repeated, his voice soft with regret. “You were waiting that long?” 

The image of Newt and Tony standing by the door for two hours only to give up because his legs ached, made Thomas’ chest tighten. 

Newt had been so happy to see him, bouquet or no bouquet, and Thomas had left him waiting again.

“S’not a big deal, really…” Newt said, his tone light but his eyes tired. He rubbed his calf again, then leaned back, resting his head on the pillow next to Tony, who let out a soft snuffle in his sleep.

Thomas didn’t think twice. He shifted closer, reaching for Newt’s leg with careful hands. 

“Here, let me,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. His fingers pressed into Newt’s calf, kneading slowly, feeling the tight muscle under his touch. “Does it hurt a lot?”

Newt sighed, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “Not really, just stiff. It feels nice, though.” His voice was soft, he relaxed into the touch, his body sinking deeper into the bed.

They fell into an easy rhythm, Thomas’ hands working gently while Newt’s breathing slowed, the room quiet except for Tony’s faint snores. 

It was domestic, intimate in a way that made Thomas’s heart race, but he was getting used to it—the way Newt fit into his life, all warmth and quiet vibrance.

“I was thinking,” Thomas said, his voice low, “I should get you a phone. So we can text when I’m at work. You know, so you’re not stuck wondering when I’ll be home.”

Newt’s eyes opened, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “Tommy, you don’t have to. I’m fine without one.” He tilted his head, his expression softening. “I don’t want you spending too much on me.”

Thomas shook his head, his hands pausing on Newt’s calf. “No, I want to. You need a way to reach me, and… I want to hear from you, too.” He blushed, the words feeling bold, but Newt’s smile—small and genuine—made it worth it.

“Alright, if you insist,” Newt said, his tone warm. “But I’m okay with just waiting for you. Me and Tony, we’re a good team.” He reached down, giving Tony’s head a gentle rub, and the dog’s tail twitched in his sleep.

They talked a bit more, their voices soft in the lamplight. Thomas shared bits of his day—the overtime, Ratman’s nagging, Minho’s relentless teasing about his “girlfriend.” 

Newt listened, his eyes bright despite his tiredness, asking little questions like “Minho sounds like a handful, yeah?” and chuckling at Thomas’ exasperated nods. 

It was easy, comfortable.

But as Thomas kept talking, his hands still gently massaging Newt’s leg, he heard a soft sound—a faint, breathy snore, more like a sleepy exhale. 

He glanced over, and his heart melted. Newt had fallen asleep, his head tilted against the pillow, lips slightly parted, one hand still resting on Tony’s fur. The dog was out too, curled tightly against Newt’s side, his snores a quiet echo of Newt’s. 

They looked so peaceful, so perfectly at home, that Thomas couldn’t help but smile.

Carefully, he pulled the blanket up, tucking it around Newt’s shoulders, making sure it covered Tony’s body too. He reached over, switching off the bedside lamp, the room plunging into a soft, moonlit glow. 

Leaning down, he pressed a gentle kiss to Tony’s head, whispering, “Night, buddy.” Then, hesitating only a moment, he brushed a soft kiss against Newt’s forehead, then his cheek, the blond’s skin warm and smooth under his lips. He lingered, savoring the quiet thrill of it, knowing Newt was asleep and wouldn’t see his flushed cheeks. 

“Night,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

Thomas settled beside Newt, the bed warm with their shared presence. As he closed his eyes, the weight of the day faded, replaced by the soft rhythm of Newt’s breathing and Tony’s snores.