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Thomas never missed his morning jog, for two reasons. First, he liked to keep his body fit and healthy, and second, because it felt good following closely the same routine each day, it helped him keep his mind clear. Right, maybe there was a third motivation to his morning jogs. Or, at least, to why he chose to run in a neighbourhood that was at the other end of the city, extending his course by at least a mile. His friends would laugh at him for being so soft and choose a route only because it passed along a very pretty balcony covered with flowers.
But he couldn’t help himself the first time he saw it, still sweaty from the run he had just performed. The balcony was worth all the greenhouses he ever visited in his life. Not that Thomas was an expert in gardening, and probably the flowers growing by the window weren’t this exceptional, but Thomas could tell just by looking at it from down the street, how much the person who was taking care of the plants loved it. The whole balcony radiated love and care, and Thomas simply fell in love with that feeling. Every morning, he would wonder who could throw so much love and attention in gardening. Sometimes he imagined an old lady, watering each and every one of her plants in slow but experienced movements. Some other days, it was a little girl in his mind, learning about gardening and loving every moment of it. And, yes, when he felt bold and liked to dream crazy scenarios, he was picturing a boy, around his age, picking at every flower in such a handsome yet caring way.
And one day, about three months before he first spotted the garden, he saw him, the man from the balcony. He was a dirty-blond boy around Thomas’ age, just like the runner had ever dreamed, yet prettier than he could ever have imagined. Every morning, he would kneel by his plants, taking care of his garden with such attention, that Thomas could only watch in awe at how adorable he looked. He immediately fell for the blond, admiring his every movement. After his jog, on his way back, he would stop by the house, and observe the boy gardening on his balcony. Oh, how Thomas wished someone could care about him the way the boy cared about his flowers. But of course, the blond never noticed him, he was so focused on his garden, he never turned to see what happened in the street, where Thomas was.
In a way, Thomas was grateful the gardener never noticed him because he was terrified to ever talk to him. He felt like the blond was so much better than him, at everything. He was better-looking, looked more mature, smarter and the list could go on and on. Not that Thomas had such a low self-esteem, but he spent too much time looking up to the mysterious boy – both figuratively and literally- to ever be able to compare himself to the blond. He found his name on the letter box one day – Newt. A bit unusual, but original, Thomas thought. He decided he liked it, because that suited the man pretty well.
Part of him was dying to be able to talk to Newt, but another part was perfectly fine with just looking at him every morning, in fear of making a fool of himself if they ever met.
He had tried to learn more about gardening, however. At the bookshop he worked at, he had purchased almost every book they had on plants, flowers, and gardening. Teresa, his co-worker, had made so much fun when she realized that he spent his nights trying to remember periods of plantation for different species and other useless informations when one didn’t own a garden. She had even bought him a shrub of petunias, as to make him at least apply what he was learning. The flowers died in less in a month. Thomas had had yet to read the chapter on pot flowers, in his defence. Not that it would have helped so much anyway. He had to admit, he wasn’t a gardener, he was more of a runner, a man of action. He loved books, indeed, but he spent the rest of his free doing sports, staying fit, and going on adventurous trips, most of the time with Teresa.
His next move, however, had been Teresa’s idea. She was tired of hearing him rambling about “the blond angel with a pretty name and his heavenly garden”, and because Thomas wouldn’t take a step forward and go talk to him, she decided to make him do something in between. Something that could also make him use all his new acquired knowledge on plants and gardening. Every morning, on his way back from his jog, as he passed the balcony for the second time, he would drop some flower seeds, or a gardening tool that he had noticed Newt needed, by his door. The blond could never see him, as he knew that at that time he was focused on his plants on the balcony. It was a wonderful idea from Teresa. Thomas felt as sharing a very special something as he watched the boy growing the seeds he had given him, using the clippers he had dropped a few days ago by his door. It was like he could play a little part in whatever sacred task Newt was accomplishing in his garden, and that made him happy.
Some days, when he felt bold, he would leave a note with his package, a few words wishing Newt a good day, giving further instructions regarding the present, or complimenting him on his garden. He always signed with “Tommy”, because no one ever called him that, so there was even less chance for Newt to ever find him, yet not impossible. A little clue he left of his presence, every morning, another special tie between them.
It was only eight thirty on the morning when Newt woke up, but the sun was already shining through the curtains of his bedroom window, and he had always been a morning person. As every morning, he went first to the kitchen and fixed himself a large cup of tea. Typical breakfast British tea, of course. Stretching himself, he walked up to his balcony, where he kept most of his plants, and started his gardening routine.
The boy was quite proud of it. He had bought the flat mainly for this reason, despite it being slightly over his initial budget. He just wanted a large balcony, somewhere he could take care of all his plants, grow his favourite flowers and sit down on the makeshift sofa between them, feeling good and safe. This was his own version of a Safe Haven, and he wouldn’t change it for anything. When the weather allowed it, he would bring his computer there, and spend the day working on his novel, surrounded by his plants.
To sum it up, Newt was crazy about tea, books and flowers.
Newt kneeled next to a shrub of hyacinths that critically needed his attention. April’s sun was unusually too strong for them, and Newt had tried everything to protect them, changing their spot on the balcony every now and then, trying to shadow them as best as he could. With expert eyes, he looked at the flowers, inspecting their petals, stems, every part of them, only to come to the conclusion that those bulbs were simply having a bad year, so all he had left to do was cutting off the foliage from the stem if he ever wanted them to grow bulbs for next year. With a sigh, Newt got up to grab his clippers from the kitchen. He felt sad to do so, even though he knew cutting the flowers wasn’t killing the plant at all, quite the opposite actually, as it allowed it to grow better looking flowers the following season. But those hyacinths were the first gift he received from his mysterious admirer, whoever he was. To Newt, they were a witness to the special connection he felt with that person.
The first time he had received a gift, he wasn’t even the one to pick it up. Minho, Newt’s best friend, had come to give him a visit early in the morning, and showed him the parcel that had been left before his door. On top of it was a yellow note, with “I hope you can make them grow into beautiful flowers, just like every plant you ever touch – Tommy”. They had spent the morning with Minho trying to figure out who could be “Tommy” and why he would ever want to see him grow hyacinths in his garden. He had even asked his neighbour, thinking that maybe the package had been delivered at the wrong address. In vain. And then, every morning, the packages kept coming, with various gifts inside. Sometimes flower seeds, sometimes actual roots, other times garden tools he was precisely lacking. It was like that mysterious Tommy knew him and could read in his mind. But, of course, they had never been able to match the name with a face, and as of this day, Newt was as clueless as Day 1. He eventually started using the gifts, planting the seeds he was offered, making use of the tools he received, and pinning every note on the fridge door, hoping to meet the guy one day, if only to thank him.
Thomas was leaning on the counter, silently reading a book in the bookshop he was working at, while Teresa was working, organizing shelves in the shop, and humming to the soft music that was being played by the speakers. It was a quiet day, in the middle of the week, and they didn’t have many customers.
Suddenly, the bell rang, and someone started making his way towards Thomas. He sighed and put his book to the side, looking up. He almost gasped: right before him stood Newt. Newt. His Newt. The boy he had been watching from afar for months, now standing just before him.
“N-Newt” Thomas stuttered, not believing his eyes. What was he doing here?
The blond turned to him, a very surprised look in his eyes. “Hi. You know my name?” he wondered as he approached the counter.
That’s when Thomas realized his mistake. And, of course, given his lack of brain activity in such awkward situations, he tried to make up for it in an even more stupid way.
“Your name?” he asked, rubbing his neck. “Huh, no. No, no, no. No idea what it could be. I was just telling Teresa how, in my opinion, newts are very cute lizards. I believe. Don’t you think?” He immediately shut himself, before he started rambling about newts and lizards and cuteness, which would drive him in a much too dangerous road.
“Okay, whatever.” the blond said as he gave him a strange look, looking around him, as if searching who and where that Teresa girl could be.
There was an awkward silence as Thomas was staring at Newt, in total admiration. It was one thing to observe him gardening from the street, but to be able to see him from this close was a totally different experience, and Thomas could not get enough of it. It was like the boy was absolutely flawless, which was a stupid thought, as Thomas knew perfectly well that nobody was. Still, he couldn’t make out anything wrong on that perfect skin which colour married so well with the dirty blond hair and pink lips, highlighting those wonderful, big, deep brown eyes, which were currently looking at him expectantly.
“Huh, sorry… Can I help you?” he suddenly said in his best customer voice, looking down, a bit ashamed to be caught staring.
“Actually, yes.” The blond chuckled and rolled his eyes at how cute and awkward the brunet in front of him was being. “Could you help me find these books?” He showed him a list of books about – how surprising! - gardening, and Thomas immediately went to grab them for him. He met Teresa on his way.
“He’s here!” he whispered as he walked behind her, panic written everywhere on his face.
“Who? Santa Claus?”
“No!” he answered, rolling his eyes, “that’s much worse! It’s Newt!”
“Oh. Can I see him?” Teresa asked. And Thomas knew that with that excited look in her eyes, there was no way she was going to do anything that could help him in this situation.
“No! But tell me what I should do?”
“Nothing! Since you don’t want to tell him. Just act naturally. And try not to make a fool of yourself, for once.”
“I’m afraid that last warning comes a little too late…”
She sighed, “Why am I not surprised?”. She then went back to her work, leaving Thomas to walk back to Newt with all his books.
“Here they are.” He tried to announce in the most normal voice he was capable of. “Would you like to buy them?”
“Yes, please” the blond answered as he searched his pockets for his wallet.
“So, you like gardening too?” Newt enquired, glancing at a book that Thomas was keeping on the counter, entitled Life in the garden, by Penelope Lively. The truth was, Thomas kept this book here because it was about to be Newt’s next present, that he had yet to wrap up. But, of course, explaining this to the blond wasn’t an option.
“Huh, Y-yes. I’m… I’m trying to grow one but- “he stuttered.
“But he is a pain when it comes to taking care of a plant, so they all die before he gets the chance to remember their name” a feminine voice announced from behind them. Teresa. Of course, she couldn’t keep it to herself and just had to come embarrass Thomas.
Newt just laughed and started packing his books.
“Thank you. I guess I’ll see you again some time… Thomas” he said with a wink, them left the shop.
“How… how does he even know my name?” the brunet asked, dumbfounded, his cheeks as red as the ladybug on the cover of the gardening book on the counter.
“Your name-tag, stupid.” Teresa laughed as she rolled her eyes, getting back to work.
Newt woke up at eight the next morning, as usual. He brought his cup of tea to the balcony, and once again started taking care of his plants, not noticing the brunet who had just left his present to the door and was now observing him from a bench in the street, still sweaty from his previous jog. Not that Thomas had left his mind once in the day. Somehow, Newt couldn’t help but feel like the boy was familiar to him, like he should recognize him from somewhere, but he had spent the night trying to remember and nothing would come to his mind. It didn’t help that Thomas was pretty cute, too, with his adorable dimples and pink fluttered cheeks when he was smiling or staring all awkwardly. Newt continued humming to himself while watering a patch of white roses next to the window, a wide smile stuck on his face, as he remembered once again the cute brunet who kept stuttering in the bookstore.
Half an hour later, as he finished his morning task, he got up to take a shower. As he walked beside his door, he opened it to pick up his usual gift from the mysterious admirer. “Tommy” usually left it at this time before his door, with or without a note. With that information, Newt could just open the door around that time to find out who the boy was. But to tell the truth, Newt wasn’t a curious person, and he preferred to keep his mysterious admirer, mysterious. After all, it was up to Tommy to reveal who he was. If the boy preferred to stay anonymous, then Newt didn’t want to push him, even though he was dying to meet him in person.
Newt finally opened the door and kneeled to take the small parcel waiting on the floor, carefully wrapped-up. He took it back to the kitchen, as he read the note. “Hope that it will be able to help you with those white roses by the window. It’d be a shame to let them die. Xxxx, Tommy.” Newt smiled. Whoever “Tommy” was, he really knew what he needed for his garden, and was always a great help. He opened the present. It was a book, Life in the garden, by Penelope Lively. Funny, he thought, I was just talking about it with -.
Newt got up from his chair, eyes fixed on the book. Thomas. I was just talking about it with Thomas. Tommy.
His guess was a bit crazy, given that he had just met the guy the day before, and there could be a thousand more Thomas in the town, but it somehow made sense. How many Thomas would there be, who would be in possession of the very book he would receive the next day and would know his own name even though they were total strangers. Or were they? Newt wasn’t so sure now. That would also explain that feeling of familiarity he had felt all day long when he thought of the brunet, and also why the boy had been so nervous.
It explained a lot of things, but Newt could still be wrong. He hoped he wasn’t though, the brunet was, indeed, really cute. Not to mention that the gesture was absolutely adorable, he thought, looking at the collection of yellow notes signed “Tommy” on his fridge.
He had spent the rest of the day pondering the situation. Should he go for it or should he wait for more hints? It awfully sounded like that 80s song by The Clash that his mother was obsessed with, and his head was threatening to burst any moment. When he mentioned his struggle to Minho, the Asian had just laughed like Newt was the most stupid human being on the planet, grabbed his jacket, and told him he would come back when the blond would come back to reason.
“But Minho! What am I supposed to do?”
“Well, open the bloody door, obviously!” he answered in a mocked British accent before effectively leaving, rolling his eyes.
“As if that was this simple. It doesn’t even make sense.” Newt sighed as he went to his balcony, trying to calm his nerves.
But after a few minutes, he sat back down on his cough, eyes wide, only to realize that, yes, it was this simple. Tommy had spent months trying to approach him, maybe it was time for him to make a move. This situation is bloody bonkers, he thought for the millionth time this day.
Thomas woke up the next day as his alarm went off at exactly seven, just like every morning. He, however, was exhausted. He couldn’t sleep last night, as he was just replaying his encounter with Newt two days ago at the bookshop. He couldn’t get this deep voice and charming British accent out of his head. He was dying to meet the blond again, to be able to stare at his face from this close once again, to count all the faded freckles around his nose, barely noticeable, or admire the complexity of his deep brown eyes. This is unhealthy to be obsessed with a person like this, pure and simple, he thought again. But there was no point, he just couldn’t get the guy out of his mind. He felt stupid that he wasn’t able to approach him like any human being would, that he just had to admire him like he was a deity from under his balcony and drop packages every morning on his door as the only sign of his existence. In a way, meeting Newt at the bookshop had made this whole situation much more real to his eyes.
What a creep, he thought over and over again. He had been repeating this to himself all night long, but as much as he searched his mind for a solution, he couldn’t find one. Of course, he could always just knock on Newt’s door and explain everything, like Teresa had suggested about a thousand times already, but he refused to even consider this situation. He would just think I’m a creep, the biggest weirdo on Earth, who likes to spy on people and offer them creepy presents with creepy notes giving them creepy orders. What on earth was I thinking??? The thought of meeting Newt again, in that light, terrified him. As much as he wanted to meet the British boy again, he just couldn’t bare Newt to look at him for who he was.
He could also just stop everything, take another route for his morning jog, and try to move on. That was the reasonable solution, of course, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do so either. You don’t meet someone like that more than once in your life, he told himself. The blond was so caring, so beautiful, so considerate towards everything in his life. Thomas truly admired him, and he didn’t want to simply cut him out of his life, as much as he was starting to regret his choice of methods when it came to deal with crushes.
With another huge sigh, Thomas got up and made his way to the pile of clothes on his desk, next to a brown package with a sticky note. Until he could come up with a solution for this situation, he would just continue. Deep down, Thomas hoped that it could get him somewhere, somehow. There was this tiny chance that Newt could have figured things out, maybe, or that God had had pity on him and some miracle would happen, whatever it was. As much as the perspective of Newt understanding the situation on his own terrified him, at least that meant some change to a situation Thomas was now terrified with.
So, he changed into his sports clothes, grabbed the plant he had brought a week ago, and got out of the apartment.
Half an hour later, he arrived by Newt’s door, sweaty and extremely nervous. He quickly dropped the present on the floor, with the note attached to it. He felt stupid about the notes, now. Probably Newt didn’t even read them anymore. He would take the flowers because, as sweet as he was, he was not someone to let a plant die because he was upset, but the notes without a doubt went straight to the trash.
He was about to leave hastily, when something new caught his eye on the door. There, planted in the middle of the white wooden door, was a yellow sticky note, identical to the ones Thomas used for his presents. Identical to the one that was currently sitting on the package he had just dropped, same ink, same size, same colour. The writing was different, however, and it said “What about you try your chance and enter for once, Tommy? I promise I don’t bite. Xxxx Newt.”
That was a change in the situation, indeed. So, Thomas took his chance, and turned the doorknob with a sweaty palm, just before realizing that maybe he should have knocked beforehand.
As soon as the door opened, he was met by the sight of Newt, nonchalantly leaned against the counter of his kitchen, arms crossed over his chest, and smirk attached to his lips, apparently waiting for him.
Thomas was too stunned to notice that the smirk on the blond's lips was mixed with a genuine smile, as Newt was just happy to finally meet him, and that the mysterious “Tommy” ended up being indeed, the insanely cute and awkward employee of the bookshop he met two days ago.
“I swear I don’t bite, Tommy.” Newt finally said when Thomas would just stand by the door, staring at him in awe. “You can move closer, you know.” He added after a few seconds of silence.
Thomas finally got his senses together and gave a nervous chuckle. He walked to Newt, scratching the back of his neck. He felt so nervous that Newt might have initiated this just to tell him to stop, or to call him out as a stalker, or –
“Hell, I would never have thought you’d be this awkward, since you went out of your way for months just to– “
“Yeah, about that…” Thomas cut him off, not wanting to hear from that beautiful accent how much of a creep and a stalker he was. Newt raised an eyebrow expectantly. “Well I’m sorry if that made you feel embarrassed, I just thought you looked so caring and adorable on your balcony every morning and I wanted to do something nice for you, but it ended up being very awkward and creepy, and I’m just going to shut up now because you’re giving me a very strange look and I’m only embarrassing myself now.”
A small silence fell in the room. Thomas was probably so red he looked sick, while Newt was giving him the fondest look he was capable of.
“Don’t be a twat about it” he finally sighed. “I did enjoy the presents, you know?” Thomas didn’t dare look at him, even less answer that.
“Do you drink tea, Tommy?” Newt then asked, walking towards the sink.
“Hum, yes. Why?” Thomas couldn’t have looked more surprise by the change of subject.
“I guess we have a lot to talk about, don’t we? Also, because I get the feeling you really need to relax, love.” The nickname left his lips before he could even realize that he had been saying, but the adorable smile it brought on Thomas’ lips stopped him from regretting anything.
While Newt was infusing the kettle, Thomas looked around him, only to find the refrigerator covered with yellow sticky notes, filled with his writing, and organized in chronological order. He didn’t throw them away at all, he thought, amazed.
He turned to a slightly flustered Newt, a questioning look on his face. But the blond just winked at Thomas. “That’s for the kids, when they’ll ask how we met.”
“Isn’t that moving a bit fast?” The brunet asked in disbelief.
“I don’t know, Tommy, is it?” Newt shrugged and carried the two cups to the living room where Thomas followed him, both smiling like idiots.