T w o

                                    

                                          
Newt:
My eyelids slowly snapped open, the spotless whiteness of the roof being the only thing in my eyesight, my nose dangerously close to the concrete. I feebly yawned, remembering I was currently lying down on Minho's highest bunk — I heard his soft, breathy snores under me, which conveyed the alarm hadn't gone off yet, so I had a few quiet minutes to quickly review my arduous journey, and the events following it. I didn't quite have the time to relax at any moment since my arrival, because Minho's mom ordered a full table of Asian food and we stayed chatting about all evening — once over, my last batch of energy went to brush my teeth and tucking myself into the silky sheets, neatly set up by Mrs. Lee. I was so exhausted that I fell into a deep sleep as soon my head plunged into the pillow, regardless of Minho's surprisingly loud sleeptalking.
I was in America. Despite my ceaseless bad luck and the endless series of unfortunate occurrences, I had managed to get safe and sound all by myself, with anyone's help. Well, maybe I had got a tiny assistance escorting my luggage from someone, a really attractive someone called Thomas. 
No. Newt, quit yapping. That's absolute nonsense. I had made a promise to myself — the most important kind of promise — that I wouldn't fancy anyone else for a while, for the sake of my heart; and even less in a trip, because if something were to happen, it would come to an end with a long-distance relationship, and I hated those, sincerely.
In any case, whether or not there was any chance that I'd developed a crush on Tommy — which was highly unlikely — I could just live with it for the next months, I have done that before, yep. I'm good at pretending.
Snapping me out of my increasingly depressing reflections, Minho's alarm went off with an infuriating beeping, he immediately sprung up, bonking his head on my bunk. "Ouch!" he exclaimed, pulling away in pain.
"Shuck! Minho are you okay?" I asked, sitting up in my own bed, careful to not mimic his accident.
"Every. Single. Time," he mumbled with genuine annoyance. I frowned at his legs dangling off the edge of his mattress and pursed my lips, climbing down the stairs.
Once I landed on the wooden floor, I gave Minho a quick glance; he was rubbing his whacked head, his face puffy due to a good night's sleep, or the strength of the bang. As undeniably funny as he looked, I was too tired to laugh at him, so I just dragged my feet to the bathroom and sluggishly started to get ready.
After mustering up the courage to undress in the chilly room, I took a quick shower, instantly feeling refreshed, like my tiredness had dripped away with the warm water. As I was running out of time, I hastily picked up the first clothes I saw in my suitcase, which I hadn't unpacked yet. I grabbed a pair of black jeans and a button-up shirt, and considering the cold weather outside, I put on the only jacket I had brought with me, a brown leather one with soft and warm sheepskin lining on the inside.
Minho, on the other hand, seemed to have woken up in a bad mood, so I didn't disturb him much as he got ready at his own pace. After finishing a rushed breakfast — scrambled eggs and bacon crowding our stomachs — his usual charm regressed, disturbing the silence I had gotten the time to adore, and after getting Minho's old backpack, we headed to his car. "Hop on," he said, slapping the passenger's seat. "We have to go and get Thomas now."
As soon as his name was mentioned, I felt a sudden rush of excitement mixed with a tickling sense of burning anticipation. I quickly clenched my stomach and swiftly continued walking. "Should I sit in the back?" I cautiously asked, trying to keep my voice down so as not to reveal my sheepishness. "Since I figured Tommy usually sits in the front."
Minho scrunched his face, showing his teeth in a twisted grimace. "No, Tommy," he mocked, making me roll my eyes in embarrassment. "I rather drive with you by my side, I'm getting tired of that shank's ugly face."