Chapter Text
His lighter didn’t work. It sparked as he spun the wheel, but the flame wouldn’t hold, and if that wasn’t the shittiest ending to the shittiest day of his shitty life, he didn’t know what was.
Minho chucked the lighter into the lake, a little pissed that it didn’t make a louder sound as it plunged into the water.
“You know litterin’ is against camp rules.”
Minho spun around, his heart picking up pace from the sudden voice.
The moonlight made the boy’s pale complexion and blond hair glow a blue-white. He was tall, wearing a black hooded sweatshirt, and Minho vaguely recognized him as one of his cabin mates, though he didn’t remember his name.
Too late, he hid the cigarette behind his back. The boy’s eyes followed his movement, and he raised an eyebrow.
“Illicit substances are against the rules too,” the boy said, taking a step toward Minho, his shoes squelching into he mud of the lakeshore. He had an accent, British or something. Minho liked it. “So’s being out of cabin at two bloody AM.”
Minho stopped trying to hide the cigarette, and fiddled with it, tempted to let it follow the lighter to a watery grave.
But he only had two packs to get him through the summer, and he couldn’t find the willpower to let it go, even if it was hopeless without a lighter. Maybe he could get his hands on a magnifying glass and try to light it with sunlight. There had to be at least one deranged kid who liked torturing animals here.
“Gonna rat on me?” he said. He wanted to sound more threatening than he did, but it wasn’t coming. Nothing seemed to go his way lately.
“No,” the boy said. He stopped a few feet from Minho and turned to look out over the lake. “Even if it isn’t healthy for a twelve year old to have a habit like that.”
“I’m thirteen, asshole,” Minho spat. “And you know it.”
Minho hadn’t forgotten the embarrassing as hell introduction that the senior counsellors had made all the newbies do. Minho and several others had to say their names, ages, where they were from, and what they ‘hoped to gain from this experience’ in front of everyone.
He hated it, but he hated his parents more for sending him here.
The blond let out a chuckle, and Minho felt his stomach flutter at the sound.
He dug his nails into his palms.
“Thirteen then,” the blond said. Minho recalled that he definitely hadn’t been a part of the introductions (he would have noticed), which meant he’d already spent at least a year at the camp. “Don’t look thirteen.”
“Fuck you,” Minho said, and turned to walk away. He only got a few steps before the blond called out to him and he turned back around.
A lighter flicked to life, its bright glow highlighting the blond boy’s features, making his hair look more orange than yellow. It wasn’t a Bic like Minho’s, but one of those expensive, refillable ones.
“Share?” he said, flipped the cap back on the lighter.
Minho looked down at the cigarette held between his index and middle fingers. He only had two packs, and sharing hadn’t been on the agenda. But with no lighter…
“Sure,” he said.
“Good,” the boy said with a nod of his head. “There’s a dock ‘round the other side. Got a light an’ everything. Shall we?”
Minho didn’t see the point of going to the dock, light or no, but he didn’t want to lose his only chance of getting some much needed nicotine into his body. He hadn’t had a smoke in almost a day and a half at this point, between being stuck in a car with his parents for twelve hours and then dealing with this fuck-up camp bullshit.
They didn’t speak as they walked. The lake was tiny, closer to a pond, really (though Minho lived right next to one of the biggest lakes in the country, so he was probably a tough judge), and it only took them a few minutes to circle around to a rickety looking dock. A single lamppost hung over it, casting a circle of dull yellow light. Minho paused even while the blond started walking on the dock. The thing looked like it would collapse at any moment.
The boy stopped in the middle of the dock, casting a glance back over his shoulder.
“It’s stronger than it looks,” he said. “Helped build the bloody thing myself.”
“That’s supposed to reassure me?” Minho said with a grimace. But he stepped on. The dock creaked, but it didn’t sway or feel unsteady.
In a few seconds the blond boy was seating himself on the edge. Minho joined him. It was too far for even the blond’s long legs to touch the water, so their mud covered shoes dangled freely in the air
“Here,” the boy said, offering Minho the lighter. He took it, its steel warm from the blond’s skin. He stuck the cigarette in his mouth and almost whined at the first inhalation of smoke.
He held it in his lungs a long time before exhaling, and opened his eyes. He didn’t even notice that they’d closed.
The other boy was looking at him, his eyebrows raised. Minho took another puff and passed him the cigarette, as well as the lighter. Long, graceful fingers brushed against his, and Minho felt that stupid flutter in his stomach again.
They passed the cigarette in silence, the night air filled with smoke and a chorus of frogs and insects. It was chilly, despite the time of year, and Minho vaguely regretted not bringing a hoodie with him like the other boy.
“What’s your name?” he said, glancing to the side and suddenly realizing how stupid it was to be sharing a banned substance with someone he didn’t even know the name of. The boy’s lips were wrapped around the filter, and Minho’s heart skipped a beat.
Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
He shouldn’t have asked the guy his name, because this was absolutely the last time he would be speaking to him. He could not make a habit of sharing late nights alone with pretty boys.
“Newt,” he said, passing the cigarette back to Minho. He popped it into his mouth. Surely, the taste of something far more delectable than nicotine was only his imagination. “And you’re Minho. Minho MacIntyre.”
The emphasis on his last name was subtle enough that he let it slide. But… Newt. It wasn’t a common name.
“Newt?” he said, the word feeling light and too good on his tongue. “Like the fucking lizard?”
The guy, Newt, stiffened. He glared at Minho.
“The newt is an amphibian,” he said. “They’re salamanders, not lizards.”
“…Whatever, salamander boy,” Minho said, taking another long drag. The cigarette was nearly gone, the bright ember almost to the filter now. He passed it back to Newt for the last pull (maybe he was a fuck up, but he didn’t forget all the manners his parents taught him).
“Did your parents send you here because you’re an arse?” he said. “Or was it the smoking, too?”
Minho snorted. “I don’t even think my uptight parents would send me here for just cigs, man.”
“Then what?”
“I started too many fist fights in school.”
It wasn’t a total lie.
Newt raised an eyebrow, as if impressed, and stubbed the cigarette butt out on the dock. Minho knew he didn’t look the fighting type. He was small for his age, but he was deceptively strong and packed punch that few people wanted to be on the receiving end of.
“Why fighting?”
Minho opened his mouth to reply, but hesitated. It wasn’t the first time he’d been asked that question. The principal, his parents, guidance counsellors, the Bishop, and two therapists had asked him the same thing. To them, Minho’d shrugged. He hadn’t even thought the question through then, but now he wanted to give a real answer.
“Because… people are dicks, I guess,” he said. It was so simple, and yet so true at the same time.
Newt laughed. “True enough, mate,” he said, and then got to his feet. He grabbed the cigarette butt and pocketed it, and Minho rolled his yes. No littering indeed.
“I’ll see ya around, yeah?” Newt said, heading off the dock. “Try not to get caught by the seniors.”
Minho grunted in response. He watched Newt go, his long strides carrying him away from Minho quickly.
His stomach fluttered again.
No, he would definitely not speak to that boy again, lighter or no. It wasn’t worth the risk.