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It had sure as Hell been a fun night so far. Newt was definitely enjoying himself, the slow and deliciously thrilling gentle burn of the vodka he had just had coursing through his veins, a nice heat spreading in his body. He laughed lazily, letting Minho elbow him playfully in the stomach, the Asian replying to the stupid joke Newt had just made at his expense. There was a soft laugh, and Newt was taking a new gulp of his drink. The alcohol was warming his throat and making his tongue numb. His hair was probably sticking out with how many times he had run his hands through it, and his skin felt a little sweaty – his whole body did –, his clothes sticking to his toned body. He could feel the soft weight of the paquet of cigarette he had in his back pocket, and more than anything, knowing his cigarettes were there was somehow comforting, and making him at ease. It was definitely a good night.
A soft poke in his side had Newt turning around, his attention now directed at the person who had disturbed him. The blond was met with Thomas's glazed yet soft eyes, and Newt couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, half playful, half curious.
“I'm so fucking drunk,” Thomas groaned. And Newt cursed in his head, because he knew damn well that a groaning Thomas was a “I'm about to throw up” Thomas. He had witnessed that once, when the brunet had been sick at school, and Newt, being the nice friend he was, had offered to bring him home and had taken care of him until Thomas's mother had come home from work. They had discovered, the following day, that Thomas had caught the flu and, the day after that, that he had also kindly shared his microbs with Newt, forcing the two of them to stay locked in their houses.
“Holy shit, Tommy, what did you say before you agreed to come?” Newt sighed patiently, rolling his eyes at his friend's state.
“No hookin' up with strangers?” Thomas tried with a poor smile. Newt exhaled, trying to actually be patient, instead of telling him to just man up and take care of his sickness on his own, since he had so warily drunk himself dizzy. Eying his friend closely, Newt realized that one of Thomas's hands was shifting every now and then to his stomach, and that his entire face was showing his discomfort.
“You really are going to ruin my night, aren't ya?” Newt sighed once more, but with no real heat behind his words. He rolled his eyes for good measure, exasperated but aware that he was in no position to deny Thomas anything, especially if his friend was feeling bad.
“Can you help me home? I feel like throwing up,” Thomas pleaded in a apologizing tone.
“Yeah, of course, shank.” Came Newt's immediate reply, and he grew a bit more exasperated at himself for giving in so easily, but the blond could have sworn he had heard Thomas's sigh of relief at his words and suddenly, giving in was worth it. “Go grab your stuff, I'll be with you in a sec, 'kay?” Without really waiting for an answer, Newt turned to Minho, who was actively talking with Winston and a pretty brunette, and poked him in the sides, just like Thomas had done to him a minute ago. “Gonna bring Thomas home, shank is drunk up his ass, see ya on Monday!”
“See ya, shank.” With that, Newt put his drink on the kitchen counter on his right and turned around again. Thomas was still there, looking completely lost. “You okay to go, Tommy?” Newt asked, suspicious.
“Yeah,” the brunet replied, but he made no move to turn or to go for the door, his gaze locked on Newt.
“Well, let's go, then.” Newt made his way to the door, grabbing his letter jacket on the way. “Don't you have a jacket?” Newt asked as Thomas stepped out of the house after him.
“Um... not really,” the brunet shrugged.
“Bloody Hell, Thomas, how old are you?”
“You mean, alcohol included or –” Thomas hiccuped.
“Shut up, Tommy, I swear to God, you throw up now, I leave you for dead.” He was half joking, even though he knew he would never follow through his threats. Thomas groaned something, too low for Newt to hear, but it vaguely resembled a 'you 'ouldn't.” Newt bit his lip, because of course, he wouldn't.
By the time they arrived at Thomas's house, not so far away from where the party had taken place, both Newt and Thomas were shivering messes. The cold air of the night and its merciless wind had hit Newt's sweaty body full force, gluing his shirt to his chest, even through his jacket. Thomas had not been better but had refused to take Newt's jacket, groaning a 'It's my fault I'm drunk and jacket-less, now keep walking, I'm freezing.”
Even now, in the warmth of the house, Newt couldn't help but keep his arms crossed on his chest, as if to prevent his – low – body heat from escaping. He now regretting the two glasses of vodka he had had, because they made his body shiver and shake ever so slightly, and he was having a hard time trying to warm up.
However, hearing Thomas's teeth clatter in the silence of the living room had Newt focusing his attention back on Thomas, because if he himself felt uncomfortable, Thomas was probably feeling way worse. The brunet was indeed a shivering mess and had one of his hands resting on his stomach, pressing down on it gently but firmly as if he were about to throw up.
“Holy shit, Tommy, what are you waiting for? Go find a jumper, and go throw up in the toilets on the way!” Newt whisper-yelled, well aware that Thomas's parents were asleep.
Thomas took a couple of hesitant steps, and oh God, the boy was really drunk. There was no way he would be able to make it upstairs on his own.
“Alright, alright, lemme help ya, Tommy.” Newt hurried after him, catching Thomas by surprise when he slid one of his arms around the brunet's waist to help him keep his balance. “C'mon, shank, let's get you to bed, okay?”
Thomas nodded and his face lit up in a smile, one of his stupid happy smiles that made Newt's heart melt but made him roll his eyes all the same.
“You must like me a lot, abandoning that party for me,” Thomas let out when the boys reached his room. He was gripping Newt's arms tightly, as if he knew he would lose his balance anytime, like he had while they were climbing the stairs, and he was so close Newt could smell the alcohol in his breath. He opened the door to Thomas's room, and prayed that the boy's parents were indeed fast asleep, or else his friend would be in trouble: he wasn't really sure what kind of parents wouldn't care about being woken up by their drunk son in the middle of the night anyway, but Newt could easily tell Thomas's parents would be more than mad if they found their son in that state.
“Shut up, Tommy, don't make me regret this amazing act of kindness,” Newt shot back. Playfully, Thomas tried to elbow him in the sides – at least, that's what Newt guessed – but failed miserably and ended up loosing his balance for a second, crashing against Newt before the blond helped him back on his feet.
“Sorry,” the brunet grinned smuggly, and Newt let go of him, pushing him gently on the bed in reprisal, so that Thomas crashed softly on the edge of the matress. “You're so not nice to me, I'm sick, take care of me,” Thomas groaned, pouting like a child, and holy crap, Newt was not doing this right now. He had not signed to deal with a drunk Thomas. It would have been a lie to say that Newt was not happy to be here right now, he would have not felt at peace if he had let Thomas go home on his own, but he would be lying to say that Thomas was not exasperating right now.
“Sick? You drank yourself sick, Tommy, I don't see how any of this is my fault. I came home with you, to make sure you were okay, isn't it enough already?” Newt asked, seeing Thomas's pout fading, only to be replaced by a smirk.
“Can I ask for a cuddle, or would that be another proof of me abusing your kindness?” Newt rolled his eyes, trying to pretend he was thinking about it, but if he had been looking at Thomas at that moment, he would have seen the 'I know I've won' look on his friend's face.
“I'm not cuddling you until you have put on a clean sweater, brushed your teeth, and swallowed some pills,” Newt finally replied, knowing he was not going anywhere anyway.
“Fair enough!” And with that, Thomas was raising up to his feet, swinging a little bit at first, then heading to his closet and looking in the mess of piled up clothing for a jumper. Newt took it as his cue and left the room, heading towards the bathroom, where he knew Thomas's parents kept their medecines. Newt moved around easily in the small bathroom, grabbing a small cup, filling it with water, opening a drawer and getting his hands quickly on the small tablet he was looking for in the first place. Newt stopped mid-movement, thinking about something and then closed the drawer softly, before turning back and leaning against the sink, a wicked smirk lighting up his face. He took a couple of steps towards Thomas's bedroom.
“Thomas? Scale one to ten, ten being 'ethylic coma', how drunk are you?” Newt asked, his voice loud enough so that Thomas would wince from the sound.
“Considering the fact that your yelling actually brought my nausea back? I'd say seven!” Came Thomas's reply. Newt nodded with a satisfied smirk, went back to the bathroom, and took four painkillers, putting them in another small cup.
“Holy shit, I shouldn't have drunk that last drink...,” Thomas was mumbling when Newt came back into his room.
“Yeah, definitely not, good to see we're on the same page,” Newt replied flatly, putting the pills and the cup of water on the night stand. Thomas turned around from where he was sitting on the bed, his jumper hanging on his forearms. “What are you doing, shank, put that on or you're gonna catch a cold,” Newt warned sternly.
“I don't want to raise my hands, it makes my stomach hurts,” Thomas whined in reply.
“Yeah, and whose fault is that, uh?” Thomas looked defeated for a second, and he lowered his eyes to the ground. Newt wasn't expecting his friend to be so docile, but he could definitely work with this.
“Mine.”
“Yeah. So now put the bloody jumper on, I'm not dealing with you if you catch the flu again, got it?” Thomas only nodded in reply, and raised his arms hesitantly, and slowly his features changed and the brunet frowned, almost like he had no idea how to put a bloody jumper on, and it really hit Newt, at that moment, that Thomas's stomachache and drunkenness were probably worse than what the boy had made it look like. “Hey, Tommy, you okay there?”
“M'fine. Shouldn't have drunk. Never drinking again.” Thomas grumbled after he had finally put on his jumper.
“That's what everybody always says ,” Newt cut him off with a weak smirk.
“Yeah, but I've never felt so bad before. I feel so... weird, I don't know how to describe it.”
“Then don't,” Newt replied, trying to appease the now definitely sick brunet. “I'm gonna go look for a bowl, in case you wann' throw up, okay? Go to bed.”
“Thanks Newt,” came Thomas's weak reply.
As he went to the kitchen, Newt realized that he had actually never really seen Thomas that way. The brunet was right, he had probably never been so sick because of alcohol before, he was usually pretty good at handling himself. Newt had no idea what had made Thomas drink so much this time, especially since they had a to be at high school early on Monday, but right now, he didn't care. He was actually discovering that Thomas, once he had passed the point of no return, was not such a funny drunk. Usually, Newt was a giggly drunk, Thomas a crazy one, and Minho... well, Minho actually never seemed drunk, no matter how many drinks he had. Except this time, Thomas was clingy, tired, and in pain, which was not something Newt was used to. He was not so sure how to deal with him, but... it was like taking care of any other person, right? Right. He could do this.
When he got back into the brunet's bedroom, the first thing Newt realized was that Thomas had huddled up under the warm blankets of his bed... and that he had not taken his pills. He sighed, feeling a little bad about having to make the brunet move from his obviously comfortable position.
“Hey, Tommy?” He tried. The brunet only groaned in reply and Newt sighed, suddenly not feeling so bad anymore. “Tommy, you gotta take a couple of tablets, you'll feel better in the morning if you do.”
“Don't wanna feel better,” Thomas groaned again, from his nest of blankets.
“Oh, really, and why is that?”
“'Cause I'm an ass,” Thomas coughed.
“Yeah, you are, and you'll be even more if you don't take these bloody pills, okay? All I want is for you to move your shucking ass, take a tablet and go to sleep, is that so much to ask for? I already have to deal with you right now, and I'm not dealing with your massive hangover in the morning, so you're gonna take a medicine, is that clear?” Newt's words had the expected effect, and the brunet turned around slowly, drunkenly, until he was facing Newt, who had sat down on the edge of the matress. “Sit up, Tommy, would you?” Newt asked, softly this time, and Thomas sat up. The brunet was clearly trying to look as small as he possibly could – which was not so easy considering he was as tall as Newt – and it broke Newt's heart a little to see him like this.
Thomas took the glass of water Newt was offering him as well as the pills the bond slid in the palm of his hand, and drank everything quickly, swallowing with difficulty because of how sore his throat was.
“Okay, you're good now, go back to bed, I'll turn off the lights,” Newt ordered in a surprinsingly soothing voice.
“Can you stay with me?” Came Thomas's weak voice.
“Yeah, 'f course Tommy, I promised you a cuddle, right?” Newt smiled. Without a word, Thomas wriggled back into his nest of blankets. Newt joined him in the bed as soon as the lights were off and his jeans and jacket were discarded on the floor. He shivered as the still cold blanket fell on his body and snuggled in the blanket. Thomas automatically made a move to turn around and get closer to Newt, but seemed to decided against it at the last moment.
“C'mon here, shank,” Newt sighed gently, patting the space next to him.
“Don't wann' bother you,” Thomas mumbled, his tone apologetic.
“You're not,” Newt replied silently, adopting a low and soft tone. “You asked for a cuddle, and I said yes, right? I'm not spending the nigth here without a cuddle anyway, okay?”
“You said I should brush my teeth and I didn't,” Thomas replied, stubborn.
“Thomas. You are not an ass, alrigth? It's fine that I got back with you, at least now I know you're okay. Now com'here.” As if on cue, Thomas wriggled under the blankets, moving around until he was close enough to Newt, and wrapped his arms around the blond as soon as he touched him. Newt shifted a little in the embrace, trying to make himself comfortable as well, and when he stopped moving, he heard – and felt against his skin – Thomas's sigh of contentement.
“You comfortable?” Thomas asked after a few minutes of silence.
“Yeah,” Newt yawned.
“Good that.” Newt could feel Thomas's evening breathing against his chest, the body heat coming from the brunet, and he realized that it was quite comforting and calming to have Thomas pressed against him like that. “I wouldn't have let go of you, anyway.” Newt felt Thomas smile against his chest.
“Good that,” Newt replied, feeling like he was about to fall asleep. Silence took over the room again, and Newt closed his eyes peacefully. It was dark inside, he was now warm, and thinking back about how cold it had been outside made him tighten his grip on Thomas unconsciously, his mind and body enjoying the familiar warmth of the brunet's body. Newt inhaled deeply and nuzzled Thomas's neck sleepily, the brunet's sleepy groan a beautiful melody to his ears.
“I'm sorry I'm an ass,” Thomas said again. It felt weird to let the words break the peaceful silence of the room, but Newt was in that state where he actually couldn't really tell if Thomas had said something aloud or if he was imagining it. “Newt?”
“It's okay, Tommy,” Newt tried to say, his voice cracking already. “Sleep, okay?”
“Can't,” Thomas sighed, “stomach hurts.”
“Want me to scratch your hair?”
“Pleeeeease,” Thomas whined, his childish and drunken attitude back. Newt lifted one of his hands, hating how heavy it seemed to be, and let it fall into Thomas's thick, brown hair. He was barely scratching Thomas's hair, moving as much as he could but not really succeeding. It seemed to be enough for Thomas though, because the brunet started humming, stretched his body against Newt and becoming limp right after in Newt's arms.
“I love it,” Thomas mumbled. His voice was heavy with sleep.
“Me scratching your hair?”
“You – you doing anything. Laughing, joking, reading, studying, having fun,... I love you. Love you so bad it hurts.” And with that, Thomas raised his head from where it was resting, close to Newt's chest, and Newt felt his heartbeat slow down and fasten at the same time as Thomas gripped Newt's neck and brought their lips shyly together, before he let his head fall on the matress again, and curled back against Newt, as if nothing had ever happened. Newt, shocked, his heart pounding in his chest, stayed up all night, unable to fall asleep.
Needless to say, when Thomas woke up in the morning, he was alone in his bed.
–
“Hey, Min?”
“'supp shuck face?”
“Have you seen Newt?”
“Um, yeah, actually,” Minho answered, not looking up from his phone.
“And where is he?” Thomas asked when he realized Minho was not going to say anything else. His tone might have been a little rough, but his patience was wearing off: he was still fighting the effects of the hangover, his mom's disapproving lecture had been awfully long, and moreover, he was not particularly happy to be awake and at school at 9 on a Monday morning.
“In our classroom already, I guess, I don't know, why don't you send him a text to ask him?” Minho asked, leaning against the coffee machine and sipping on his hot beverage.
“That's funny, I wouldn't have thought about it! What d'you think shank, I already have, but he hasn't replied to any of my texts since the party.”
“Why is that?” Minho asked. If Thomas had been a tad bit more attentive, he would have noticed the tone in Minho's voice that betrayed the fact that the guy already had the answer to his own question.
“I don't know, I was hoping I could check if he was okay. I mean, he cannot possibly be mad at me for making him leave the party, can he?” Thomas asked, his voice a little tense and desperate. He had not realized he had been such a burden at first, but when he had texted Newt to thank him for bringing back home and leaving some pills for him, and to ask if the blond had made it home safely, Newt had never replied. It wasn't that bad, but when Thomas, at some point during the afternoon, had offered Newt to come to his place and watch a movie with him, the blond hadn't replied. And, Thomas knew he had been extra clingy with that one, but Newt hadn't replied to his 'hope you're not mad at me, see ya tomorrow!' either.
“Guess you'll have to ask him, then,” was all Minho came up with. Thomas nodded and turned around, heading towards their classroom, hoping he would indeed catch Newt there and make sure they were okay. Obviously, he didn't find Newt there, so he sat down on a chair, and waited for the rest of the class to arrive. The room was almost empty, but he still hoped Newt would show up soon. It was only five minutes later, when he had been engrossed in his phone for a few minutes already, that Newt's voice made him raise his head, maybe a little too quickly to make it look natural.
“I told you he was drunk, Minho.” Newt was saying. Oh. Minho was willing to listen to Newt then. Shucking traitor.
“Aaaand drunk people tend to reveal their secrets.”
“Yeah, give me false hopes, that's really what I bloody need right now. So nice of you.”
“Well, you won't know if you don't ask him, just saying.”
“He doesn't even remember!”
“How can you be sure?!”
“He thanked me for bringing him home, Min! That's not really something you say to someone after –” Newt cut himself off, and grew pale when he realized that Thomas had turned his head and was looking at him from where he was sitting. Thomas, even if he hadn't been able to see Newt, would have known from Newt's voice that the blond was upset, sad and defeated, but these emotions were fighting on Newt's face and Thomas couldn't handle it. Newt feeling bad was one of the things that made him really helpless and sad, but Newt feeling bad because of him... Because there was no doubting that: Newt and Minho were definitely talking about something Thomas had done and that was making Newt feel bad.
If he could just know what he had done, Thomas would gladly fall to his knees and beg Newt to forgive him, but he had actually no idea what had happened. As ashamed as he was to admit it, he had really had too many drinks and wasn't able to remember much, except for Newt bringing him home and cuddling with him in bed. It couldn't have been the cuddle, could it? Thomas had always been a cuddler, it was no news to Newt. Had he said something mean? Thomas's confused thoughts were interrupted when the brunet realized Minho had just sat down next to him, Newt sitting down next to Minho.
“What's wrong, shank, you look like you've seen a ghost?”
“I'm fine. How ya doing, Newt?” Thomas asked in a small voice, testing the waters. Newt exhaled shakily and turned to look at him, a small smile slowly appearing on his face.
“Good. I'm sorry about the texts, I was just – uh...”
“Can we talk about this?” Thomas pleaded,the 'only you and I, preferably in private and later' obvious even if had not spoken the words. He hoped he was not being too clingy with his request: whatever he had done was obviously a big deal to Newt, and he didn't want to mess things up more than they already were. Minho looked at Newt expectantly, but neither Thomas or the blond acknoledged him.
“Sure,” Newt smiled, his gaze never leaving Thomas's. “The café, at four?” Thomas nodded enthusiastically, feeling a smile lightening his own face.
–
'C'mon Newt, you're gonna turn 17 soon, stop being so stupid.'
No matter how much he tried to distract himself, his mind was always wandering back to Thomas's words, like they were carved everywhere in his brain. 'I love you, love you so bad it hurts.' He tried to stop his slowly fastening heartbeat and exhaled once more, trying to collect his thoughts. It was going to be fine. He would tell Thomas some stupid lie – he had been trying to come up with something for the last ten minutes and had been, until now, unsuccessful – and apologise, and everything would go back to normal.
He had been sketching and scribbling in his notebook for the past twenty minutes, sat on his own at a table of his favorite café, the sweet aroma of coffee and hot chocolate making him oddly relaxed. He, Minho and Thomas liked coming here, and they would most of the days, spending up to an hour here after school, enjoying the feeling of freedom this place gave them, before they all had to go back home.
Newt liked coming here, even on his own, because it made him feel like a grown up, made him feel like he could take over the world, even though all he usually did was drawing and sketching in his notebook. It was nowhere near “taking over the world”, but still. This café had a powerful vibe. And Newt needed a powerful vibe right now.
However, when the door of the café opened and Newt saw Thomas, he clearly started panicking. He was not ready, he didn't even have a proper lie to tell Thomas for shuck's sake! As soon as Thomas sat down in front of him, his hot chocolate smoking hot in front of him, Newt regretted ever thinking he could deal with this like an adult. He clearly couldn't.
“Hey! What are you drawing?” Thomas asked, curious, like this was a normal meeting, pointing at Newt's notebook and taking a sip of his hot chocolate. Newt asked himself for the untenth time why he was so bothered by what had happened: it was not like Thomas meant any of what he had said, why couldn't he deal with his life like a normal person, uh?
“Random stuff,” Newt replied, taking a quick look at his notebook before closing it. He didn't want Thomas to realize he had been scribbling just to have something to occupy his hands. However, Newt hated himself for how tense his answer and gesture made the situation.
“So, uh...” Thomas cleared his throat. “Look, Newt,” the brunet ran his hand over his face. “I am sorry. I don't – I'd had too many drinks, I – for shuck's sake, I don't even remember – I don't even remember what I did but – well, obviously, I fucked up -” Thomas was struggling with his words and he let his sentence hang in the air, for a few seconds, probably trying to think of what to say, of a way to deal with Newt's stupid behavior.
“Youtoldmeyoulovedme.” Newt said as fast as he could, preventing Thomas from saying anything else and surprising himself: this is definitely not what he had planned on doing. “Andyoukissedme.” He added, just as fast, because let's be honest, it couldn't get worse now that Thomas already knew he had told Newt he loved him.
However, what Newt was not expecting was Thomas's “Holy shit!”. Well, if he were honest, he didn't have any idea what to expect in such a situation, but Thomas's curse still took him by surprise, and he felt as if a stone had been dropped in his stomach. He couldn't meet Thomas's gaze, because he knew what was coming.
“Oh my God, Newt, I am so so sorry,” the brunet's voice cracked. “I'm sorry I made you embarrassed and – holy shit, I don't know what I was thinking but of course you didn't want to talk to me after that –” Thomas cut himself off, and it was only when he felt the brunet's hand on his cheek that Newt realized a tear had rolled its way down his cheek. “Newt?” Thomas's thumb stroked Newt's skin softly, and the blond had to fight the urge to lean into the appeasing contact. “Newt, look at me.”
It took him a second, but Newt eventually looked up, and met Thomas's gaze. The brunet was already looking at him, his whiskey eyes shinning with tears.
“Why are you crying?” Newt asked, as if he were not about to break down himself.
“I drunkenly came out to the boy I like, and he is freaking out, I think I am allowed to cry a little, right? Why are you crying?” And damn, Newt had definitely not been expecting that. He looked at Thomas with probably big and teary eyes, and asked:
“Are you shucking with me?”
“Why would I be?”
“I – I can't stop thinking about it,” Newt tried, his voice shy. “About the kiss.”
“You – I'm sorry, I would never -”
“I want to do it again,” Newt said bluntly, suddenly realizing that if he didn't properly voice his feelings for Thomas now, he would probably loose his chance. The brunet seemed to think Newt was regretting everything, and was embarrassed by what had happened, when in reality, the only thing Newt had been scared of was Thomas not liking him back.
“You – are you shucking with me?” Thomas asked, repeating Newt's words, his eyes shinning with hope.
“I've been thinking about – us quite a lot lately,” Newt admitted. “But you were drunk, I thought... I thought you were just – I don't know -”
“Messing around? Thinking you were someone else?”
“Yeah.” Newt bit his lips, and he unconsciously shifted his gaze to the table.
“I wasn't thinking it was someone else. I wasn't messing around either. I – I'm sorry I was drunk... Actually, no, for what it's worth, I'm mostly sorry that my normal self isn't as brave as my drunken self. I really wish I were not drunk the first time I tasted your lips,” Thomas apologised. His words gave Newt the confidence he needed to raise his head again, and meet Thomas's eyes.
“You tasted like alcohol,” was what came out of Newt's mouth, and Thomas snorted lightly.
“Yeah, see, I told you I should have washed my teeth like you had asked me to.”
“You remember that?”
“Yeah, 'course, I guess my brain liked the idea of you bossing me around. To be honest, I like it, it's kinda hot.”
“You're such an idiot,” Newt smiled, no real heat behind his words. He was so, so far gone for this stupid brunet.
“I know,” Thomas confirmed, to Newt's surprise. “But if I remember correctly, you actually said you wanted to kiss this idiot again, didn't you?” The brunet now had a shit-eating grin on his face, and damn, Newt really couldn't resist that. Not like he could resist the rest of Thomas anyway.
“What if I did?” Newt asked teasingly.
It was all Thomas needed to lean over the table and stroke Newt's cheek before he kissed Newt softly. This time, the kiss tasted like hot chocolate.