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The pain was excruciating.
Thomas felt as though he was being burnt alive, shot at and stabbed with needles all at the same time. Most of the pain stemmed from his stomach, but it spread all over like wildfire and made him want to scream. Maybe he was screaming. He couldn’t be sure.
He tried to focus on something, anything, to reassure him that he was in fact still alive. Minho’s face swum in and out of his eye line and Thomas attempted to say the boy’s name. Nothing would come out. He concentrated on trying to move the very tips of his fingers but his brain was too busy being on fire to understand whether it had worked or not. He was vaguely aware he was being held down and shouted at but everything was too much and he felt like he was drowning.
“Tommy.”
The voice penetrated his pain. Thomas held on to the memory of it for dear life as he closed his eyes and let everything fade to black.
Ben’s bloody shirt. Alby’s terrified face. Chuck’s lifeless body. Winston’s ink black veins. Teresa falling. Grievers. Janson. Death. Burning. Newt collapsing to the ground. Newt’s mouth spilling black blood. A knife in his chest. His eyes full of pain.
The next thing Thomas was aware of was that he could hear rushing water and feel a gentle breeze. He continued to lay still, not daring to open his eyes. He was too scared by the idea that he was dead and equally terrified of what he’d find if he was alive. Pain continuously throbbed in his head and stomach and his mouth was so dry that it hurt. Eventually, he took a deep breath and squinted into the light.
He found himself on a wooden bed in a small room. A hut. Raising his hands slightly, he looked down at his own body and marvelled at the fact it was in one piece. Thomas mustered all the strength he had left in order to push himself into a sitting position. A fresh jolt of pain rushed through him as he did and he couldn’t help the groan that escaped his lips. Suddenly, someone rushed into the room.
“Tommy, no — don’t stand up yet, give yourself a minute.”
Thomas stared at Newt. The latter stared back, his worried expression quickly relaxing into a welcoming smile. Newt shuffled forward and dropped to his knees by the bed, looking up at Thomas expectantly. All Thomas could do was gaze at his face, swallow the lump in his throat and try not to let his tears spill over.
“I don’t understand…” he eventually managed to whisper. Newt’s smile dropped a fraction or two.
“Some bloody greeting that is.”
“Is this - am I -” Thomas couldn’t get the words out and he could tell Newt was trying his hardest to understand what he was asking. A few moments passed before it seemed to click.
“You’re not dead,” Newt said seriously. “This is real.”
“But you—"
“I’m not dead, either.”
“Gave it a good go, though. Both of you,” another voice called out from the doorway. Thomas finally tore his eyes from Newt’s face and looked up at Minho, who stood smirking at the pair of them. What he possibly could be finding funny about this situation, Thomas had no idea. He felt like his head was going to explode.
Newt was still watching Thomas carefully.
“I don’t understand,” Thomas repeated, reaching out as if to touch Newt’s face and then letting his hand fall pathetically.
Newt pulled aside his shirt and showed Thomas the bandage that covered up most of the left side of his chest.
“The wound wasn’t that deep. Minho, Fry and Brenda got the serum to me in time. Then you showed up on that bloody roof with this in your pocket.” Newt held up an empty vial as he explained all of this gently. Thomas took it and inspected it for a moment, recognising it as the one Teresa had thrust into his hands. “It worked, Tommy.”
“She wasn’t lying,” Thomas whispered, his eyes filling with fresh tears as the image of Teresa’s falling body imprinted itself on his brain once again.
“I know, Tommy,” Newt said softly. “I’m sorry.”
Thomas slid off of the bed and knelt, joining Newt on the floor. He pulled him into his arms without hesitation and the two held each other close, ignoring the protesting pains of their injuries. A few minutes later, Minho joined them.
Thomas was stunned into silence as his friends showed him around. He couldn’t believe they were lucky enough to find this place. The sea breeze felt foreign and refreshing on his skin after months of scorchingly dry air. Each breath seemed to heal him from within.
Newt stayed close to his side as Minho pointed out everything they’d done whilst Thomas had been passed out. Even as Thomas greeted Frypan, Brenda, Jorge, Gally, Aris, Sonya, Harriet, Vince and several others, he could feel Newt’s presence only inches away from him. It was comforting. If Newt hadn’t been the one making the effort to stay side by side, Thomas knew he would be doing the same thing. He was thrilled to see all of his friends, of course. But knowing he’d been so close to losing Newt unearthed a strong feeling that he’d like to never let him, in particular, out of his sight again.
Hours later, Thomas leaned against a log by the fire after listening to Vince’s speech. He gazed at the memorial wall, focusing on Teresa’s freshly carved name. He tuned in and out of the gentle conversation around him, only chipping in every now and then.
Newt had been sat on the other end of the log Thomas leaned on. As the others listened to Jorge telling one of his many action packed stories enthusiastically, Newt moved so he was sat next to Thomas on the ground. It reminded Thomas of his very first night in the glade; the firelight illuminated Newt’s features in the same way and the blonde boy had the same curious expression on his face as he looked at Thomas; it hit him that Newt looked more relaxed now than he had then. More relaxed than Thomas had ever seen him look, actually. He didn’t realise how hard he was staring until Newt raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“I thought you were dead,” Thomas blurted out suddenly.
“I know,” Newt replied patiently.
“I’m sorry…” Thomas mumbled, tearing his gaze away from Newt’s and looking into the fire, ashamed once again by the tears that threatened to spill over his cheeks.
“What for? Tommy, you saved my life. I’m the one who should be sorry -“
“I left you there,” Thomas forced himself to meet Newt’s eyes once again. He was aware that the others had fallen silent around them but chose to ignore it. There were things that needed to be said and he didn’t care if the others heard them. “I ran away like a coward because I couldn’t bare to… see that. I’m so sorry, Newt.”
Thomas was crying, now. Newt looked like his heart might be breaking, too, but a hint of anger flickered in his eyes, too.
“You saved me, Tommy. End of. You dragged me half way across that bloody city! And you may have left, but you came back. You brought back a cure. You saved me. So I don’t want to hear another apology from you ever again, got it?” Newt spoke with a harshness that contrasted the soft smile that he aimed at Thomas, who hurriedly wiped away his tears and tried to return the gesture.
“Good that.”
“Jesus,” Minho interrupted from across the bonfire. “You shanks are going to melt my icy heart if you carry on like that.”
Everyone broke out into nervous laughter, Newt and Thomas included. The latter didn’t comment, but he couldn’t help but think it was his heart that would be melting if Newt carried on looking at him like that.
“Kill me!” Newt roared, his face contorted with pain and anger. Thomas was terrified. Not of Newt himself, but of what was happening to him. He couldn’t bare to see his best friend like this. He’d barely formed this thought when the breath was knocked out of him as Newt smashed his body into him once again. It all passed by in a rush of fists and screams and groans and before Thomas could stop it, a knife was protruding from Newt’s chest. Thomas looked up at his friend; the anger and darkness had left his eyes. All that was left was the fear as he whispered Thomas’ name and fell to the ground.
“Tommy.”
He could feel hot tears rolling down his face. He could taste them on his tongue, salty and shameful. He could hear himself shouting incoherent words.
“Thomas! Wake up!”
Thomas’ eyes shot open and he sat up suddenly, noting the sweat that soaked his body as he tried to regain his breath. Newt sat at the edge of his bed, hands on his shoulders as he coaxed him into controlling his breathing and calming down. Thomas finally managed to get himself together and closed his eyes again, wiping a shaky hand over his forehead and focusing on Newt’s touch in order to ground himself. He waited until Newt let go to finally speak.
“Sorry, man. Bad dream.”
“You were screaming the bloody place down, Tommy. I’d say that’s more than a bad dream.”
“Yeah, well. You know.” Even in the state he was in, Thomas cursed himself for sounding so unintelligent in front of Newt. He knew his friend wouldn’t judge him, but he always sounded so eloquent. It was a gift that Thomas admired greatly.
“Yeah. I do,” Newt replied. Thomas was so grateful for his understanding and lack of questioning that he felt as though his heart might burst. Not to mention the fact he was immensely relieved; the thought of having to tell Newt that he was the subject of his dreams made his stomach tie itself in knots. All he wanted to do was pull Newt into him again like he had earlier - and preferably never let go - but he figured now that their big reunion had been and gone that might seem a little weird and unnecessary.
“Thanks, Newt,” Thomas mumbled. He lay back down and almost immediately gave in to the painful heaviness behind his eyes once again. He watched as Newt left, turning at the door to flash him a sad smile, and tried not to worry about anything as his body dragged him into unconsciousness.
They didn’t speak of the incident the next morning. Newt had simply patted him on the back when he stumbled out of his hut and over to where his friends stood chatting. Thomas smiled at him and mumbled a greeting to everyone, joining the group as they queued up under the canopy for breakfast. Frypan stood behind a makeshift counter, serving up bowls of roasted vegetables with an easy smile. The sight warmed Thomas’ heart. He didn’t realise how much he’d missed this.
“I feel like I’m back in the Glade, only…” Thomas said to Minho and Newt as they sat down on the beach to eat together.
“More free?” Newt offered. Thomas nodded.
“It’s weird,” Minho muttered, his mouth full. Newt and Thomas shared an amused look but managed to reign in their laughter as Minho continued. “We spent so long trying to get out of there and now we’re happy to be doing exactly the same thing we did in that place.”
Thomas pondered this as he took a few mouthfuls of food. In the end, it was Newt who answered Minho.
“We were happy with what we were doing in the Glade. We just weren’t happy about why we were doing it.”
“And who we were doing it for,” Thomas added. They all nodded in agreement.
“Now we’re doing it for us,” Newt said. Thomas smiled at this and tried not to look too much like a loved-up schoolboy when Newt grinned back.
“It’s too early for all this mush,” Minho scoffed. “Thomas, how you feeling? Ready to get to work?”
“I think it’s a bit soon for —“ Newt started, but Thomas placed a hand on his arm and shook his head. He pulled it away quickly when he saw Minho glance at the place they’d made contact with a smirk.
“I want to help. I’m fine, honestly,” Thomas promised.
“What’s that I hear?” Brenda interrupted, joining them with a smile and Jorge following behind. “Thomas is finally going to get off his ass and help out around here?”
They all laughed and Thomas rolled his eyes. “I was unconscious!”
“Newt, what about you?” Minho continued.
“You haven’t been helping, either?” Thomas questioned Newt. He tried to keep his tone exculpatory, certainly not blaming him for taking time to rest. No matter how much Newt protested that his wound was little more than a scratch, Thomas didn’t believe him. He’d been having his bandages changed and injury checked by Sonya just as much as Thomas had.
“How could he?” Brenda smirked at Thomas, who returned her gaze with eyebrows furrowed questioningly. “He refused to leave your side.”
Thomas turned to Newt; he merely shrugged and smiled before finishing his breakfast. Conversation turned to the tasks Vince had asked them to complete today, but Thomas barely joined in. He was too busy watching the gentle blush that crept up Newt’s neck.
The day passed by quickly. Thomas tried to relax into his new life, helping with smaller tasks like washing up and collecting firewood. He’d offered to go with Frypan and Gally to scout the other side of the island but was shut down pretty quickly - and not only by Newt, this time. Sonya had been keeping a close eye on him, as she apparently had the most medical knowledge, and made him promise not to exert himself too much. Thomas had frowned at this but accepted, knowing he had to give himself a chance to heal. His stomach still produced a stabbing pain if he moved too suddenly.
As the evening drew in around them and Thomas was once again full of Frypan’s delicious cooking, he settled on a log by the fire once again. Minho sat beside him and cracked jokes with Brenda and Jorge, whilst Sonya and Harriet sat opposite and looked lost in their own little world. Others were wandering about, playing at the edge of the sea or relaxing in their hammocks. There was one person Thomas couldn’t see, though.
“Hey, where’s Newt?” Thomas asked Frypan quietly, hoping Minho wouldn’t hear him. There was something a little too knowing in the way Minho smiled at Thomas when he and Newt were together.
“Went over there somewhere,” Frypan responded, gesturing vaguely towards where Thomas’ hut stood a few metres away from the rest of the camp. Thomas had tried to insist he didn’t need his own room, he was perfectly happy to sleep in a hammock or on the floor with the rest of them, but had once again been told off by the others. Apparently he needed his own space to heal. He wasn’t sure if they meant physically or otherwise.
Mumbling some half-hearted excuse about getting a sweater, Thomas stood and headed in the direction Frypan had indicated. He looked back briefly and caught Minho’s eye; he merely raised an eyebrow at his friend’s devious smile.
“Newt?” Thomas called as he approached the hut. He could hear shuffling but didn’t receive a response and so picked up the pace a little. When he rounded the corner of the small building he stopped abruptly at the sight before him.
Newt had built an extension of sorts. A large branch, buried in the sand, supported a triangular piece of material that spread a few metres away from the hut. There were vines attached to one side of it to close off the space it created. Newt was currently in the process of arranging blankets underneath the small canopy.
“Newt, what are you doing?” Thomas asked slowly.
“Setting up camp, what does it look like I’m doing?” Newt replied quickly. He finished what he was doing and stood up, admiring his handiwork before turning to Thomas with a proud grin.
“On my doorstep?” Thomas couldn’t help the amused smile that played at the corners of his mouth. He was also pretty sure his face was bright red and his voice came out slightly cracked, but he decided to ignore both of those things.
“Yeah, hope ya don’t mind. Thought it’d be easier than me running from over there if you… need me.”
“You mean the dreams?”
Newt nodded. Thomas felt his chest swell with emotion as he looked at Newt, who looked so peaceful and carefree in that moment. He couldn’t believe Newt was willing to do all of this just so that he could comfort him.
“Newt… thanks. You didn’t have to do this.” Thomas spun on the spot and looked at the structure more closely. It was more intricate than he’d first realised.
“It’s nothing,” Newt replied, scratching his neck slightly awkwardly. “Just didn’t want you waking up half the camp again, screaming like you’d seen a griever.”
Thomas turned pale at this. “Other people heard?”
“Well, yeah, Tommy. How d’you think I heard you? I wasn’t sat at your door like a bodyguard, y’know.” Thomas raised his eyebrows with a smirk, thinking back to Brenda’s earlier revelation that Newt had been at his bedside as he recovered. Newt rolled his eyes and shoved at Thomas’ shoulder playfully. “C’mon, let’s get back to the others before they send out a search party.”
Thomas followed silently, once again suppressing the butterflies that erupted in his stomach.
It had always been there, Thomas supposed. It was just that he’d never had the time or the room in his brain to process it until now. They’d spent so much time planning, running, fighting; even the months they’d spent at the camp, preparing to rescue Minho and the others, were filled with too much tension to think of his own feelings. Now he’d stopped still and it had hit him full force. He knew he should be grieving their losses, and he was, but he also felt that there was so much to gain now that they had all the time in the world. He lay in bed considering all this and wondering whether he should take the risk; call for Newt and tell him how he felt. Instead he decided to give it a few days so he could work out exactly how it was he felt by himself. He didn’t want to rush into anything and regret the way he’d handled things like so many times before.
He fell asleep with Newt on his mind and awoke with his name on his lips. Except somewhere in between the two, he’d fallen back into his nightmares and seen Newt dying in his arms once again. He was sweating and shaking and shouting so much that he barely registered the other person present on his bed.
“I’m right here, Tommy,” Newt said desperately, gripping Thomas’ wrists as he thrashed about. “Stop, it’s okay, I’m here.”
Thomas calmed down eventually. He stared at Newt, letting his tears flow freely. He was embarrassed but something about the way Newt still held his arms and looked at him, with big brown eyes full of concern, made him feel more at ease.
“I’m sorry,” Thomas whispered, shaking himself out of Newt’s grip and running his hands through his own hair.
“Thought I told you to stop apologising,” Newt murmured back and Thomas laughed shakily. “You said my name.”
Thomas drew in a deep, rattling breath and looked at Newt again. He was frowning, the deep crease that settled between his eyebrows appearing. Thomas wanted to reach out and place a hand on his face, make him look back at him, make him smile. But he didn’t.
“I keep dreaming about… when you got stabbed,” he chose his words carefully. “I keep seeing you die.”
Thomas was painfully aware of the deep red tone that was gracing his cheeks. He felt so disgustingly ashamed of himself for this admission; he knew it wasn’t that unusual, really. He’d seen Chuck and Teresa die in his dreams plenty of times - but they weren’t here to hear him scream and cry about it. The thought hit him like a bullet in the chest, temporarily winding him as he waited impatiently for Newt’s response. He was expecting the boy to laugh, mock him, tell him to grow up because clearly he wasn’t actually dead. He was expecting him to voice all the negative thoughts that screamed at him from the back of his mind.
Instead, Newt reached forward and squeezed Thomas’ hand so briefly that it almost felt like it never happened. But the warmth that spread across his palm confirmed that this was real.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Newt whispered. Contrasting his statement, he stood up, stretched and turned towards the door. “Get some rest, Tommy.”
Through the small cracks in the walls of the hut, Thomas watched Newt settle down on his makeshift bunk outside. He couldn’t quite tell from his limited view, but he was pretty sure Newt just lay there awake for a little while. Thomas did the same, watching his friend’s every move until the temptation of sleep overcame him once more.
“I see you have a new roommate,” Minho muttered into Thomas’ ear as they ate lunch the following day. Thomas gave him a warning look; Newt was only a couple of feet away from them and although he was absorbed in conversation with Sonya, Thomas didn’t trust that he wouldn’t hear them.
“Not exactly,” Thomas replied carefully.
“Oh, Tommy, please don’t tell me you let him sleep outside all alone.” Minho chuckled at the glare he received and thumped Thomas on the back, nearly making him choke on his food. Newt looked up briefly and smiled at his friends before returning to his conversation.
“Don’t call me that,” Thomas murmured eventually. Minho raised his eyebrows and shook his head disbelievingly.
“I’m joking, shank. Don’t worry, I know his royal highness is the only one who’s permitted to call you that.”
“Will you shut up?”
“What’s going on?” Sonya interrupted. Her and Newt were looking over curiously. “Why does Minho need to shut up?”
“When doesn’t he?” Thomas quipped. Minho shoved him and let out an indignant grunt.
“I was just asking Thomas why I wasn’t given the honour of sleeping outside his hut like a guard dog,” Minho said with an evil grin. Thomas rolled his eyes and fought back a smile. Though he was trying hard to act like Minho was getting on his nerves, in reality he’d happily have conversations this embarrassing on a daily basis if it meant he got to be with his friends in an environment this peaceful forevermore. And seeing Minho smiling, joking, laughing, when he’d been through so much warmed Thomas’ heart, even if he was the one on the receiving end of his teasing.
“Oh yeah,” Gally said suddenly. Thomas had hardly been aware of his presence. He’d crept up behind them at some point. Thomas had noticed him doing this a lot; he had a theory that he was trying to reintegrate himself into the group as casually as possible. Thomas was surprised to find that he didn’t mind. “Why’ve you ditched our humble abode, Newt?”
Thomas stared at Newt imploringly. He really didn’t feel like having a group therapy session about how messed up his dreams were. Not a single excuse came to his head that sounded convincing and so he sent a silent prayer that Newt’s imagination was better than his.
“I keep having nightmares,” Newt said flatly, still looking back at Thomas. “I was waking up a lot so thought it was better to move away from everyone else. Tommy said he didn’t mind me sleeping there.”
The others nodded solemnly and didn’t ask too many questions. Thomas sent the most sincere smile he could muster in Newt’s direction. He felt bad that Newt had taken the heat for him but he knew he would’ve made it all sound a lot more awkward and tragic than it was if he’d admitted that it was him who was having bad dreams. Newt had this effortlessly cool and calm demeanour that prevented people from making fun of him. Thomas had no such quality.
“Don’t apologise,” Newt mumbled to Thomas as they took their lunch dishes towards the makeshift kitchen for washing. Thomas grinned at him.
“Am I allowed to thank you?”
“That you can do,” Newt laughed.
Summoning all the bravery from within the deepest parts of him, Thomas grabbed Newt’s hand and squeezed it, just as Newt had done to him last night. He didn’t let go as quickly as before, though, and held it still as he whispered “thank you”.
Newt rolled his eyes, but when he focused back on Thomas they were full of an affectionate expression that almost made Thomas’ legs give way.
Their nights became almost a routine. They would separate at the entryway to the hut, Thomas always protesting that he felt bad and Newt should go back to the others, Newt always refusing. They’d bid each other goodnight. Then, a few hours later, Thomas would wake up shouting and Newt would be there to calm him down within seconds. Newt’s hands would touch Thomas’ arms, shoulders, hands, squeezing gently to pull him back into reality. Newt would leave pretty quickly and Thomas would fall back asleep hesitantly. They’d never talk about it in the daytime.
This went on for over three weeks. Thomas’ wound was healing nicely, as was Newt’s. Their paradise was becoming stronger and more functioning, with several buildings now littered around and jobs being allocated to every member of their group. Three weeks, so much change, yet Thomas was still having nightmares every night. He didn’t feel sorry for himself, though. He felt guilty because of Newt.
His friend was starting to look more and more exhausted as the days went on. He still smiled broadly and looked completely relaxed most of the time but Thomas couldn’t help but notice the dark bags that sat permanently under his eyes. No one else seemed to notice, maybe Newt didn’t even know himself, but the guilt was eating away at Thomas like a disease.
“Newt, can I talk to you?” Thomas asked quietly one night as they sat around the fire. They’d done this almost every night so far, yet Thomas never got bored of being able to just sit and talk.
“What’s up?” Newt responded with a smile. Thomas took a moment to drink in his expression; the flickering light of the flames in front of them made his dark eyes look golden and his skin glow. It took Thomas’ breath away a little bit. Only a little bit, of course.
He pulled himself back to reality and nodded his head away from the bonfire before walking away. Newt followed.
“You need to move back to sleep under the canopy. With the others,” Thomas choked out eventually, stopping once enough distance was between them and the others. His voice sounded fake, forced. Empty.
“Why?” Newt asked. Thomas had expected him to look at least a bit surprised. Maybe he’d even hoped he’d be upset by the request. But Newt’s expression was completely unreadable.
“You’ve barely slept. You look like shit.” Lies.
“Thanks for that, Tommy. But I’m fine, honestly.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
They stared at each other for a few moments. The tension was killing Thomas. The last thing he wanted was for Newt to move back to the camp, in all honesty, but he would’ve felt awful if he didn’t at least try to persuade him otherwise.
“Alright, fine. I’m bloody exhausted. But it’s no good — I woke up even when I was over there, remember? It’s easier if I stay.”
“You could take one of the other huts. One on the opposite side of camp. They’d let you, I bet, because of your leg.” He hated himself the moment it slipped out of his mouth, completely disgusted that he was be using that against him.
Newt scoffed. “I’m not a bloody cripple.”
The fell into awkward silence again and Thomas’ insides burned. This wasn’t how he’d wanted this to go. He hated the idea that his friend was angry at him but he hated seeing what his nightmares were was doing to Newt even more.
“Alright, I’ll make you a deal. One more week. That’ll make it roughly a month. If you don’t stop thrashing around all night like a slinthead, I’ll move back. Good that?” The subtle venom in Newt’s voice stung Thomas worse than any of the physical pain he’d experienced thus far. Including getting shot.
“Deal,” Thomas mumbled. Newt stalked off back towards the group and Thomas watched him leave for a few seconds before joining him.
The next few days were slightly awkward. The nights still went on in the same manner, but in the daytime Newt was less playful and smiley around Thomas, only speaking to him within groups and never seeking him out to chat like usual. It was torture and apparently his pining wasn’t very subtle.
“What’s up with you two shanks?” Minho asked suddenly as he and Thomas walked through the woods, looking for anything that might be edible. They had plenty of supplies on the ship thanks to the six months they’d spent stocking up, but Vince still thought it a good idea to work out what resources they had on the island sooner rather than later.
“Who?” Thomas asked, already knowing the answer.
“You and Newt. Usually you’re all over each other but these last couple days you’ve been moping about and looking at him like a lost puppy.”
“I have not.”
“Yes, you have. Trust me.” Thomas stayed silent. “Thomas, you can tell me.”
And so he did. Thomas told Minho everything from the content of his nightmares to the way Newt had been comforting him. He told him why Newt was angry and how much he hated it. He missed out the chunk of the story where Thomas had realised his growing feelings for his best friend, but with all Minho’s looks and innuendos over the last few weeks, Thomas was pretty sure he already knew.
“Just tell him you want him to stay,” Minho said simply.
“I can’t—"
“Yes, you can. I know you feel bad for keeping him up, but you clearly feel worse for shutting him out.”
“But—"
“Nope. I’m right, you know it. Oh, and Thomas?” Minho was climbing up a tree as he spoke. Thomas squinted up at him from below.
“What?”
“Whilst you’re there, might as well tell him you’re in love with him, too.”
Thomas picked up a stone from the ground and threw it up at his friend. Minho only climbed higher, laughing like a maniac.
Thomas didn’t pluck up the courage to talk to Newt that night. He’d smiled at him as he sat down to eat dinner and received nothing but a raised eyebrow in return. He decided to take the night to mull over how best to approach the subject without getting hit over the head with a stick; after all, he’d told him to leave and now was going to ask him to stay. It was a bit of an unfair move.
But then everything changed.
That night, when Newt rushed over to Thomas as he sobbed his friends’ names into the night, Thomas found it harder to calm down than usual. His breathing wouldn’t steady no matter how firmly Newt reassured him that everything was okay. He felt as though he was drowning.
“Jesus, Tommy. It’s okay. Look at me. Look at me.”
It took at least five minutes before he finally managed to get a grip on himself and by the end of it, Thomas felt completely drained. He and Newt stared at each other and Thomas felt uncomfortable under the intensity of his stare.
“You okay?” Newt whispered.
“Yeah, ‘m’sorry. Was worse than usual.”
When Newt stood up almost immediately after he finished talking, he broke.
“Are you going?” Thomas whispered.
Newt sighed. “I was just going to pass you some water.”
Thomas nodded and took the bottle from Newt gratefully. He drank it all in a matter of seconds and heard Newt chuckle. The sound sent a wave of reassurance through him and he realised that he’d really, really missed the sound.
“Don’t go.”
“I wasn’t ever planning on moving back over there, Tommy. Was just pissed off.”
“No, I mean now. Here.”
Newt scanned Thomas’ face and he knew it was a searching look. Thomas imagined he was trying to detect any hint of a joke or hesitation. Apparently, he didn’t find anything, because he shuffled back over and sat on the edge of Thomas’ bed again.
“I’m sorry,” they both said at the same time. The two boys stared at each other in disbelief before smiles crept onto their faces and before Thomas could really register what was happening they were laughing. It was slightly hysterical and Thomas felt drunk on happiness. Newt was his friend again, though, so nothing else really mattered.
“You didn’t do anything,” Thomas said once they’d calmed themselves.
“I overreacted.”
“You didn’t. I shouldn’t have said the thing about your leg.”
“I know you didn’t mean it like that, Tommy. It’s fine.”
“I’m still sorry.”
“Me too.”
Thomas smiled and went quiet. They’d both apologised, there was no need to make themselves crazy going over the details. Instead, he allowed himself to drink in Newt’s sleepy appearance for the first time in days. He’d been avoiding looking at the boy as much as possible, not wanting to torture himself with the fact he couldn’t talk to him.
“We could probably fit another bed in here,” Thomas mused after a while of silence. “So you don’t have to sleep outside.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Would that be weird?”
“I don’t think so,” Newt said with a smile. “Minho might get jealous, though.”
Thomas shrugged. “He’ll live.”
They grinned at each other for several long moments. Thomas basked in the fact things had gone back to normal so easily; he cursed himself for not apologising sooner. Newt finally tore his gaze away and gestured awkwardly towards the door.
“I should…”
“No. I meant it. Stay.”
“I guess I could bring my blankets in and sleep on the floor.”
Thomas felt as though he could probably hit him. Or kiss him. Or both. He was really making this difficult for him. To make things as obvious as possible, Thomas shuffled over on the bed so far that he was pressed against the wall and laid down, pulling the sheets back and giving Newt a pointed gaze. Thomas was pretty sure he saw Newt swallow thickly before he took him up on the offer.
“You just asked if it’d be weird to share a room and now you’re letting me share your bed? You baffle me, Tommy,” Newt muttered with a smirk as he lay down next to Thomas and got comfortable.
“I just want you to sleep properly for once,” Thomas admitted. They faced each other, faces inches apart, and Thomas was pretty sure he could hear his own heartbeat. Or was it Newt’s? “I can take the floor if you—“
“Don’t be stupid. Night, Tommy.”
“G’night.”
The following day at breakfast, Thomas was painfully aware that Minho was staring at him and Newt as they talked. Thomas knew he had an embarrassingly large smile on his face due to the fact him and Newt were back to their normal ways but he didn’t care. He’d probably be the same if the situation had occurred with Minho, instead. Although maybe he’d be blushing a little less.
“Did you tell him?” Minho whispered that evening by the fire.
“To stay? Yeah.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“You gonna?”
“No.”
Minho slapped him around the head. Thomas looked at him in shock.
“You slinthead!” he groaned.
“Tell him, or I will,” Minho threatened.
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would.” Somehow, Thomas didn’t doubt that.
“Listen, Minho. He probably doesn’t feel the same and I don’t want to ruin our friendship. Simple as that. Please don’t get involved,” Thomas hated the pathetic tone of his voice but it was necessary. He really didn’t want Minho to open his mouth to Newt.
“What makes you think he doesn’t feel the same?”
“What makes you think he does?”
Minho shrugged and walked off, turning back after a few strides and shouting “don’t lie to yourself!” with a wink. Thomas rolled his eyes and stalked off in the opposite direction. It was still kind of early, but he decided to head to bed.
He was in the middle of getting changed when Newt appeared.
“You’re going to bed already? Oh shit, sorry Tommy. Didn’t mean to barge in on you.”
Thomas laughed at Newt’s expression. He was hardly interrupting anything inappropriate; he stood in shorts and no top. It was nothing they hadn’t seen of each other before considering they’d shared a tent during the six months they’d spent planning Minho’s rescue. But the way Newt’s eyes flickered down Thomas’ exposed torso made him burn bright red and suddenly feel very exposed. He pulled on his t-shirt quickly and sat on the edge of the bed.
“It’s fine.”
“Are you going to bed?” Newt repeated.
“Yeah, I’m pretty tired. Are you?”
“Might do.”
Something lingered in the space between them. Thomas couldn’t tell if it was an unasked question or just remaining awkward tension from Newt walking in on Thomas changing. It felt like it could be both.
“You want me to stay in here again?” Newt asked eventually.
“We didn’t get another bed,” Thomas responded quietly. Newt rolled his eyes and smirked.
“Gee, Tommy. Whatever will we do?”
Thomas laughed and swung his legs off the floor and into bed. He shuffled over once again and tried not to watch as Newt took off his trousers before crawling in beside him once again.
“You’re sleeping in the same shirt you wore all day? Gross.”
“Don’t have a clean one. Would you rather I took it off?”
The smoothness of Newt’s response threw Thomas off balance and he stared at his friend with his mouth agape for far too long. Newt chuckled and turned away from him, lying down on his side so that Thomas’ face was inches away from the back of his head. Thomas finally pulled himself together now that he wasn’t looking at Newt’s mischievous smirk.
“Please remain clothed,” Thomas said. A little voice in the back of his head laughed and told him he didn’t mean that one bit.
“I will, Tommy,” Newt responded. “For your sanity.”
As they settled into silence and Thomas continued to stare ahead at Newt’s golden hair. He yearned to reach forward and run his hand through it. That’d definitely be too much, though. Yet here Newt was, in his bed, joking about taking off his clothes and — unless Thomas was wildly mistaken — flirting with him. Maybe it wouldn’t be completely out of line to assume he could take things a step further.
Thomas’ heart pounded in his chest. All the things he’d done since coming up in the box into the glade seemed minuscule in comparison to what he was about to do. He’d never been so aware of his own pulse in his life.
And so holding his breath, Thomas moved an inch forward and placed his arm around Newt’s waist.
He felt Newt stiffen. They weren’t quite close enough for Thomas’ chest to be pressed against Newt’s back, but Thomas’ arm draped over him lightly and his hand rested against his stomach. Thomas prepared for a punch in the face or, worse, Newt’s abrupt departure.
Instead, his friend relaxed into his touch.
“Night, Tommy.”
“Wake up.”
Thomas opened his eyes slowly and squinted up at Newt who was smiling down at him. He was dressed and looked wide awake. Sunlight streamed in through the open door and filled the room with a warm glow.
“It’s morning?”
“Yeah, late morning, too. You slept like a bloody baby.”
Thomas sat up suddenly, looking up at Newt with a sudden realisation. Newt took a step towards the bed and laughed.
“I didn’t have any nightmares.”
“Congratulations, Tommy,” Newt said sarcastically, though he was smiling widely. Thomas jumped up from the bed and threw his arms around Newt, pulling him into a hug. Newt made a gentle sound of surprise against Thomas’ neck but didn’t protest as he wrapped his arms around him, laughing.
They pulled back from each other and the atmosphere changed abruptly. Newt held onto Thomas’ waist a little too long and Thomas didn’t bother to drop his hands from behind Newt’s neck. Their faces were inches apart, as they had been two nights ago, but this time they had no excuse for the close proximity.
Newt leaned in first but it was Thomas who closed the gap.
Neither of them bothered to be shy. Their mouths moved together easily and Thomas didn’t hesitate to trace Newt’s lips with his tongue. Newt gripped Thomas’ hip with one hand and grabbed at the back of his shirt with the other. Thomas laced a hand into Newt’s soft hair, just like he’d fantasised about mere hours ago. His other hand cupped Newt’s jaw, caressing his cheek gently. Occasionally, one of them would pull away to take a breath, but the other would soon chase their lips hungrily. Neither of them wanted it to end.
Newt pushed against Thomas carefully until the latter’s knees hit the edge of his bed. He took the hint and sat down, Newt following closely behind. Thomas laid down slowly and pulled Newt back into him, trying not to moan as Newt clambered half on top of him as he resumed the kiss. He felt Newt smirk against his lips and, in retaliation, pulled at his hair more harshly than before. Newt gasped and it was Thomas’ turn to throw him a cheeky smile; it was quickly wiped off of his face when Newt leaned down and pressed an open-mouthed kiss against his neck. Thomas was about to dip his hand underneath Newt’s shirt when a voice tore him from his trance.
“What the hell’s taking you shanks - oh, Jesus Christ!” Minho exclaimed. He shielded his eyes as Newt pushed himself away from Thomas with a sigh. Thomas scrambled into a sitting position and attempted to straighten his shirt. Newt joined him on the edge of the bed, not even trying to fix his messy hair or clothes. Thomas had to admire his boldness.
“May we help you?” Newt asked Minho. Thomas tried not to laugh.
“Can I look? Is it over?” Minho whined.
“You can look, shank,” Thomas said with a roll of his eyes. Minho lowered the hand that covered his vision and glared at the two of them.
“In the middle of the day? C’mon, guys. There are kids around.”
“We weren’t doing anything!” Thomas protested. Newt raised his eyebrows in a way that said “we were definitely doing something” and Thomas sighed in exasperation. “Okay, but it’s not our fault you didn’t knock.”
“I didn’t know you’d finally made a move, Thomas. Well done. Listening to the two of you crying over each other was getting exhausting.”
“Slim it, Minho,” Newt replied. “We’ll be out in a second.”
Minho gave them both a suspicious look before shaking his head with a laugh and retreating from the hut. Thomas let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and turned to Newt.
His heart skipped a beat. Oh. They were alone again. And they’d just kissed. Thomas tried to control the inner panic he felt boiling up and instead focused on how completely irresistible Newt currently looked. He leaned in and pressed another lingering kiss onto his lips; it was more to reassure himself, than anything, that what had just happened wasn’t a mistake in Newt’s eyes. The way Newt hummed into his mouth made him hopeful that it wasn’t.
“We should go,” Newt mumbled, his forehead leaning against Thomas’.
“Yeah,” Thomas whispered back.
Thomas stood up and pulled Newt with him before letting go of his hand to try and smooth his hair down.
“Minho will probably have already told half the camp,” Newt said with a shrug, watching Thomas’ unsuccessful attempts to look presentable. “No point tryin’ to hide anything.”
Newt looked him up and down once before smirking approvingly and heading out of the hut.
Thomas followed slowly and took in a deep breath of the fresh sea air. He felt as though his head had never been so simultaneously clear and cloudy, but for once it was a welcome feeling. He didn’t know what this meant for him and Newt but he was pretty sure finding out was going to be equally exciting and terrifying.
As he sat down next to his friends - no, family - for a late breakfast, Thomas realised that although his heart still ached for everything and everyone they had lost, he might finally be able to put those things to rest as long as Newt carried on looking at him like that.