Chapter Text
Thomas awoke to the sound of the Slammer lock turning over, Minho silhouetted against the morning sun.
“I thought we said no visitors,” Minho raised an eyebrow as Thomas scrambled to his feet.
“I-I didn’t-“
“Don’t even try to deny it, shank. It reeks in here, and that's coming from me.” Minho opened the gate, stepping to the side. “Welcome to freedom.”
Everything from the Griever to the Maze to the new discovery picked Thomas up and tossed him around, capturing him in a whirlwind of chaos until it spit him back into the Glade, sweat dripping down his spine and heart pounding in his chest from exertion and excitement, eager to share their new discovery. Minho immediately led Thomas to the map room, uncovering a wooded replica of the Maze.
“This is the Maze, completely,” Minho said, bracing his arms against the edge of the table. Thomas frowned, examining the replica.
“I thought you were still mapping it?”
“Nope. I’ve run every part of the Maze myself. This is it,” Minho sighed, his lips pursed.
“And you didn’t tell anyone else?” Thomas pushed, irritation sparking hot beneath his skin.
“It was Alby’s call. We didn’t want everyone to panic or lose hope. So as far as the rest of the Glade knows, we’re still searching.”
Begrudgingly, Thomas had to agree. Minho explained how the Maze worked, which sections were open each day, the order they changed in, where the Griever was and where it came from. Pushing through Thomas’s chest like a sprout in the spring, hope grew in his thawing heart. Maybe this was their key out of the Maze.
“We have to tell Newt,” Thomas breathed, glancing up at Minho for confirmation. Minho nodded, leading the way out the door to the map room and towards the Homestead.
The first thing Thomas picked up on when they got closer to the Homestead was the intense, overwhelming smell of fear.
Thomas’s heart dropped into his shoes, his feet stuttering slightly where they’d just been walking. Minho noticed, raising an eyebrow at him, sensing the change in Thomas’s demeanor.
“What’s wrong?” He asked.
“It smells like fear,” Thomas murmured. Horrible thoughts of another Griever attack circulated through his brain, filling his veins with ice-like worry, anxiety spiking his heart rate like he was still running through the Maze. They slowed their approach, creeping towards the Homestead, trepidation weighting down their shoes. The sound of shouting Gladers slowly filtered through the air, and Thomas and Minho stopped to look at each other, eyes wide as Thomas gripped the corner of the Homestead. Thomas and Minho rounded the side of the building, and suddenly the fear made sense.
A group of Gladers were huddled around the bottom of the Watchtower, each of them holding a different object over their heads as various objects were tossed from the top. THomas jogged over, approaching Chuck, who stood at the edge of the chaos, grinning up at where the projectiles were being launched from.
“What’s happening, Chuck?” Thomas asked, looking up at the Watchtower again. A hand appeared over the edge of the platform, throwing another rock before disappearing just as fast.
“Girls are awesome,” Chuck exclaimed, pointing at the figure. It clicked. The girl that had come up in the Box the day before had finally woken up, and was now hurling projectiles at them.
“Leave me alone!” She shouted, throwing another rock and also an apple. Thomas tracked the objects as they fell, bouncing off the side of a crate that two Gladers were huddled under. The crate moved and Thomas caught a flash of blond hair and high cheekbones, brown eyes narrowed against the sun as he squinted up at the Watchtower from beneath the crate side. His lips moved, but Thomas was too far away to hear. He marched into the crowd, watching the Watchtower carefully as more and more things were thrown. Gally was shouting something and got hit in the head with a chunk of wood for it.
“We’re only trying to help!” Thomas shouted, joining the desperate calls of the other Gladers. Several more things were thrown and Thomas had to pause his talking to dodge two rocks and three more apples. “It’s Thomas! It’s Thomas!”
The projectiles stopped, and wide blue eyes peered over the edge at him. He felt strangely exposed, like she was reading his soul through his skin.
“I’m going to come up, okay?” He shouted, hoping that he could reason with her and calm her down so she didn’t injure any other Gladers.
“Okay,” she replied, her voice almost too quiet to hear over the wind. Thomas nodded to himself as she retreated back onto the platform. A gentle touch on his arm made him jump, whirling to face Newt. He was frowning, his eyes scanning over Thomas’s face.
“You alright?” He asked, his voice low. Thomas smiled softly, gently placing his hand over Newt’s.
“Yeah.”
“You better go up there before I go first, Greenie,” Gally said from behind them. Thomas rolled his eyes as he released Newt’s hand and turned to go up the ramp to the Watchtower. His steps creaked on the slats, nailed down as good as a group of teenage boys could manage to make any solid structure. He pushed the hatch up to climb to the top, and was met with a long machete pointed at his face.
“Woah!” he exclaimed, putting a hand out as if that would stop the machete from permanently disfiguring his face. “It’s just me, just Thomas.”
The girl continued to stare at him, her blue eyes flitting over his face, something like distrust crinkling the lines of her face.
“Where am I? What is this place? Why can’t I remember anything?” She asked. Thomas slowly sat down across from her, watching the machete carefully.
“This is all totally normal, we’ve all been through it,” Thomas answered. “Your name will come back to you in a bit, maybe a couple of days-”
“Teresa,” The girl interrupted. Thomas paused and nodded.
“Teresa, I’m Thomas. Though, you might already know that.”
Teresa looked down at her feet, then back up at Thomas. “They said that I kept saying your name in my sleep. Who are you?”
Thomas pursed his lips and tilted his head. There goes their one lead. “I was hoping you could tell me that,” he mumbled. “I can’t remember, none of us can. We all woke up in the Box with no memories, just like you.”
Teresa nodded, the machete lowering just slightly. Thomas took his chance and slowly inched forwards with his hand out, and grabbed the blade of the machete to pull it out of her hand. He sat back down against the railing. “You’re sure you can’t remember anything?”
Teresa hesitated for a second, thinking, before shaking her head no. Thomas only mourned the loss of the hope they’d all had that this girl could be their key out of the Maze for a moment, before shaking his head.
“Well, let’s go back down and introduce you to everyone,” Thomas sighed, turning to open the hatch again.
“Thomas,” Teresa said. Thomas turned back to her, eyebrows raised, hope blooming in his chest again. He watched her lips move, working around words that seemed to be stuck in her throat. “I’m- I’m sorry for throwing things at you.”
Thomas sighed, his shoulders dropping as the hope in his chest was extinguished again.
“I’m sure they’ll forgive you, they’re all lovely people.”
…oooOOOooo…
Thomas followed behind Newt and Teresa as Newt gave her the same tour he’d received days earlier. He told himself it was to make her feel more comfortable. He knew he was lying to himself. Newt’s scent had faded from his skin throughout the day, so now Thomas was basking in Newt’s scent, inhaling deeply with every step forward. Which is how he smelled the spike in irritation in Newt’s scent as he stopped walking, turning to face Teresa abruptly.
“What’s it to you?” Newt spat, adjusting his machete strap back up into the crook of his neck from where it had begun to slip down his shoulder.
“I-I didn’t mean it like that, I just-” Teresa stuttered.
“Yeah, well that’s how it sounded,” Newt replied. Thomas surged forwards, placing a hand on Newt’s shoulder.
“Hey, come on Newt,” Thomas said. Newt refused to look at him, instead looking across the Glade, taking a deep breath.
“Sorry,” he muttered, glancing back at Teresa before turning to continue on. “Sensitive subject.”
Thomas stared after them, head tilted. He’d missed the trigger for that moment of anger, but he could assume she’d asked about Newt’s mating bite. It was odd though, because Newt had been more open about the bite ever since they’d come to the realization that Thomas was his mate, even foregoing his trusty machete during dinnertime and in the early mornings. Thomas had noticed, of course he had. He couldn’t not notice their mating bite when Newt had it exposed, desperately trying to remember the feeling of his teeth sinking into skin and coming up empty every time.
By the time Newt had finished giving the tour, his shoulders were so tense they almost touched his ears and his scent was almost entirely cinnamon, the spice drowning out the citrus and nearly singing Thomas’s nostril hair with its potency. In the few days Thomas had known him, he hadn’t gotten the sense that Newt was one to anger quickly, but in only ten minutes of giving the Glade tour he’d become pent up and close to snapping. Maybe there was a reason that Alby always showed the Greenies around. Newt sent Teresa off to her hammock, her arms full of supplies. He watched her with narrowed eyes and crossed arms, frowning against the setting sun. Soon enough the Maze would close its doors for the night and they’d all prepare for dinner.
“You alright?” Thomas asked, echoing his mate’s words from earlier. Newt remained silent for a moment before sighing through his nose and turning to face Thomas, his brown eyes glowing gold in the sunlight.
“Yeah. I’ve got a bad feeling about her,” he muttered, glancing over at Teresa’s retreating form, making sure she couldn’t hear him. Thomas frowned, following Newt’s gaze.
“How so?”
“I don’t think she’s telling the truth about not remembering anything,” Newt replied.
“Anything in particular that gave you that idea?” Thomas asked.
“She asked about my mating bite,” Newt said.
“Well, that’s not particularly-”
“Suspicious, yeah I know, Tommy,” Newt interrupted. “But she asked about what it felt like to have no memories of your mate only to meet them again.” He locked eyes with Thomas.
“She probably saw my bite and assumed,” Thomas reasoned despite the sinking feeling in his gut.
“She shouldn’t know how long you’ve been in the Maze, Tommy.” Newt’s words punched the air from Thomas’s lungs, filling his stomach with cold dread as heavy as lead. He exhaled in a rush, pursing his lips and watching Teresa where she was setting up her hammock. Thomas turned back to Newt and placed his hands on his shoulders, looking into his brown eyes, once again finding himself drowning in the depths of them.
“It’s fine, we’ll worry about it tomorrow,” Newt said, waving his hand. When he let it fall again, his palm skimmed across Thomas’s arm, making Thomas’s breath catch in his throat. “How was the Maze today?”
Thomas was entranced by Newt’s eyes. “It- it was good yeah. We um, we found something.”
“Yeah? What?” Newt replied, cocking his eyebrow, hope glimmering tentatively in his irises. He looked good. Ridiculously good. It made Thomas just want to lean in and kiss him. He felt his head fall forwards slightly. They hadn’t been standing far apart to begin with, needing to make sure they weren’t overheard, but now the distance felt miniscule, a mere hair’s breadth between their noses.
“We uh- Minho has it. He’s in the- in the map room, probably. Yeah,” Thomas felt his thoughts venturing further and further away from the Maze, and becoming increasingly focused on Newt’s lips. He knew he should pull away, that they needed to discuss the Maze and Teresa and the Grievers, but all of his thoughts had drained out of his ears, leaving behind his pounding dependence on Newt. Thomas leaned in closer, watching Newt’s face morph from curious to surprised, his eyes widening slightly as his lips parted.
“Tommy,” he murmured, eyes flicking from his eyes to his lips, as if he was trying to keep himself on track. It made Thomas want to make him lose control even more. “We can’t keep Minho waiting.”
“He’ll be fine for a minute,” Thomas whispered, leaning in close enough that if either one of them tilted the slightest bit forwards, their lips would touch. He held his breath, leaving Newt plenty of space to back away, to pull out and forget this ever happened. The space between them was charged, like lightning about to strike beneath their skin, electric and good and exciting in the tension.
Newt closed the gap between them, his lips soft against Thomas’s. Thomas sighed into the kiss. It felt like coming home. He slowly brought a hand up to cup Newt’s jaw gently, shy, tender kisses blossoming between them like flowers in the spring, new and beautiful. Newt’s arms wrapped themselves around Thomas’s waist, pulling him in closer so their bodies were flush. Bright citrus filled the air, the cinnamon providing warmth and comfort beneath it all. When they finally parted, eyes wide and pupils blown, Thomas dropped his face into the curve where Newt’s neck met his shoulder, inhaling deeply. His head spun with the scent, pure dopamine rushing through his veins and sending him careening off into the clouds, high on love.
Love.
He filed that realization away for later, instead pressing a gentle kiss to Newt’s mating bite. He felt Newt shiver, goosebumps raising on his own arms. Unable to resist it now, Thomas gave in to the urge to taste, hesitantly sliding his tongue over Newt’s scent gland. Newt inhaled sharply above him, one of his hands moving from Thomas’s waist to the back of his head, gripping a fistful of hair and pulling him back gently. Newt peered down at him with narrowed eyes and flushed cheeks, delicate pink dusting over his cheekbones.
“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Tommy,” he said, his voice low and raspy, his accent thicker than normal. It sent heat curling down Thomas’s spine, landing somewhere in the pit of his stomach, coiling tight, lying in wait.
“Oh, I’ll finish it,” Thomas teased, a suggestive grin stretching off his lips. Newt spluttered for a moment, then released Thomas’s hair, pushing him away in false irritation.
“Stop distracting me, we need to talk to Minho about the Maze,” he said, turning his face away. Thomas could still see how red the tips of his ears were.
“Right, Minho. He’s probably pissed that he had to wait this long,” Thomas muttered, his brain still only half present, the other half replaying how Newt’s lips felt against his, how strength coiled silently beneath his skin, evident in the way he squeezed Thomas when he pulled him in.
“Come on, shank. Don’t want to be late,” Newt started off across the Glade, leaving Thomas to scramble after him, his smile bright in the golden light of the setting sun.
…oooOOOooo…
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow he and Minho would test their theory. If they were right, tomorrow they’d leave the Maze. Thomas stared up at the rafters above him, swinging slightly in his hammock, too many thoughts rushing through his head to even think about falling asleep. The rustle of fabric came from his left, but Thomas didn’t look. It was probably Chuck turning over in his sleep.
A familiar face popped into his view, dark brown eyes crinkling in the corners.
“Can’t sleep?” Newt whispered, tucking a stray piece of hair behind his ear. Thomas grinned up at him, letting his eyes rove over Newt’s face, taking in every single feature of the man before him, committing it to memory. He wanted to be able to carve Newt from marble, immortalize the slope of his nose, the crinkle of the corners of his eyes, his crooked grin, so that if Wicked ever got their hands on him again he’d be able to feel Newt’s features and know the true meaning of home.
“Nah, thinking too hard,” Thomas answered. Newt nodded slowly, crossing his arms over his chest and then immediately uncrossing them.
“Do you have room for one more in there?” He whispered. “I can’t sleep either.”
Stunned, Thomas blinked up at Newt for a moment, then scrambled to make room for Newt in his hammock. Grinning, Newt slid into place, his body slotting easily against Thomas’s, like they’d been made to fit together. Muscle memory guided Thomas as he curled into Newt’s side, throwing an arm across his chest and tangling their legs together. Newt wrapped his arms around Thomas, pulling him in closer. They both sighed, content and relaxed. As soon as he was surrounded by Newt, Thomas felt his thoughts calm down, the racing in his brain slowing to a crawl as his eyelids grew heavier. A yawn tugged at his jaw, causing Newt to chuckle.
“Thought you weren’t tired?” Newt teased.
“Shaddup,” Thomas slurred. “You’re comfy, sue me.”
Newt snorted, pulling Thomas closer and nuzzling his face into his hair, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head. Thomas smiled, gently returning the kiss to Newt’s collarbone, inhaling deeply as he was surrounded by Newt’s scent. A deep purr built up in his lungs as he relaxed even more, melting into Newt’s side as his mate’s fingernails gently scratched at his scalp. How was it possible to feel so entirely safe with one person? So wholly protected even though they only had a few days of memories with each other. Was it normal? Well, nothing about their situation was normal, he supposed.
Instead of lingering on that thought, Thomas allowed his eyes to close, sleep whisking him away easily.
When Thomas woke up, he was shocked to see that the sky was light. He hadn’t woken up after the sun his entire time at the Glade, falling into consciousness when the stars still graced the sky. Heat radiated into his back, arms tightening slightly around his waist. At some point in the night, they’d shifted so Newt was behind Thomas, pulling the other into his chest so tightly Thomas could feel his heartbeat on his spine. Thomas flushed, caught off guard by this new, uncharted territory. But even if they hadn’t done it in memory, the action felt so familiar that Thomas didn’t doubt for a second that this was a regular occurrence Before. Basking in his new revelation, Thomas smiled softly, craning his neck to catch a glance of his mate’s face.
Newt’s hair fell around his face, haloing his features with soft spun gold, gentle in the early morning. All of the usual creases were gone from Newt’s face, making him look younger. Not that he looked particularly old, having an unfortunate case of baby-face, but he seemed older during the day, carrying himself with a weight, with a purpose that told everyone else this is what a leader looks like.
Maybe younger wasn’t the right word. Softer was more accurate. Thomas’s heart fluttered behind his ribs, elation soaring. He watched as Newt’s eyebrows scrunched softly as he woke up, only creasing for a moment before he inhaled and immediately relaxed again, humming softly against the back of Thomas’s neck.
“Morning,” Thomas whispered. He felt Newt smile against his skin, goosebumps rising along his arms at the action.
“Mornin’ Tommy,” Newt drawled, speech still slightly slurred from sleep. Thomas melted into the words, his bones turning to rubber beneath Newt’s touch.
“Sleep okay?”
Newt just hummed in response, breathing deeply into the curve where Thomas’s neck met his shoulder. Thomas shivered at the feeling of his breath ghosting across his skin.
“You smell good,” Newt mumbled from his position, his nose pressed right against the scent gland his mating bite circled. His lips gently pressed to Thomas’s skin, sending a bolt of electricity up his spine.
“And what do I smell like?” Thomas asked, running his fingers up and down Newt’s forearm. Newt hummed, nuzzling closer to Thomas and tightening his hold as his scent slowly bled into bright contentment.
“Mmm. Like… like rain. And fresh cut grass,” Newt replied. He spoke slowly, as if making sure every word that came from his mouth was accurate enough, not wanting to even misspeak about his lover’s scent. “You smell like a breath of fresh air.”
“Sap,” Thomas teased. Newt grunted in response, begrudgingly tearing himself from Thomas’s scent gland to peer blearily up at his mate.
“Oh, am I now? Do tell, Tommy, what do I smell like?” And how could Thomas resist Newt when he was staring up at him with those big brown eyes, voids of night that sucked Thomas in with their gravitational pull.
“You smell like citrus and cinnamon.” The answer was easy. “It’s warm and bright, and it smells like home.”
“Now who’s the sap?” Newt grinned, throwing Thomas's words right back at him. Thomas rolled his eyes, playfully slapping Newt’s wrist.
“Yeah yeah, tease all you want, you’re the one with your face glued to my neck right now.”
“You have no proof of that,” Newt replied as he returned to his previous position of having his face indeed glued to Thomas’s neck.
“Uh huh,” Thomas hummed, smiling down at his lover as they laid together in his hammock. Later, they’d escape from this hellhole, but right now, bathed in the first gentle rays of the sun’s light, they were able to just be, tangled together, cosmically intertwined in a way that made them impossible to tease apart, their very souls melding together into one, love surpassing all bounds known to man. Thomas found comfort in the fact that even if they had to do this all over again, he’d find his way back to Newt every. Single. Time.
He’d once feared living without Newt, and now he relished in the fact that he’d never have to again, their fates tangled and their bodies gravitationally pulled to each other even if their memories failed, their very beings cosmically meshed together in ways that no man could ever rip apart.
Together in body and soul, intertwined for eternity.