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“Thomas?” Newt’s voice was hushed, quiet enough to be near inaudible in the darkness of the Right Arm tent. There was no other sound than the hiss of the wind outside and the soft snores let out by Thomas’ sleeping figure. The rest of the Gladers had taken their own tents, but Newt and Thomas bunked together.
Together. Newt rolled around the word on his tongue, let it simmer and settle until he felt a knot in his stomach and a hitch in his breath. He thought he’d learned by then, after years in the Glade, with the Maze, not to get attached. But then, attached wasn’t really the right word, because he had done that, he’d continued to do that - with Alby, with Winston, with Chuck and maybe even with Gally.
This wasn’t just being attached. This was heavier, more potent, more dangerous. Newt had forgotten a lot from being put in the Maze, but that feeling - that he couldn’t ever forget. He knew what it was. Of course he knew.
“Tommy,” Newt said again, still quiet, so quiet, and his voice went up in pitch with desperation. What he wanted here, he had no idea. Truthfully, he didn’t even want Thomas to wake up, not really. Because if he woke up, he’d know, and then what would they do?
“I’m too scared to say this when, uh, when you’re awake. You’d probably think that’s stupid of me, and… yeah, it’s - it is, kind of,” he rambled, keeping his voice low. His hands shook along with his bouncing leg, and he swore under his breath, gripping tightly at his knee to keep them both still. It worked, somewhat, and that was good enough.
Newt sucked in a breath, his chest heaving, heart pounding against his ribcage like it wanted out, to escape, to get away from the tent and the Right Arm and the whole world.
(His world. He didn’t picture a globe of dirt and ocean. Instead, he pictured messy brown hair and dark eyes amidst a scattering of freckles, and a smile that brought him pause.)
He had to stop thinking like that. He had to shut it up and lock it away, not only for his sanity, but for his safety, and in a way, for Thomas’. There was no way he could put him in jeopardy because of some loose feelings. Newt didn’t think he’d be able to live with himself if he did that.
But it could wait, just another moment. Just after he spilled his guts to no one at all.
“The thing is… I… the - the thing is … I think… I-I really care about you, Tommy, more than I probably should. And I know that’s dangerous, but I can’t - I just can’t keep myself away. Ever since… I mean, ever since I first saw you in the Glade, it’s always been like this. It’s always been you. I knew I’d follow you wherever you went, no matter what. And I did. I do.”
Newt cut himself off, his voice starting to tremble and shake, and his attempts to keep his body still had long since been rendered useless. He wiped furiously at his weeping eyes, desperate to force them dry. Newt didn’t cry, not over this. He refused to.
He breathed in, slowly, and it was choppy and rough but he continued on. Exhale, inhale. Exhale, inhale. In and out until the quiver of his hands lessened and the tears held less of a hold.
“I’m still a coward, right now, talking to myself. I can’t even… say aloud what I really mean. Can’t admit it, I guess. But, Tommy… I intend to stay by your side, as long as you’ll have me. Even as only - as only a fellow ex-Glader, or as only a teammate, or as only a friend. I just hope I don’t screw it up.”
Newt let out a sigh, his head falling back until he stared up at the flimsy ceiling above him. Through the cracks, he could see stars, blinking at him from far away in space. They were miniscule from where he looked, just small dots against a sweeping black backdrop. In comparison, he felt infinitesimal.
He ripped his gaze away from the stars, settling down in his makeshift bed. Even still, he had more he wished he could say, more he wished he could even put into words, but it fell flat on his tongue and dissolved into dust that left a bitter taste in his mouth. Instead, he tried not to think about it as he held the raggedy blanket close, back turned away from Thomas, long asleep in his own bed.
Instead, all he did was shut his eyes tight and say to no one, “Goodnight, Tommy.”