Chapter Text
When Newt sees the new kid, his mind produces a series of variables, none of them particularly welcoming. His intuition tells him the new boy with inquisitive eyes will rock the boat. His first impression of Thomas is not particularly impressionable - just an average decent-looking fellow. Until he opens his mouth, that is.
Dinner is just starting when Alby invites Thomas to sit at their table. This is almost unknown at the Glade School - the Glade for short. The new boarders - the 'Greenies' are ignored and most of them stay that way, eventually forming their own groups and maybe gaining a place at The Table. The boarders, jokingly named the Gladers, are a very close-knit group after all. They keep to themselves and no one really talks to the day students. Newt's eyes are still wandering around the room, specifically to the Thomas's face. Every now and again he tries to look to away but his eyes automatically dart back to Thomas. There's simply something about him that attracts Newt's attention, he isn't quite sure what yet.
"Hey shanks, this is our new Greenie, Thomas," Alby had said. No one protests when Thomas sits down with them. Alby's word is as good as the law in the Glade. He's the head boy, after all. Alby's quick thinking and knack at keeping the peace between the Gladers is what got him that position, and what earned him the respect of the Gladers.
The ten-meter long Glader table has a certain seating plan. Alby sits at the end as head boy, with Newt beside him as deputy. The Runners are next. Then the Keepers and their various teams sit together. But Thomas should be at the other end of the table, next to newcomer Chuck, a chubby round boy who has skipped a few forms for his high grades. Being next to the Runners is a whole new thing. Alby must really like Thomas then. Newt throws Alby a strange look, conveying his confusion. Not far from him, Gally vocalises Newt's thoughts, but much more crudely.
"Why's the shucking Greenbean here?" Gally snaps, as he reaches for his fork. His monstrous nose, not far from a deformed potato, quivers ominously. Greenie Thomas looks slightly offended but says nothing. Newt smirks, but it doesn't sit right with him how Gally questions Alby's authority.
"Gally," He says in a warning tone. "If Alby invites him here, you should bloody keep your shank mouth shut."
"Slim it, Newt. I'm just curious," Gally says, raising his eyebrows. "What's got your panties in a twist today?"
This nonchalant return only irritates Newt further. He holds back his rage and takes his feelings out on his food. For a few minutes, there's silence except for the clattering of knives and forks.
Minho can't resist. "Oi, shank," he whispers to Newt. "You're eating your damn food, not murdering it,"
Newt turns away from him but Minho can tell that he's trying to hide a grin.
"Shut it, slinthead." These words are used affectionately. Minho was one of the first friends Newt made here. When Newt arrived in the Glade, scared and lost, Minho's no-nonsense straightforward manner had put him at ease. Maybe not so much the sarcastic quips. But time had its way with whippersnappers, even a cheeky little shank like Minho. Along the way, his wit had become a well-loved trait.
Unfortunately, Gally won't drop it. All through the meal, he pokes fun at Thomas, calling him names, an evil glint in his eye as he watches Newt. No one really sticks up for the poor guy, not even Alby, as a Greenie is still a Greenie and it's against their unspoken rules. Newt occasionally tells Gally to shut his fat mouth and keep eating, but Gally ignores him. Everyone listens to the head boy but no ones listens to the deputy head boy.
Newt is ready to strangle Gally soon. What he would give to see a fountain of blood spurt from that fat neck of Gally's!
When Gally calls Thomas a shank for the thirteenth time, Thomas appears to lose his rag.
"Thomas! My name is Thomas!" He snaps, quiet but deadly. Silence settles over the table and Thomas goes back to his dinner.
"Good that," snipes Alby and shoots a menacing glare at Gally who rolls his eyes but thankfully shuts up.
The rest of dinner is fairly uneventful.
*
There's no prep that night as it's the first day back, so the Gladers troop to the common room. In the Sixth Form common room, most Gladers are chatting on the squishy sofas spread across the room. Chuck is alone on the carpet near the fireplace and Thomas is sitting next to him. Newt inwardly groans to himself. Does Thomas have to be so nice? Everyone's pretty fair to Chuck, but he usually sits alone. Seeing Thomas with Chuck just makes him guilty, and slightly annoyed with himself.
Newt keeps watching them, observing the line of Thomas' jaw and the dip of his top lip and how Chuck talks animatedly to Thomas, who replies properly and attentively. Good for the kid, he supposes. Chuck could do with a friend or two. Or three or four.
Minho leaves with the other Runners straight after dinner. As Runners, it's their responsibility to take any new Greenies in the lower forms around for a tour, and show them their dorms.
No one had thought that Minho, sarcastic, cynical Minho could be the Keeper of the Runners. But he had quickly proved himself, much to everyone's amusement. As much as he grumbled about being a Runner, Newt knew he wouldn't trade it for anything else.
"Where's that Asian guy gone?" Thomas suddenly says, appearing behind Newt. Newt doesn't react instantly, lost in his nostalgic thoughts.
"Hey, are you listening?" Thomas says again, frowning slightly.
"Oh, that's Minho who's gone to do his Runner duties," Newt gets out, glad he doesn't stammer. "Minho's the Keeper of the Runners."
Thomas furrows his eyebrows.
"What are Runners and Keepers?" Newt parts his lips slightly, silently contemplating his stupidity. How would Thomas know what they were? Who decided to make him deputy head boy again?
"Well, the Runners are in short, the fastest, strongest and cleverest. The Sixth Form students with top grades and top physical skills." Newt frowns then coughs. "Not so much top personalities though."
"Basically, they're all-rounders in this school. The elites. One of their responsibilities is to help any new Greenies in lower forms around after dinner," explains Newt. "A Keeper is like the head of a team. It's just slang in the Glade. You'll pick up on our terms soon enough." He turns around and tries to ignore the mess of thoughts in his head.
"Oh and I never caught your name," Thomas blurts, "I'm Thomas, if you didn't know."
Of course I shucking know, Newt wants to say. You've really rippled the water of the Glade.
"My name's Isaac Newton," he says instead. Thomas lets out a tiny laugh. "But everyone calls me Newt."
Thomas looks him straight in the eyes. "I like it," he says then turns away to walk to Chuck, who is waving his little arms excitedly.
Newt's mouth dangles open briefly, before he turns back to staring into the fireplace, lost in memories.
*
Newt has rotten luck in life. This is a well-known fact. He looks ruefully at his weak leg. It's impossible for Newt to believe that anyone hates wall-climbing even more than he does. Currently he's unpacking in the Runner's dorm, despite being an ex-Runner himself. No one had the heart to kick him out. Minho had doubly made sure of that.
The rotten luck today is that Thomas is apparently now a new resident of the Runner's dorm too, despite not being a Runner. Several Gladers had already narrowed their eyes and glared at Thomas across the corridor, green with jealousy. Alby's explanation was that the other dorms were 'full' (which means they didn't want the Greenie with no chill) and that Thomas couldn't possibly have a room to himself. Thomas awkwardly stands in the doorway with his luggage, while everyone else unpacks, not paying him much attention.
Sadly, this includes Newt, who still conforms to peer pressure because he's only human.
At ten, Minho returns with the Runners, red in the face with either fatigue, anger, or both.
"Hey, shuck-face!" Minho calls affectionately to Newt, heading over to unpack as well. Thomas looks rather bemused. "The cheeky little snot-rags were even more snotty tonight." Minho looks over at Thomas who looks completely unsure of where to go. He now stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, luggage around him as he fiddles with his phone.
"I suppose the Greenie's going to be taking Ben's bed tonight?" says Minho.
Everyone stiffens in the room. No one really mentions Ben when he isn't around. Again, this is unspoken Glader rules.
"I do have a fucking name," snaps Thomas again, surprising everyone. He's looking round. "Who's Ben? Why isn't he here yet?" He 's probably still crabby from Gally, thinks Newt.
When no one responds, Thomas starts looking agitated.
"We can't tell you," says Minho eventually, looking rather uncomfortable, not willing to let Thomas in on a wound so fresh and so personal. "Not yet." Thomas' face twists in annoyance and Newt is caught between a urge to glare at Thomas or just tell him to avoid the trouble that will follow.
"Slim it, Thomas," Newt compromises, "You'll find out, but not right now." He doesn't see why Ben is a forbidden subject to Thomas but he still glares pleadingly at Thomas.
"Well, can someone at least tell me why I can't know?" insists Thomas bullheadedly, ignoring the hints in his face.
"Look, shuck-face," says Minho exasperatedly. His ears are red too now. "You hear what we're saying? NOT NOW! You got that loud and clear?"
"Who is he?" Thomas shouts, confused and visibly more upset. "Maybe I'll leave the dorms and ask the teachers or something!" Minho immediately blocks the exit.
"No way, shank," he orders. "No one leaves their dorms after the Runners are back. You can stay in the common room but you can't leave the residence halls." But Minho still hasn't answered Thomas' question.
Newt finally speaks up, unable to handle the growing tension. "Slim it everyone, for god's sake! I'll tell the bloody shank!"
Minho frantically gestures at Newt, mouthing 'no no no' at him. Newt rolls his eyes.
"Not everything, you peabrain. Just enough to placate the bloody shank."
He starts walking towards the bathroom and beckons Thomas to follow.
"Hurry up, Tommy." Thomas stumbles after him, evidently surprised at how easily Newt had caved.
The 'Tommy' slips from Newt's mouth before he can help himself. His brain squirms slightly at the newly forged nickname but he doesn't let it show as he yanks Thomas by the sleeve into the showers.
"You've got to learn how to keep that mouth of yours shut," Newt says in a clipped voice. He softens his tone. "Look, Ben's a sore subject with everybody, especially Alby and the Runners. You're lucky that Alby wasn't here or you'd be really in for it."
"Why?" Thomas insists stupidly. Does he ever stop with the questions?
"Shut your gob, I said. I'm getting to that part." Against what his mind tells him, he sidles closer to Thomas. Thomas is really warm and its rather mildly off-putting. "Ben's a Runner and he got into quite a lot of trouble for something he did. I think his parents sent him to a boot camp and he ain't back yet. Ben was a real good guy and we don't know why he did what he did. He should be back in a week or so though, and maybe you'll change dorms soon as you get assigned a role."
He pulls Thomas closer but Thomas steps backward. Newt chooses to ignore this as it's common of Greenies.
"Stop shooting off with that bloody mouth of yours," he taps the side of his head. "Think before you speak!"
Thomas looks at him nervously but then he smiles tentatively. Newt rolls his eyes for what seems like the nth time tonight. He grabs Thomas' hand and takes them back into the dorm, but misses the conflict on Thomas' face.
In his dreams, Thomas appears and asks questions non-stop, till he is forcibly silenced with sellotape. Newt wakes up in the dead of night, amused but confused.
*
It's worrying him how fast Thomas filtered his subconscious. But then again, Thomas had quite the impact, so is there really much to be surprised about? Newt was undeniably curious about the lad.
The next day, Thomas is treated to the tradition of waking a Greenie by dumping icy water on their head. Unsurprisingly, he isn't very fond of this tradition. So, Thomas wakes up with an icy thrill. He leaps straight out of bed, cursing and gasping as the shock of cold water washes over him.
His brown hair is plastered to his forehead, his pyjamas dripping wet and clinging to his side. Thomas looks around the room for the culprit and lo behold, there is Minho with a bucket in his hand.
"Welcome to the Glade, shuck-face," Thomas groans. What he fails to notice is Newt's casting a beady eye over him. Newt is trying to look away, he really is but his eyes still pin themselves to Thomas. He's curious, that's all.
Only when he's towelling himself dry does he see Newt, whose eyes are combing his body analytically with painstaking detail. When their eyes meet, they both turn away immediately. Newt, uncaring, carries on getting dressed.
Thomas however, doesn't know how to feel about it.
His lessons are good and all the teachers are quite nice. He's starting to think that all his lessons are going to be great - until English. It's going to be a better school than Stonewall High. Well, anything would be better than Stonewall High.
In English, the teacher is new and people's opinions about him aren't exactly...the best. The English teacher is wearing a pristine white lab coat, along with thin metal-framed glasses. Well, English teachers are always a bit odd.
"He looks like a shucking rat," snorts Frypan, who Thomas has come to like despite his odd name. "I wonder where Ms. Yang went. She was alright."
Minho has a much more violent reaction. He comes into the classroom a little late and the moment he sees the new English teacher, he guffaws loudly and cusses.
"How ya doin' there, Rat Man?" he blurts out. Minho's eyes widen comically and he slaps a hand over his mouth and sits down at once. There's a collective intake of breath.
Rat Man gets up and glares icily at Minho. But the name has already stuck.
"My name is Mr. Janson," he addresses the class acidly. "Have some respect for your elders." His eyes linger on Minho, who lets out a muffled half-giggle.
"Today, I will be introducing you to the pinnacle of our long era of English literature, Shakespeare. It's going to be a large part of our studies this year and very much a part of the exams." The class groans just to be contrary and Rat Man's face sours."One of his most famous tragedies..." He pauses and looks around. "Can anyone guess?"
Some people raise their hands in a desperate attempt to salvage the damage Minho wreaked. Not everyone wants to be marked down negatively because one idiot can't keep his mouth shut.
"Macbeth?"
"Hamlet?"
"Othello?" These are all shot down by Rat Man.
Jokingly, Newt puts forward 'Romeo and Juliet'.
"Correct," snaps Rat Man, looking a modicum more mollified. "We will also be producing this play as the school production, collaborating with the Glader Girls' School."
"What?" splutters Newt collectively with everyone else at the mention of girls. Being in an all-boys school tended to elicit this kind of reaction. "When?"
Minho stops laughing. Everyone is slack-jawed - Alby, Thomas, Newt, Winston, Zart and Frypan. Rat Man smiles evilly, happy to have wrested some control over them and being able to restore the power balance.
"Participation is not a choice," he smirks, his glasses glinting in a megane character fashion as he pushes them up his nose. "Everyone will be taking part. If you want a decent grade, that is." There is no doubt that every eye staring at Rat Man- ahem Mr. Janson is filled with hatred.
The whole class explodes in an uproar.