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“I found this on you while you were passed out,” Minho tells Thomas, revealing the string with the tiny silver capsule that Newt had given to his friend during the fit of insanity that almost took his life.
Minho still has no idea why Newt had been so persistent about it. There must be something about this necklace, something that only Newt and Thomas know about. Maybe something happened during those long six months while WCKD had him.
Thomas accepts the piece of string, looking at it like it causes him physical pain. That might actually be the case. Something tells Minho that it’ll take a long, long time for them both to forget how close Newt had been to death.
He should give Thomas some alone time to be angsty by himself, he should. But Minho lingers on the porch next to his friend as he fiddles with the capsule, giving in to the curiosity about what the necklace might mean or represent.
He’s just about to ask Thomas about it when a sharp inhale of surprise cuts through the space between them as the cap comes off, seemingly by accident, and the full purpose of the necklace becomes known.
“Oh,” Thomas breathes softly.
Between a second and the next, Thomas has two crinkled pieces of paper in his hands, littered with words written in Newt’s handwriting.
It’s a letter.
Minho manages to catch a glimpse of the words Dear Thomas before something snatches the pages away.
Someone, rather.
“I’ll have that, thank you very much!” Newt exclaims, unusually chipper. He quickly proceeds to stuff the letter into the pockets of his trousers, like he’s in a hurry to hide it from the world.
Thomas looks up at his friend, clearly dumbfounded. “But—?”
“You won’t be needin’ it anymore, Tommy,” Newt replies, shrugging like nothing about this sudden turn of events is weird.
“Why not?” Thomas mumbles, silently pleading with those bambi eyes of his that Minho knows for a fact that Newt is weak for. “What does it say?"
“They were supposed to be my last words to you. But as you may have noticed, I’m still here. I suppose I have you lot to thank for that.”
“So... you’re not gonna let me read it?”
“Nah. ‘S not important anyway.”
A look of hurt flickers across Thomas’ face, and Newt turns away from him as if to avoid seeing it.
Minho narrows his eyes, studying Newt closely. He looks uncomfortable, like he is about to break his confident stance and start squirming under Thomas’ gaze any second now. This is the boy Minho has known for more than three years at this point. The same person who he has spent every single one of the few highs and the many lows with in the Glade. They’re family by now—Minho can read him like an open book.
And there is obviously something he’s not telling Thomas.
Minho is going to figure out what it is.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
“Wanna tell me what all that was about yesterday?” Minho asks Newt the next day, towering over him in the garden.
Newt throws a glance over his shoulder and deflates when he sees Minho there. Grunting, he reluctantly takes off his gloves and abandons the tomato plants.
“Fine,” he mutters, reaching into his pocket to pull the papers out. “Have at it. You’re gonna giggle like a bloody Crank.”
As Minho skims through the letter, he quickly starts feeling like an imposter who’s reading something he shouldn’t. The words are clearly not meant for him. He learns about Newt’s thoughts—his fear of forgetting, the perfect moment before the sun slipped beneath the walls in the Glade, and all the fondness for Thomas.
Wow, Newt really went all in. I would follow you anywhere, huh? That sounds kinda—
When his eyes fall on the last paragraph, things finally click into place.
I love you, Tommy. I don’t blame you for a single thing.
Never let yourself forget it.
Yours,
Newt
“Wow,” Minho mumbles. “You’ve got it bad, man.”
Newt glares at him. “You think?”
Realization strikes Minho. “Wait, so... the only reason why you told him how you feel is because you thought you were gonna die.”
Newt grunts in response.
“And you took the letter back yesterday ‘cause you’re still alive and scared of Thomas’ response.”
“Brilliant observation,” Newt deadpans.
“That’s hilarious,” Minho admits, attempting to stifle his laughter. “Where’s my letter, then? Is there anything you wanna tell me too?”
A look of unmistakable guilt falls upon Newt’s face. That can only mean one thing.
“You didn’t write me one?” Minho splutters.
“No,” his friend admits. “I didn’t.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Well, because I’m not in love with you, am I?”
“Your loss, dude,” Minho scoffs. When his friend’s words fully sink in, he does a double-take. “Wait, you’re in love with Thomas? How did that even happen?”
To be fair, this should not come as a surprise to Minho. He had been aware of Newt’s unusually strong liking to Thomas—it has been obvious from the very moment the Greenie clumsily tumbled into their lives like a breath of fresh air. But up until now, Minho had never stopped to think about the possibility of Newt’s feelings running even deeper than that.
An uncharacteristically genuine smile spreads over Newt’s face. “I don’t actually know,” he mumbles, grinning to himself. “He’s just... he’s so lovely. I have no bloody idea why, but he seemed familiar to me when we first met. And when he told me that he was going to find a way out of the Maze, I believed him. He taught me how to be hopeful again.”
A comfortable silence creeps in as the weight of Newt’s words settles in the air between them.
“You’ve turned into your worst fear, you know,” Minho informs him. “A cliché.”
The most surprising thing is that he looks one hundred percent okay with it.
“Piss off,” Newt chuckles and playfully shoves Minho. When their laughter dies down, the atmosphere changes into something more somber. “I’m sorry for not writing you one as well.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. I... I wanted to, but I didn’t have a lot of time towards the end, and I prioritized Tommy’s letter because I knew you’d be alright. Tommy, on the other hand... I knew he’d blame himself for the rest of time if I didn't make it. I needed to relieve him of that guilt in any way I could.”
Minho nods. His friend does make a good point, but also—
“Did the Flare mess up your brain that bad, shuckface? How could you ever think that I’d be fine without you?”
Newt gives him a pained smile and does something he doesn’t do very often—he initiates a hug. Minho accepts the offer, of course he does. Better seize a rare opportunity like this when it presents itself.
Neither of them cries. They’re too tough for that, obviously. But if Minho’s being completely honest with himself, he comes pretty close to shedding a tear or two. Whatever. No one is ever going to know about this anyway.
When they seperate, Minho decides to ask the big question. “So when are you gonna tell him?”
“Don’t know yet. I’ll wait a while.”
“Why?”
Newt throws his hands up in frustration like the answer is obvious. “We only just got here. He just lost Teresa.”
“So?”
“So it’d be selfish of me to come along and dump my stupid feelings all over him when he’s clearly still mourning her,” Newt mutters, suddenly avoiding eye contact. “‘Sides, I didn’t think I’d actually make it here. And now that I have, well... there’s no rush. I’ll tell him eventually.”
Minho doesn’t believe that for a second. Newt is the most stubborn guy he’s ever met, and if he has told himself that Thomas won’t be able to reciprocate because of Teresa or whatever reason, then his belief will not change anytime soon.
It’s Minho’s job to at least try and make it happen. “He loves you too. You know that, right? There’s no way he’ll—”
“Stop it."
Minho rolls his eyes. “Tell him. Or I’ll do it myself.”
“No,” Newt declares in a steady tone of finality, and that’s that. “Promise me you won’t say anything. Promise me.”
Even though Minho loves Thomas like a brother, his loyalty will always lie with Newt, at the end of the day. It’s always been the two of them against the world.
“Fine.”
So he has no choice but to keep his mouth shut and hope the shanks figure it out themselves.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
Newt is waiting for them the next morning when Minho and Thomas come back from their daily morning jog.
Minho reaches him first and accepts the bottle his friend is holding, quickly guzzling down ice old water.
“Hey! Wait up, man,” Thomas gasps from a few feet away, breathing heavily and obviously struggling to catch up. “How are you suddenly faster than me?”
“You’ve been slacking off, Greenie,” Minho tells him. For old time’s sake.
Thomas shoots him a look that could kill as he comes to a stop next to Minho. “Don’t call me—oh. Hi, Newt. Um, good morning.”
Minho literally laughs out loud. He wants to kick himself for not noticing this earlier—how Thomas’ entire personality changes in Newt’s presence. It’s like his brain turns to mush whenever he sees him.
Their fearless leader has a fundamental weakness. Who would’ve thought?
“Mornin’, Tommy. Good run?”
“Yeah, it was great,” Thomas says with a shy smile. “Would’ve been much better with you there, though.”
Minho resists the urge to gag. Idiots. Oblivious, clueless idiots. Newt is completely brain dead if he thinks Thomas doesn’t reciprocate his feelings.
“Well, let me know when your blood can cure leg injuries too, yeah?”
“I will. So, uh. I’ve been thinking a lot about your letter, and...” Uh-oh, Minho thinks. “It’s fine if you don’t want me to read it, but could you at least tell me what—”
“What letter?” Panic flickers in Newt’s eyes. “What are you on about?”
Minho gives him a look that says, are you really doing this? Newt ignores him and turns his attention back to a very confused Thomas.
“The... the letter you gave me? Inside the necklace?"
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Newt replies, clearly trying to sound casual. It doesn’t work—Minho can see right through him. Thomas, on the other hand, remains clueless. “Do you know what he’s talking about, Minho?”
“No idea,” Minho lies.
He regrets it immediately when Thomas visibly deflates and looks to Newt for guidance. When it doesn’t come, his expression crumbles. Newt doesn’t stop him when he turns around and walks away.
Idiots. How can they be so blind?
Minho makes a decision, then. He is going to help these shanks get together.
They’ve done so much for him, after all. They dedicated the last six months of their lives to trying to find him, risking absolutely everything in the process.
Helping them with this is the least he can do.
But how could he possibly do it without breaking his promise to Newt?
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
A couple of days later, Minho sits by the unlit campfire, enjoying his lunch.
He looks up to see two toddlers staggering toward him.
“Minho,” says one of them—the curly-haired five year old with the name of Lotte. “Where’s Thomas?”
“Yeah, where’s Thomas?” the other kid—a mischievous little shank called Avery—repeats, crossing his arms as if to challenge anyone who stands in his way.
“I don’t know,” Minho admits, crouching to the ground to meet them both. Avery has got a trail of sand all the way up to his chin, like he just fell flat on his stomach. The sight of it reminds Minho of something. “Hold on, what are you guys doing out here by yourselves? Get back to Emma’s place!”
“No way! Not without Thomas,” Lotte protests, looking like she’s about to start throwing punches.
The Right Arm had been sending people here for years before Minho and his friends got here, and in the meantime, a couple of babies were born. There are a dozen or so, and Emma—one of the original members—took it upon herself to take care of them during the days when their parents are busy working.
Thomas helps her sometimes, and he’s ridiculously great with them. Minho doesn’t know how he does it, but all the kids seem to be drawn to him like moths to a flame.
And they miss him when he isn’t there, apparently. So much so that they broke out of the hut to look for their favorite person.
“Do you want me to go get him?” Minho suggests.
The kids nod vigorously.
“Let’s make a deal, okay? If you two go back to Emma’s, I’ll go find Thomas. Sound good?”
After agreeing, the toddlers turn around to reluctantly retreat back to daycare, and Minho sets off toward the far left of the beach where Thomas usually goes for privacy.
“What’s with the sad vibes today, man?” Minho asks and sits down next to his friend right by the shoreline. Gentle waves come in to lap at his bare feet. “Lotte and Avery just informed that they want your full attention."
Thomas’ expression brightens for a moment at the mention of the kids. Then he goes back to looking depressed as hell, absentmindedly sending a pebble flying out over the water before it disappears in the deep blue.
“I’m all messed up, Minho. I don’t think I should spend as much time with them as I have been. They look up to me, but... They’re better off with Emma. She knows what she’s doing."
Minho rolls his eyes as dramatically as he can. “You’re great with them, and they love you. You know that. What’s this really about?”
“It’s about everything. I’m all messed up, and now my best friend won’t even talk to me.”
“Newt, you mean?”
Thomas nods.
“Are you deaf?” Minho splutters. “He talks to you all the time!”
“Yeah, but he’s clearly keeping something from me,” Thomas mumbles, ducking his head down to watch his fingers play with the soft sand. “Something big.”
Well. Minho can’t argue with him on that one, but he has also promised Newt not to say anything about it. “Uh...”
“And we don’t do that, you know?” Thomas continues, looking more lost than he’s ever been. “We’ve always been honest with each other. I trust Newt with my life, and I can’t figure out why he doesn’t feel the same. He knows that he can tell me anything, right?”
Minho nods. “I think he just needs some time to, um... settle down.”
“What does that even mean?” Thomas blurts out, impatient as always. “This is about the letter, isn’t it? What’s he not telling me?”
“I don’t know anything about a let—”
“I’m not stupid, Minho. You saw it.”
“Fine, I did,” Minho admits, giving up on trying to act oblivious. “But it’s not my place to talk about. I’m sure he’ll tell you about it eventually,” he offers, desperately hoping Newt’s statement turns out to be true. “Now, quit moping around and get back to the kiddies.”
Thomas puts on a fake smile right before they reach Emma’s hut, and Minho’s heart breaks at the sight of it. He would never have suspected that Newt’s white lie could cause this much pain or confusion.
He decides that his friends really, really need to get their shit together. Immediately.
They’ve finally made it to the Safe Haven, which is literally paradise on Earth, and these shanks choose to make a big deal out of something like love—something there can never be too much of, something they should be welcoming with open arms.
It’s what matters most.
Sigh. If only Newt wasn’t so shucking stubborn.
“Do you wanna come with?” Thomas asks, gesturing to the drapery that serves as a door to the makeshift daycare. “They can be pretty noisy at times, but...” he trails off, letting Minho fill in the sentence with words of his own. If the fondness in his voice is anything to go by, they’re only supposed to be good ones.
“Nah,” Minho replies, “I promised Fry I’d help out in the kitchen today.” Another white lie to (hopefully) solve the problems caused by the preceding one.
Thomas nods and enters the hut, disappearing behind the curtain.
Minho can’t resist. He pushes the piece of fabric slightly to the side, granting him a view of the messiest scene he’s ever laid his eyes on.
The majority of the kids are sitting around a table with a pile of all kinds of stuff on top of it. They’ve all got paint all the way up to their elbows.
Emma is a few feet away, rocking a fussy newborn in her arms. When she sees Thomas, she sighs in relief. “Thank God you’re here.”
Maybe she shouldn’t have said that without warning, because her words get the kids’ attention instantly. A dozen heads quickly turn toward the entryway.
“Thomas!” they squeal, and in a matter of seconds, the boy in question is drowning in a sea of toddlers frantically clinging to him.
He doesn’t seem to mind, though. Thomas crouches down to the ground to meet the children—easily, without hesitation, like he has done it a thousand times before.
“Whoa, guys, take it easy,” Thomas says through breathless laughter, dodging several pairs of grabby hands as the kids flock around him.
“Where were you?” Ella asks while determinedly fighting to keep her spot closest to Thomas’ left, smearing blue paint all over him in the process.
“At the beach,” he tells the group, meeting every single one of their gazes to make them feel included. He’s a natural—Minho can tell. “I’m sorry for not visiting earlier, but I’ve been a little sad today. Nothing to worry about, though, I promise.”
“Why are you sad?” Lotte pouts, tangling her tiny, clay-coated fingers in Thomas’ hair.
Again, he doesn’t seem to mind. “Do you really want to hear about it? You seemed to have so much fun with your arts and crafts. I’d hate to interrupt.”
Minho has never heard him speak this gently before.
All the kids nod in response to the question, looking at their caretaker with wide eyes full of nothing but admiration.
“Okay, so... there’s this boy,” Thomas starts, and Minho instantly knows where this is gonna go. Despite feeling immense guilt about eavesdropping, he stays put. “He’s one of my best friends. You guys know him too. I really love him, but I don’t think he feels the same way about me. That’s all.”
Minho notices how he pointedly ignores the topic of not considering himself to be good for these kids.
But he clearly is. If Minho had any doubt before, he certainly doesn’t have any now. Thomas is going to play a big part in providing wonderful childhoods for them—just like he wanted to do for Chuck but never got a chance to.
The kids erupt into a choir of questions. Evidently, they’ve learned from the best.
“Why not?”
“Who is it?”
“Don’t be sad, Thomas!”
While beaming brighter than the sun itself, Thomas tries his best to answer them, but the questions keep coming.
Minho’s heart practically melts at the sight before him. These kids are lucky to have Thomas, there’s no doubt about it, but maybe Thomas is even luckier to have them.
“Here,” Lotte grins, offering a disfigured piece of clay that is maybe meant to resemble a turtle. “Maybe this’ll cheer you up.”
Thomas’ façade breaks, and Minho can almost see how he has to actively fight to keep tears at bay. “Really? For me? Thank you so much, sweetheart.”
“You’re welcome,” Lotte replies, looking so proud of herself that Minho almost blows his cover by bursting out into loud laughter.
The others seem to wanna get a thank you from Thomas too, because they start to shower him with all kinds of gifts—wooden figurines, more animals made out of clay, and stones with colorful motives painted onto them.
By the end of the gift-giving, Thomas’ eyes are visibly wet.
Avery is the first one to notice. “Are you sad again?”
“No,” Thomas murmurs softly, wiping at his eyes as if to push the tears back in before they fall. “I’m not, I swear. I’m happy, actually. So happy. Thanks to you guys.”
The kids press even closer, enveloping Thomas and each other in a massive group hug.
Well, shuck.
How is Minho meant to keep his mouth shut now?
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
Days pass.
Minho watches as Newt and Thomas drift apart, becoming insecure around each other for different reasons.
Everyone notices.
When even Vince starts to give Minho questioning looks—like he is supposed to solve the problem—he throws caution to the wind and abandons all rules.
This is ridiculous. He has to do something.
One night when Newt is fast asleep, Minho goes against his every instinct and carefully snatches the letter out of the boy’s pocket.
Something tells him that Newt will forgive the action.
After sunset, it usually gets a bit cold. As a result, the inhabitants of the Safe Haven have to put on an extra layer of clothes before dinner.
You’re a genius, Minho tells himself as he grabs Thomas’ favorite hoodie.
Oh, this’ll be good. So good.
Everyone is eating dinner by the bonfire when it happens.
Thomas comes running. “Newt,” he pants.
Newt looks up with fright in his eyes. “Yeah?”
“Did you mean it?” Thomas asks, gripping the letter tightly in his hand. “You really love me?”
Newt gets to his feet in a hurry. “Tommy,” he breathes, clearly trying his best to stay calm. “Where did you get that?”
“I asked first.”
“Yeah,” Newt mumbles cautiously. “I meant it.”
When Thomas lets out a sigh of relief, Minho hears it clearly. Everyone is dead silent—you could hear a pin drop.
“You’re an idiot,” Thomas blurts out, looking at the other boy like no one else is around. They’ve forgotten the simple fact that they’re in public. “I feel the same way.”
There we go! Hard part’s over.
Or not. Newt’s face goes through a range of emotions before it settles on bewilderment. “But...? Teresa?”
Thomas frowns. “What about Teresa?”
“You love her.”
“I did. I do,” Thomas admits, almost whispering now. His voice is softer than the summer breeze surrounding them. “But not like this. I love you, Newt. So much that I can barely stand it.”
Minho can practically feel the collective sigh of relief that ripples through the crowd, and he has to fight off the urge to throw his fist into the air in triumph. Finally.
When Thomas speaks again, his voice breaks in the middle of the sentence. “Will you let me? Love you, I mean?”
Minho is pretty sure someone in the crowd starts crying when Newt responds. “Yes, Tommy. ‘Course I will.”
In a flurry of movement, they run to one another. When meeting in the middle of the circle, Newt cups Thomas’ face with both hands, running his thumbs over the other boy’s cheek in a gesture that can only be interpreted as loving. Minho would probably start to feel a bit nauseous at the sight of it if he wasn’t so relieved.
And then it happens—they kiss each other.
A startled, almost whiny noise escapes Thomas when Newt tilts his head to the side, kissing him deeply. Both of them are blushing, and in the golden shades of the firelight, they almost look cute. Almost.
Minho is the one who initiates the round of applause, and soon enough, it’s almost deafening.
The two boys separated at the sound of the crowd, looking almost surprised—like they actually had forgotten about everybody else. Figures.
Thomas looks around, spellbound by the unwavering attention, and hides his flustered face by pulling Newt close once more. His body shakes with silent laughter as Newt holds him tightly.
When the applause starts to die down, Gally wolf-whistles which elicits another round.
Newt grabs Thomas’ face again, regaining eye contact. He mumbles something against the shorter boy’s lips, something that Minho can’t make out due to all the noise.
But it looks a lot like ‘I love you’.
After a long night of celebrations, Minho retreats back to the sleeping area.
Newt is out cold already, laying on his back in his hammock. There’s nothing unusual about it.
Only tonight, Thomas is next to him. His face is nuzzled into the crook of his boyfriend’s shoulder, and their hands are resting on Newt’s chest, intertwined.
They both look so unbelievably comfortable that it makes Minho chuckle to himself. They deserve this so much.
Suddenly, Thomas stirs in his sleep. When his eyes flutter open and land on Minho, he smiles and blinks sleepily. Thank you, he mouths.
After Minho winks at him, Thomas falls back into unconsciousness—but not before pressing a soft kiss to Newt’s neck.
Minho finds himself wanting to love someone that much.
And maybe he will. Someday.
But for now, well... he’ll just sit back and let Newt and Thomas teach him how.