Chapter Text
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The drumming sound of fingers being tapped against dark wood cut through the distant sounds of ocean waves crashing on the beach of the Safe Haven as Thomas stood over a desk, back hunched to look at the map in front of him.
He was stressed, to put it lightly. Supplies were limited and the only place they knew to go to search for what they needed was Denver.
The Last City.
A city Thomas, along with some others in the Safe Haven, swore to never return to. But it was really their only option.
The name was ironic, looking back on it now. The Last City sounded like it should've been a utopia, all good news and fresh air. No worries about Cranks or terrible monsters. But it wasn't like that at all. It was torture just to think about the God-awful place. It didn't deserve a name like that. It didn't deserve to sound so good.
To be fair though, the city wasn't all that bad until Thomas and his friends showed up.
Wicked had created a society that had some faint resemblance to what the world had probably been like before the Flare had struck, and the people living there were content, all things considered. Then the members of the Right Arm showed up and quite literally burnt that all to the ground.
But Thomas could not bring himself to feel any sympathy for the citizens of the Last City. They were the wealthy, the elite members of society. The people who were deemed worthy enough to have sanctuary. Who could afford life.
Life shouldn't be a luxury. That was something Thomas had decided a long time ago. Life should be a given, and he was tired of fighting for it.
He remembered touring the city with Newt and Gally, in awe of the fluorescent lights and towering buildings. He remembered so clearly how the street lamps had reflected in Newt's eyes, how they made his straw colored hair glow gold.
Thomas also remembered how later the lights had flickered and shut off, leaving Newt's eyes black holes of insanity. But those were memories that hurt too much to bring back up.
The map in front of Thomas was objectively useless. He had the layout practically memorized, constantly planning supply runs and trips, though he had never been brave enough to go out on one.
He felt mildly guilty over that, knowing that others were doing so much heavy lifting, but he figured that if anyone in the camp deserved some rest, it was the Gladers.
Their dynamic as a group had changed, Thomas realized with a sigh. Minho was quieter but lashed out quicker, the look in his dark eyes betraying the ever-present rage behind them. Gally had become more comfortable around them, though it was obvious that he was trying so hard to redeem himself for everything he had done through small acts of service, like forging new pots and pans for Frypan or bringing Thomas his meals when he was having a particularly difficult day. Fry was more guarded than before, though his humor was present as always and was a breath of fresh air. Thomas himself had decided he hated his leadership responsibilities and put down his weapons whenever he had the chance. He was tired and it was obvious, but who wasn't?
And Newt hadn't changed as noticeably as the other Gladers.
He was the same good person he had always been, breaking up arguments and already assuming a job as sort of second-in-command to Thomas, preferring to support rather than fully lead. But he and Thomas were so close that it was impossible for the brunette not to notice the subtle things.
Physically, his limp had gotten better. The warm weather and gentle exercise the beach provided was great for his bad leg, and being more mobile definitely made Newt happier. But he had frequent nightmares and hardly slept the full night.
Thomas would often wake to Newt sobbing in his sleep, writhing and shaking, terrified of his own mind. Thomas would shake him awake and they would sit and hold each other, whisper reassuring words into the other's ears.. Those nights broke Thomas' heart, but it was nowhere near as painful as waking up to see the blonde sitting up against their headboard, staring blankly ahead into the darkness. Because those nights were when it was obvious how Newt wasn't the Newt he used to be, and he couldn't talk Newt out of whatever state he was in. They just sat, pinkies locked together, and waited. What for, they would never know. But they waited nonetheless.
The lack of sleep was getting to the blonde, and it showed when he woke up in the morning with a high fever, sweat slicking his hair against his forehead and making him tremble under the blankets. He had been sentenced to a full day of bed rest and lots of fluids, which meant that Thomas didn't have his best friend with him all day.
The day seemed to stretch on forever as Thomas pulled back from the map and glanced out of one of the windows to see that the sky was a rich color of black, dotted with stars. God, he missed Newt. He missed the way the blonde calmed him down so fast when he was anxious, and it was evident he needed that now.
But Newt was sick and sleeping, and he deserved the rest.
Running a hand through his hair with one hand, Thomas picked up a pen with the other and began to mark up the map, analyzing the best routes and what the next search party should do. He had so many things to do and not nearly enough time to do them all. He needed help.
"Hey."
The voice was quiet and scratchy, the voice of a man with a cold who hadn't spoken all day.
Thomas turned around to see Newt standing in the doorway of the shack, leaned against the wall, legs clearly a little shaky.
"Hi. Why're you out of bed?" Thomas asked, though it wasn't a "you should be in bed right now". It was just a simple question, a hope that Newt was feeling better.
Newt regarded him with a fond smile, walking over to Thomas and leaning against the slightly taller boy's chest, relishing the steady sound of the brunette's heartbeat.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
It was so familiar, so intimate. It was exactly what Newt wanted to hear.
"Feel better, honestly. Can't handle being held still all day. And," Newt tapped Thomas' temple, looking up at him. "I can hear your brain going all the way from our room."
Thomas rolled his eyes at that and pulled Newt in tighter, one hand automatically going up to his tousled hair, fingers scratching over his scalp lightly, drawing a sigh from the blonde. He was all sleep-warm and cuddly, and Thomas immediately felt calmer in his presence.
It was magnificent, how easily Newt got him out of his funk.
"Tommy, you're allowed to ask for help, y'know. You're not the only person in this camp. Stop putting so much on yourself," Newt murmured against his shirt, muffled from the fabric. He tilted his head up and planted his lips on Thomas' jaw, just a quick kiss, though it was firm and reassuring.
The kiss screamed I'm here.
Thomas released a heavy sigh he had been holding, pressing closer into Newt's body heat, loving the way it blocked the damp night air from his front.
"I know. But if I'm refusing to do something as easy as a supply run, I need to find other ways to pull my weight," the brunette rasped out, breath tickling the fluffy blonde hair his chin was resting in.
Newt pulled back at that, face set stern.
"You have done more for this camp, for these people, than almost anyone in camp, aside from the other Gladers, and they're not going on supply runs either. You have more than done your share."
Thomas shrugged and allowed Newt to connect their lips, bringing his hands up to cup the blonde's jaw, thumb rubbing almost therapeutically along the bone there. Newt sighed a happy sigh into the kiss that made Thomas' stomach flutter, something Newt never failed at. With his big brown eyes and perfectly upturned nose, Newt had this beautiful boyish face that was impossible to resist.
Thomas was gone for that boy.
After a few more minutes of warm kisses, Newt pulled back and rested his forehead against Thomas'.
"Now I'm going to help you get stuff done, and then we're going to bed and we are getting a good night of sleep. Good that?" Though it was phrased as a question, it really wasn't one. Newt would have his way, even if it meant dragging the brunette to bed.
"Yes, sir," Thomas brought two fingers up to his forehead and pulled them away in a mock salute, grinning like a doof in his tired state.
"Okay, Captain. Let's get this done then," Newt decided and they both sat down, working on their own tasks with hands joined across the table.
Two permanently changed, even damaged men, connecting each other, keeping them whole. Because things changed and that was scarier than either would like to admit, so they'd be damned to let go of the other.
Because they were both utterly in love with each other, and that was something that would remain constant.