Chapter Text
Despite their bundling him into a coat, Newt was shivering by the time they reached their new home.
“You’re still too skinny, shank,” Minho grumbled, and despite Newt’s protests he wrapped an arm around the blonde, pulling him close. “Thomas, let’s get him inside and get the fire up.”
Thomas nodded, opening the door for them. Minho guided Newt in, giving him more support than he really needed. It was an excuse to touch and hold, and given that Newt had tried to kill himself again just a few months ago, Minho would take any excuse he could get.
They stayed there, in the entryway, while Thomas stoked the fire. The house, like all the others in paradise, had neither electricity nor central heating. Gally was working with some of WICKED's finest on it, but for the moment fires were the only way to heat a house. Fire safety and maintenance had become priorities of late.
“Cold in here,” Newt muttered, rubbing his arms.
Minho took over the job. It was another excuse to touch and hold him after months of being separated by glass or watched by guards and doctors. And Newt seemed to slowly relax under the attention.
“Yeah,” he agreed with the assessment. “Gally and his team couldn’t figure out how to get electricity and heat and plumbing in time for winter. Him and the scientists are working on it, they’re going to start installing it in a few months. The communal cabins are higher priority, though.” Most of the Gladers still lived together, and the Glenners in another cabin. They’d been moved up in priority for getting their own cabin because of Newt’s particular needs, but they were at the bottom of the list for heating and plumbing because it was only the three of them. “Sorry,” Minho added.
Newt offered him a tired smile. “Is it too late to go back to my cell?” he asked. “That at least had a toilet.”
Minho snorted. “Yeah, shank, it is. Thomas, how’s the fire coming?”
“It’s up, it’s up,” Thomas said. “I’m just going to get the one in the bedroom. Why don’t you show Newt around, get him moving?”
“Right,” Minho said, nodding. He turned to wrap his arm around Newt’s shoulders. “Come on.”
There wasn't much to show him. There was something kind of like a kitchen, or rather a room that would be a kitchen when they finally got power, which currently contained only an icebox with real ice and a wood-fired stove. It was the only fire in the house that wasn't currently lit, them not needing the kitchen yet. There was a main room, furnished mostly in pillows and cushions the Brickniks had made when the Builders started working on the cabins. There was a bedroom with one of the only substantial pieces of furniture in the house, in the form of a massive bed. And then there was--
"I take it this is my new cell," Newt said.
"Safe room," Minho corrected.
Newt snorted. "What's the difference?"
"The cell was meant to keep people safe from you," Minho said. "This is meant to keep you safe from yourself."
"Fine," Newt amended. "Padded cell."
Minho frowned but didn't object to the term. The “cell” was indeed padded, with a cushioned floor and walls. The cot had had all its sharp edges sanded down and covered with cushions. The door had a window in it so they could check on him or deliver food if things got really bad.
Newt stared at the cot with a look of almost longing on his face. "Should just put me in there now and have done with it," he said. "This isn't going to work."
"Why not?" asked Thomas, coming up behind them. He wrapped his arms around Newt's waist.
Newt shrugged even as he leaned into Thomas. "'M not good with people who aren't you," he muttered. "They annoy me."
Minho kissed his temple. "We know," he said. "One of us will stay with you until you're ready to be on your own."
"Baby steps," Thomas agreed, kissing Newt's neck. "I'll be here all day tomorrow. You won't have to be alone."
Newt sighed. "You'd be better off if you'd just give up on me."
Minho shook his head. "Not a chance in hell."
Newt muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “I was afraid of that.”
“Hey.” Thomas kissed his neck again. “It’ll be okay. We’ll make sure it’s okay.”
Newt didn’t answer.
Thomas sighed. “Dinner,” he said. “Dinner, and bed.”
Minho nodded. “Come on,” he said, winding an arm around Newt’s waist again. “We got dinner from Fry earlier, it’s in the ice box. We’ll heat it up and eat and go to bed.”
Heating up dinner was of course something of a chore when it could only be done on the stove that still had to be lit and heat up, but it gave them time to relax a bit and let Newt explore the house. And he did, after sufficient prodding and probably only to make them leave him alone about it. Minho sighed, looking at Thomas once Newt was out of the room.
“You sure you’ll be okay with him tomorrow?” he asked softly. “I can stay home--”
Thomas shook his head. “We’ll be fine,” he said with more confidence than Minho thought he probably really felt. “You go to work, we’ll see you at dinner.”
Minho nodded reluctantly. “Wonder where our boy got off to.”
“Want to track him down?”
“A little.” He smiled ruefully. “Is that paranoid?”
“A little,” Thomas teased, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Let’s go find him.”
Newt wasn’t that hard to find. He’d made it only as far as the living room before building a nest of cushions and blankets and falling asleep.
Minho couldn’t help smiling. “Almost forget everything that’s happened, when he looks like that,” he said softly.
Thomas nodded. “You want to wake him up?”
“Food’s not even ready yet,” Minho said, untangling his arm from Thomas’s waist. “Let him sleep.”
While Thomas went to stir the meal, Minho carefully picked his way through the cushions on the floor until he could curl up in Newt’s nest. He cupped his cheek in his hand, rubbing soft circles with his thumb. Finally, with Newt asleep, he said what he’d been thinking since they’d learned Newt was throwing up.
“Don’t scare us like that again,” he whispered. “We need you, okay? We’ve always needed you. Don’t you dare.”
Newt stirred in his sleep, forehead creasing. Minho curled an arm around him and pulled him close, and the blond settled down.
“I thought I lost you,” he whispered against Newt’s hair. “Twice, I thought I lost you. Don’t do that to me again.”
Thomas knocked on the doorframe. “Dinner’s ready,” he said softly. “You want to wake him up?”
“It’ll keep,” Minho said. “Come here and lie down.”
Thomas smiled and huffed a laugh. “Okay,” he said, and picked his way through the cushions until he could lie down on Newt’s other side.
They’d done this for two months when Newt was in the cell, but there was something different about it here. Maybe it was that the house was colder, despite the fires and the blankets. Maybe it was the cushions. Maybe it was just that it was theirs.
“We’ll have to wake him up eventually,” Thomas pointed out. “He’s still too skinny, he shouldn’t be skipping meals.”
“I know,” Minho whispered back. “But not yet, okay?”
Thomas nodded. “Not yet.”