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Newt is sat across Tommy, his legs crossed and exhaustion clear on his features, his clothes dirtied and torn at the seams. But, he isn’t troubled at that, he couldn’t have cared less about them, not of his clothes nor the blood that dries on his knuckles. But, oh how Newt adores the man across him, he is far more important than the wounds and injuries scattered across Newt’s body. From where Newt is sat, a soft light cascades down on Thomas’ face illuminating his features, a faint smile that leaves Newt’s heart waning and waxing for its reprisal, the moles that adorn his face, and freckles sprinkled as if the stars had fallen, fallen only for Tommy.
Newts heart pounds ever so quietly, but, the thumping and pitter patter of his heart ripples through him. A humble reminder of his hidden affections for the man he calls Tommy. Newt had known as soon as his eyes had laid upon Tommy, his fragile figure in the lift at the Glade, that he would have followed him anywhere. The brown honeyed eyes that swirl with a soft golden glow in the warm light, the wrinkles that speak of a story so mighty and great, that Newt would lightly - as if it were fragile - skim his fingers over Thomas’ face, like if it were a Greek sculpture of old.
He would count every single freckle on Tommy’s face to memory, trace his fingers across his moles that form constellations in the sky. He would remember every wrinkle that forms when Thomas smiles, when he laughs, when he chuckles, so he won’t ever forget this annoyingly beloved man, the man he loves.
Newt doesn’t know when he fell in love with Tommy, he doesn’t know when Tommy had conquered his heart, but that it was Tommy’s ever since the beginning. He’s become foolishly smitten for the brown tuft hair and the tanned skin of Tommy’s, the healed scars that run across his forearms, Chuck’s sculpture carefully hanging around his neck, bloodied bandages slithered across his injuries. And yet, Tommy looks content and free, that scars of old and new don’t bother him, but he holds onto them as lessons of life.
Fear strikes a chord in Newts heart, flashes of Tommy getting hurt and injuried fatally cross his mind, plaguing him with worry. The idea of being left alone without a proper goodbye, without a final proclamation of love, would shatter Newts being.
As Newts thoughts suffocate him; Tommy’s gaze locks with his, those chocolate brown eyes sweeten the bitterness Newt holds in himself, he simply melts in Thomas’ sugary hold.
Tommy’s eyes soften at the sight of Newt, and so does Newts. Both melting and longing for the other, as a person would long for something so close yet out of their reach. As shadow falls, both break their gaze, not willingly but out of necessity. Tommy’s eyes flit away and a slow heat rises up from Newt’s neck, a rose blush that tints his cheeks and ears slightly to be assumed from the Scorch’s heat. Both sit across from the other, a part of their hearts belonging to the other.
As Newt falls in love yet again, forever falling for Tommy, and only for Tommy.