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“Newt cares about you a lot, you know?” Brenda says somewhat obviously.
Of course Thomas knows. Newt has always been a caring guy. It comes with the job description, Thomas thinks. Being second in command has to come with a certain sense of responsibility – not just to the Gladers, but to others in command too, once Alby, then Minho, and then Thomas. Newt usually fulfills this responsibility by being unconditionally there.
Sometimes this meant Newt was giving advice, help, or hugs, and months ago it had meant being the firm hand that told Thomas he needed to go to bed and get some goddamn sleep if he ever wanted to find Minho.
So yeah, of course Newt cares.
Thomas looks at Brenda with his eyebrows furrowed. She smiles at him sympathetically.
They’re sitting on the beach, letting the bustle of dinner preparations blend into the lull of waves lapping against sand. Somewhere in the mix of it all he hears Frypan laughing with another cook.
As Safe Haven grows his friends have settled into roles reminiscent of their old jobs in the Glade. Gally is part of the team building huts, and Minho alternates between helping Gally and going on supply runs and hunting trips. Newt has quickly taken to helping Vincent create order among the camp, which often means taking care of the younger immunes. Unsurprisingly, teaching is a role that suits him.
Thomas has been doing every task he can get his hands on, filling his days to the brim. If he’s working he keeps his mind occupied, he doesn’t have to think.
“Of course I know Newt cares about me. The guy cares about everyone.”
Brenda huffs and digs her feet into the white sand. A cool breeze ruffles through Thomas’ hair and he shivers. He’s not used to being exposed to regular weather. Weather in the Glade was artificial and stale, and the Scorch was a never ending hell of extremes. He doesn’t miss either.
“Yes, but he cares about you. When we were looking for Minho, Newt wasn’t spending his nights convincing Vincent, or me, or anyone else to go to sleep. He was convincing you. He was bringing you breakfast, and memorising how you like your porridge. He was making sure you didn’t overwork yourself. He did that because he cares about you. He didn’t do that for anyone else.” Brenda’s dark eyes hold so much sincerity when she says this that Thomas doesn’t know what to do with it.
He tucks his knees to his chest and buries his face in his hands.
“Yeah, but he was doing that for Minho, to make the mission go more smoothly.” Thomas doesn’t sound convinced, even to his own ears.
Brenda scoffs. A seagull perches a few metres away and squawks at Thomas.
“You know that isn’t true. You’re just trying to make yourself feel better for ignoring your best friend for two weeks.”
Thomas winces. They’d been dancing around the crux of the issue since Brenda dragged him out here. She’d started gentle, coaxing him to open up about why he and Newt had been so weird lately, but he’d been skillfully dodging her questions. Now it was all out in the open.
Initially, Thomas had been nothing but ecstatic when Newt woke up. Newt had been out for a week after Thomas came to, recovering from what was left of the flare and a stab wound to the chest. It had been a miracle when he’d opened his eyes, and Thomas, who’d been sleeping by his side somewhat obsessively was overjoyed when Newt opened his eyes for the first time. They’d hugged and cried a little, and then Thomas had avoided him like the plague. His heart hurts a little thinking about it.
He hadn’t meant to avoid him at first. It had just kind of happened.
He shifts restlessly on the sand and sighs. Someone was always bound to notice. Brenda waits expectantly, impatience pursing her lips.
Thomas wriggles till he’s flat on his back, like a starfish – an animal he’d recently discovered – and wills the sea to come up and consume him. When it does no such thing he begins talking, the clouds trailing across the sky calming his nervous energy some.
“I…I guess. I don’t know. I know Newt cares about me, hell I’ve witnessed it first-hand since I came up through the box hole and he welcomed me to the Glade like I was family.” Thomas pauses at the memory, his throat tightening with emotion. There’s a certain nostalgia in how easily he and Newt used to interact, like it was the simplest thing in the world.
“…So?” Brenda prompts.
“So, when he was recovering I was blaming myself for not saving him sooner, and I was so scared that he wasn’t going to wake up. It felt like I’d lost a limb. That on top of losing Teresa and I was losing my shucking mind. When he finally opened his eyes for the first time I was so excited, everyone was, and I realised something about myself. I want-“ Thomas cuts himself off and sighs. Brenda pats his arm.
“I realised in that first week after he woke up that I want to be with Newt forever. And I guess I’ve known that for a while deep down but now that I can do that I don’t know if he wants the same thing in the same way and I don’t even know what way I want it. God, he’s so important to me and what if he thinks I could’ve done more to protect him, and – and-“ Thomas is aware that he’s rambling but it all comes out in such a rush that he can’t stop himself.
He thinks maybe he should feel embarrassed, but Brenda smiles at him softly.
She speaks carefully, like Thomas is ice that might crack at the slightest pressure. Thomas isn’t sure how he feels about that. “You care about Newt a lot too, huh?”
Thomas thinks ‘care’ is an understatement. How many times had Thomas wrestled with Newt in the Glade just to be close to the other boy? How many times had he gone on tangents about nothing to distract Newt from his fears about retrieving Minho? Thomas recalls countless supply runs before Safe Haven that he’d joined because Newt had wanted to go, and others where he’d reluctantly stayed behind, restlessly worrying about whether Newt would come back in one piece. Yeah, ‘care’ didn’t quite cut it.
Thomas just nods.
“So, if you care about Newt, and he cares about you, what’s the problem?”
When she says it like that, the last two weeks seem stupid. Thomas has been avoiding him because Newt is too important for him to mess things up. Thomas has gone ahead and messed things up anyway.
When Thomas doesn’t answer, Brenda continues, a funny note in her voice. “You know Newt would never blame you for what happened when he had the flare. None of that was your fault.”
Thomas silently disagrees and turns away from her, carding his fingers through the soft sand absently. He picks up a pretty cockle shell and rubs it with his thumb. The shell is red and orange like a sunset. He pockets it silently.
“Thomas.” She sounds sad now, slightly frustrated. He looks back at her, attempting to swallow the lump in his throat. “It was not your fault. As far as I can tell you’re pretty much the best thing that has happened to Newt and the others. You’re one of the best things to happen to me.”
She beams at him then, all warmth. His worry recedes a little and he smiles back. The sky brightens as a cloud uncovers the sun, and he has to squint to see Brenda’s face. Her grin turns wicked, full of mischief.
“So you want to be with Newt forever huh?” She puckers her lips and then pokes her tongue out at him. Suddenly he regrets telling her anything. Minho will be teasing him by tomorrow morning.
Thomas makes a face at her and moves to get up. He does feel a little better now that the thing plaguing him is out, but he still doesn’t know what to do. He sits, resting his arms on his knees. The cool breeze from before picks back up, and suddenly Thomas is sure it will rain later.
Brenda hums thoughtfully. “You could just tell Newt what you’ve told me. I’m sure he’d forgive you.”
Thomas’ gut twists at the thought. Brenda must see it in his face because she holds up her hands placatingly.
“Or you could not. But you gotta tell him something. You’ve been kind of a dick. We’re all still on edge, Newt especially I imagine. You’re ditching him when he needs you most dude.”
Thomas knows she’s right. He’s a coward. His own feelings aside, Newt probably needs him now, while he’s settling in and navigating the start of a normal life. He probably needs someone while he’s recovering from hell. He wonders if Newt is having nightmares like Thomas is, nightmares of the flare and being seconds too late to save him. Thomas wakes up screaming sometimes.
Brenda’s words solidify what Thomas was too afraid to admit. He needs to talk to his best friend.
“Thanks, Brenda. For, y’know, everything.”
She pulls him in for a hug, and he’s forgotten how warm other people are. He misses casual human contact. He’s kept himself too busy for more than an occasional handshake from Vincent or a pat on the back from Minho and Frypan. He buries his face in her shoulder, her jacket rough against his skin. When she tightens the embrace he knows he’s forgiven.
Brenda pushes Thomas away with stern eyes and tells him to go find Newt. He does.
-
Thomas doesn’t find Newt right away, despite his best efforts. In his two weeks of avoiding Newt at every opportunity, he’d accidentally learned Newt’s routine to a T so he could best stay away from the areas he frequented. Eluding him was hard in such a small encampment, but Thomas was resourceful. He’d even picked up some of the worse jobs to evade Newt’s presence. Brenda was right, he had been a dick.
Around this time Newt should be walking back to the medical hut after finishing up teaching for the day, a brief stop before dinner. Newt hadn’t been given a hut yet, since Minho was sharing with Aris and Fry, and no one else had a spot available except Thomas. And Thomas had been, well. Thomas flushes with shame as he walks along the beach to the med hut.
Preparing his speech and psyching himself up, he doesn’t immediately notice how quiet the med hut is. He peeks inside, but the room is barren. Newt’s cot is made neatly, and it all looks depressingly untouched. The other two cots are empty. Thankfully, no serious injuries had occurred in Safe Haven yet.
Heading back towards camp, Thomas sees that the sky has darkened considerably. The clouds are grey and oppressive, and Thomas is reminded of the thunderstorm that just about killed them all in the scorch. He shivers.
When Thomas reaches the campfire, he finds Minho sitting on a log eating. No Newt. Thomas frowns but sits next to his friend all the same. A few others are sitting around the fire, but dinner is an hour and a half long, and people come and go as they please. Most people don’t eat this early.
Minho acknowledges Thomas with a grin and a mouth full of food. Thomas shoves him playfully and Minho turns back to his stew with a scowl.
“Hey Min, have you uh, have you seen Newt?” Thomas’ voice breaks a little, and he clears his throat, embarrassed.
Minho regards him carefully. “You ready to apologise, shuck-face?”
Thomas nods sheepishly and looks around, conscious of the eyes that turn with Minho’s loud voice. Minho pats his back roughly and points a way off the med hut where a beaten-up path leads to some trees just off the beach. Thomas has been down the path a few times in search of firewood.
“He’s over that way, there’s a spot out past the med hut that has some rock or something that he likes to sit on. Says it helps him clear his head or some klunk.”
“Thanks, Minho.”
Minho waves off his thanks and shoos him away. As Thomas walks off Minho yells, “Break his heart and I’ll break your face, Greenie!”
Thomas knows Minho is all talk, but he walks a little faster anyway. He probably deserves a few threats.
-
Thomas is about to give up looking when he finds Newt tucked in on himself on a massive rock at the edge of a cliff, watching the ocean. Waves crash angrily below, oddly harmonious with the woosh of trees in the wind. Newt's legs dangle as Thomas approaches quietly. He’s hyperaware of the crunch of leaves under his feet but Newt hasn’t so much as looked his way.
The scene reminds Thomas of a moment that feels decades old now. Newt sitting on a rooftop after a heated argument, alone and ready to deliver news that Thomas has never really recovered from. Newt had looked so tired and Thomas had been so scared.
A twig breaks under Thomas’ left foot and he winces as the crack echoes through the clearing.
“You can sod off Thomas, I don’t want to hear it.”
Thomas frowns, but he’s not surprised. He’d expected this. “I just want to-”
“Piss off Tommy.” His voice is weaker this time, quieter, less resolved. Thomas wonders if Newt had been expecting him.
Thomas reaches the rock and hesitates before climbing it. It’s more of a boulder really, and it’s huge and flat at the top, reaching a good 2 meters off the ground. It’s the same red-orange as the shell he found earlier, and Thomas reaches into his pocket to squeeze the thing.
The rock itself isn’t a hard climb, with plenty of footholds and thick grasses protruding from it that he can grip onto. Much easier than climbing ivy-covered walls in the Maze, he thinks. His foot slips a little when he reaches the top but he hauls himself up with a grunt and lands beside Newt in a heap. Newt doesn’t acknowledge his ungraceful presence, keeping his gaze fixated ahead of him.
The top of the rock is surprisingly small, and Thomas struggles to keep a polite distance between himself and Newt as he settles down.
As Thomas takes a moment to collect the words he’d practiced, he tries to appreciate the view and ignore how tense Newt is beside him. He can see a whole world from up here, endless ocean and sky. If he cranes his neck left he can just make out the beach and people milling about for dinner. Thomas tries not to look down; it’s a long drop. White foam shoots up towards them as waves fight against the steady cliffside.
“I told you to go away.” Newt is barely audible now, head turned away from Thomas. He tries not to let it discourage him.
“Yeah, well, I’ve never been very good at doing what I’m told.” Thomas hopes for a smile, even a small one, but he gets nothing. Fair enough.
“Look Newt, I’ve been – I’ve been a total asshole, okay? I’m stubborn and hard-headed and I’ve never been very good at saying what I feel and I’ve made a total dick of myself by avoiding you and I’m really, really shucking sorry.” Thomas sounds a little pathetic, even to himself, and he’s not sure this is how he wanted to apologise, but Newt's shoulders relax minutely, so he’ll count it as a win.
A distant roll of thunder has Newt tensing up again, and a pang of anxiety strikes Thomas’ chest. His heart beats a little louder in his ears, and he fights the urge to shuffle closer to Newt, to envelope himself in the other's warmth.
“I was so scared when you…I thought you were never going to wake up.” Newt looks at him now, eyes intense and unreadable. Thomas wants to look away, but he’s scared that if he does Newt will never face him again. He’s nervous to continue speaking now that he has Newt’s full attention, but he barrels on anyway.
“And – and when you did wake up? I was so damn happy, that you were alive and I could see you again, and I realised I’ve never had anything that good happen to me before. You being alive was a goddamn miracle.” A flash of pain twists at Newt’s mouth and he closes his eyes, like he’s remembering. Thomas has to stop himself from reaching out to smooth the lines of Newt’s face.
“Have you ever been in love?” Thomas snaps his mouth shut as Newt’s eyes fly open.
Panic seizes him before he can say more. That wasn’t what he’d meant to say, wasn’t part of the script he’d gone over in his head. He freezes in place, and the surprised openness of Newt’s face says it all. He’s fucked up everything even worse than before. Another roll of thunder pulls them both out of their stupor.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that.” Thomas’ voice cracks and he looks at his shoes. Newt doesn’t move beside him.
“Anyways I’m just. I’m really sorry, you needed me and I wasn’t there for you. I was scared and confused, and a complete idiot, and I’ll understand if you don’t want to be my friend anymore. I’ll go.” He struggles to get the last part out, a thick knot welling up in his throat.
Thomas regrets coming to find Newt, wishes he’d never said anything at all. He shifts up onto his haunches and moves to get off the rock. He’s pretty sure he can never look Newt in the eyes again. Embarrassment floods him, and he’s sure his palms are too sweaty to climb down but he’s desperate to run as far away as he can. Maybe he’ll find a hole and bury himself in it.
Before he can fall flat on his face, Newt grips his arm and shoves him back down. Thomas pants and squeezes his eyes shut, preparing to be yelled at. Instead, Newt pulls Thomas into his side, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Every muscle in Thomas’ body tightens, before relaxing in defeat. Newt is warm and his jacket is soft and the touch is nice. He smells like home. A shout from camp echoes back to them. It’s getting dark, and Thomas is sure dinner will be over soon. His stomach growls at him longingly.
Newt doesn’t speak for a moment, just lets Thomas squirm. And then: “I didn’t go through hell and back in that city for us to not be friends anymore, Tommy.”
Newt has always been too forgiving of Thomas, and this time is no different. Thomas blames the way he buries his face into Newt’s neck on the wave of relief that hits him. Newt doesn’t want Thomas out of his life just yet.
Newt sighs and reaches over to the necklace that hangs round Thomas’ neck. Newt had given it to him in the Last City, a painful memory that had shown up in his dreams more than once. Thomas hadn’t opened the little capsule yet, waiting for Newt to wake up so he could do so himself. Newt tugs on it gently before letting it hang freely again.
“Did you ever read the letter I put in there?”
Thomas shakes his head slightly and mumbles against Newt's shoulder. “I was hoping I wouldn’t need to.”
Newt hums like he’d assumed as much. “I forgive you, for avoiding me. But you better not do that again, had me going bonkers thinkin’ I’d done something.”
Thomas winces at Newt’s admission, and his heart sinks. Of course Newt would have blamed himself for Thomas ghosting him. God what an idiot Thomas was for imagining Newt would think anything else. A gust of wind stings at his eyes and he fights the tears that spring to his eyes.
Newt shifts so he’s looking at Thomas, and Thomas sits up straight again. He instantly misses the warmth that Newt’s shoulder provides. Newt looks at him with a sincere, but almost amused look, lips twitching upwards and eyebrows pushed together. His brown eyes are almost black in the rapidly decreasing light, and Thomas thinks his heart skips a couple beats. Thomas ignores the way his ears are heating up and fights not to look away from the intensity Newt is casting onto him.
Newt opens his mouth and closes it. He seems to consider, before forging on. “Why were you avoiding me, Tommy?”
Ah. Yes that’s a great question. Thomas can definitely answer that without giving away his recently discovered crush. Fuck. Although with that question about love earlier, maybe the cat was out of the bag already.
Newt looks like he wants to laugh at Thomas, and the little smile on his face is soft and pretty. Normally a smile like that would have Thomas smug and satisfied, basking in glory knowing that Thomas had put it there. Now it has Thomas mortified. There is no way Newt doesn’t know.
Thomas realises he’s very, very lost. Any feelings he’d had for Teresa and Brenda suddenly feel juvenile as every memory of every moment he’s spent with Newt grips him, choking him. Him and Newt have survived grievers and a desert, the flare, and respective gun and stab wounds. They’ve lived through Gally’s disgusting brews, survived Vincent’s awful dad jokes, and come out on the other side of Thomas’ terrible last-minute plans. Thomas had held his best friend on a night like this, as Newt took what they’d both thought would be his last breath.
Newt clears his throat, and Thomas is nudged out of his silence with another gentle but expectant look.
“I…” Thomas trails off. He doesn’t even know where to begin.
When Thomas doesn’t continue Newt frowns, disappointed. Guilt gnaws at Thomas’ empty stomach. Thomas imagines his feelings for Newt like the shell in his pocket. Something beautiful, new, yet as ancient as the beaches and the sand and the oceans themselves. Easily crushed. Thomas doesn’t think Newt would crush him; no he’d let Thomas down gently, look at him with pitiful puppy dog eyes and continue being his friend. Newt would never avoid Thomas, because he’s too good. Too good for Thomas.
Thomas owes Newt an explanation and he knows it. Feelings be damned.
He considers taking Newt’s hand but decides it’ll make the confession too painful. Instead he opts for scooting close to Newt again, resting his head against his shoulder, and fixing his gaze on the rumbling clouds. He tries to shove down the exhilaration that rises in him as their sides touch and notes that the noise from Safe Haven quietens to a calm lull. Dinner is finishing.
Thomas sucks in a deep breath and begins.
“When I said you waking up was the best thing to happen to me I meant it. I slept by your side for a week, and sometimes I would wake up to you tossing and crying in your sleep. None of us were sure if it was the flare working its way out of your system, or nightmares, or pain from the stab wound, but I would come crouch next to the cot to try to soothe you.” Thomas feels Newt nod. He’d probably been told this by Minho or Fry at some point.
“Usually I’d hold your hand and try to smooth out the lines on your face. But you’d keep whimpering these sad little sounds. And then one day, closer to when you woke up, you said my name. I barely caught it, but I remember the hope that got me to my feet and then the despair that took me down again. I thought you were having nightmares about me.” Newt turns to look at Thomas then, features sharpening in the shadows of the night, analysing Thomas with concern.
“I had a pretty major panic attack at Minho after that and he convinced me you were just saying nonsense, but I couldn’t shake the idea that you blamed me for everything that happened.”
Thomas doesn’t look away from the spray below before continuing, though he feels Newt tense and ready to interrupt beside him.
“I guess I realised something in that godforsaken city. Your best friend almost dying in your arms will do that to you.” Newt doesn’t laugh – no, he’s as still as stone beside Thomas. “I was so scared because I realised that I love you Newt, so much, and I thought you would hate me for everything that happened. Or maybe worse, that you would forgive me even though I don’t deserve to be forgiven.”
Thomas finishes with resignation and looks at Newt, who is giving him this complicated look. Thomas doesn’t want to run anymore. He’s been running since he was put in that damn maze, and maybe it’s time for him to rest. Thomas thinks back to that first day, pictures Newt in the crowd of boys jeering at him as he ran across the Glade. Everything has changed since then. Thomas has changed.
For a moment the world stills. Thomas tunes out the rush below, the owls in the trees, the rustle of wildlife. There’s a bubble of silent tension, and Thomas and Newt are at the centre. The clouds drift away from the moon briefly as the storm in the distance settles, and the moonlight glints dangerously in Newt’s eyes.
In this quiet minute, two things happen.
Newt says, “There is nothing to forgive.” and then Thomas has Newt by the collar and he’s crushing their lips together.
Newt jerks back with a surprised grunt, eyes wide, and Thomas’ stomach clenches with the realisation that he’d screwed up again. But before Thomas can hurl himself off of the cliff in misery, Newt is melting back against Thomas, kissing him with a smile. Thomas’ anxiety bleeds into the ground and he shudders against Newt, his fist moving from Newt’s collar to his perfect hair. Newt pulls his legs up from the edge of the rock and curls into Thomas as he deepens the kiss. Electricity sparks up his spine as Newt smooths a hand down his back.
Thomas is pretty sure he’s not human anymore – rather perhaps he’s some rare form of jellyfish with the way he’s gone completely pliant beneath Newt. Thomas laughs a wobbly little laugh at the image and Newt pulls back, confused.
Thomas chuckles at the sight of Newt’s disbelieving face, and before long he’s in full-on hysterics, laughing in fits between apologies. Newt, who looks more mystified by the second, just smiles and shakes his head in mock disapproval.
When Thomas has finally calmed he feels warmer than he has in a long time. He’s got a stitch in his side, and his mouth hurts from all the smiling he’s been doing, but his heart is beating and Newt’s is too. Who cares about the rest?