Chapter Text
Thomas grits his teeth when Sonya rips off the bandage from his abdomen.
“Well, this is healing nicely,” she says with a smile, observing a wound that is nothing more than a pink and sensitive jumble of flesh, sitting under his right rib.
The girl smoothes a finger down the scarring tissue and Thomas shivers. It doesn’t hurt anymore, not much, definitely not the way it did when he first woke up and any contact with his skin felt like burning fire. But it’s delicate, uncomfortable in the way he still can’t sleep well on his right side or the way it tingles him sometimes.
“There's not much to clean, I’m just gonna change the dressing,” Sonya says, her tone polite and sunny. “Probably your last one.”
Thomas nods, relieved. He swings his legs off the bed he’s occupying, the one he used to sleep on not so long ago. He glances to the other side of the hut. Newt had his medical check before him. Thomas watches the blond boy rotate his sore shoulder, easing the pull of the bandage on his chest, the way he does every week after Sonya changes it. He stands shirtless and Thomas can see the way his muscles move, how low the waistband of his pants is. It’s always fairly dark in the med hut and without the sunlight Newt’s skin has a sickly look to it. It's not completely back to its soft, healthy self.
Thomas is vaguely aware of Sonya saying something to him, but he keeps looking as Newt pulls a white shirt over his head, ruffling his hair and covering his torso. He averts his eyes before his friend has a chance to face him.
“So as I said, running will be fine as long as you take breaks and don’t wander off too far. I wouldn’t push your luck just yet.”
Thomas focuses back on the bandage being taped to his belly. Luckily, Sonya doesn’t notice where his eyes have gone.
“Got it,” he says, giving the girl another firm nod. He raises his arm slightly to allow her better access and she’s finished before he even blinks. “Thanks, Sonya.”
“That’s my job,” she answers, dusting her hands off. Thomas doesn’t think she stopped smiling once.
“Yeah, and you're bloody good at it. It’s nice to have someone competent around here,” Newt comes to stand next to them when Thomas grabs his own shirt from where he's tossed it on the bed.
“Thanks! But you did such a good job with rescuing all of those kids, I don’t really have that much to do around here. You two keep me occupied at least.”
“Still, appreciate it.”
Thomas watches them smile to each other and not for the first time he thinks how oddly similar they look. Their eyes even crinkle in the exact same spots.
“Oi, Tommy, you’re gonna dress or what?” Newt calls amused and Thomas realizes the shirt is still in his hands.
He has nothing to offer but a stupid grin.
They all leave the med hut together, and he and Newt break apart with Sonya when she goes to the other side of the beach where most of Group A is. The remaining Gladers plus Brenda and Jorge mostly stick to their own space, but after over a month of being in Safe Haven even that begins to change. Now that they’re safe and the freedom and peacefulness of their situation has truly sunk in, many of them started to move around, mix with each other. The WCKD kids are assimilating with the others and the previously divided Maze Groups are starting to blend together as well, slowly but surely becoming one community. They start to let go of using the WCKD or Maze labels in regards to each other, but Thomas still doesn’t know most people around here, so in his own head he allows it. It's one of the (many) things he's working on.
He is still getting used to the changes. Newt and him have been sleeping alone in the med hut up until now, being in a not so great state after… well, everything. It’s been mostly just pain pain pain, but when Thomas finally started functioning around the discomfort, he realized living with Newt was, not surprisingly, made entirely out of positives. After the hell that had been the Last City, Thomas was sure he’ll just sleep for the rest of his life, hoping there will finally be a day when he won’t have to wake up just to relieve the nightmare of the last hours he remembers surviving. Barely surviving. Even when so many people didn’t.
He doesn’t know if he would ever get up again, if it wasn’t for Newt. Newt, his best friend, alive and breathing, smiling with clear eyes, lying right next to him every night. Falling asleep to the sound of his voice and waking up to the sight of his face has been all the motivation Thomas needed to push forward.
Thomas likes to think his presence is comforting for Newt the same way Newt’s is for him. By the way his eyes flash when they look at each other, maybe it is. And it makes things easier, having him. Having each other.
So when Sonya told them a few days ago that they’re both getting better and can finally move out of the special-needs accommodation, there was no question that they’re gonna move together. Together now, and together in the future.
Well, the two of them together that’s one thing, the rest of Gladers living with them, that’s another.
“Hey, did Minho come back last night?” Thomas asks, suddenly remembering he hadn’t seen their friend at all until breakfast.
“Oh, yeah he did. I woke up to him snoring. And I’m 100% sure it was him, I’ve been listening to this shank sleep for the last three years,” Newt smiles. “Why?”
Thomas shrugs, squinting against the morning sun. “I just thought he spent the whole night with Sonya’s friend. You know, Harriet? I saw the two of them talking yesterday after dinner. I mean, it was Minho doing most of the talking but I’m sure she had some interest.”
Newt laughs then, unexpectedly loud. The sound pulls on Thomas' heartstrings.
“What?” Thomas has a feeling Newt’s laughing at him, for some reason. But he smiles too, unable to do anything else when his friend’s face lights up in the most pretty way.
“You’re really off track there, mate.”
“What– am not! You’ve seen him! All smiles and giggles,” Thomas defends.
Newt tries to work around his laughter to speak and it’s entirely too adorable in Thomas’ honest opinion.
“Yeah, because he was pissed drunk, Tommy. He’s always that way when Gally gives him too much of his magic mystery brew. And Harriet did not have any interest.”
“C’mon, she was a little–"
“She was laughing at him, until she got bored and started talking with Sonya. And good that, because the moron would not leave on his own. But as soon as Sonya shows up Harriet is all over her, don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”
“Well, yeah. They’re best friends.”
Newt laughs again. Thomas doesn’t understand why, but it’s still his favorite sound in the world, so he concludes he does not need to know the reason, it’s enough he gets to hear it right next to his ear. Newt knocks their shoulders together as they keep walking deeper into the land.
“I wouldn’t worry about Minho too much though, he clings to anyone he can when he drinks. It’s really funny, actually. He gave me a kiss once, in the Glade. I still make fun of him for that one. Anyway, yeah, after he got off Harriet’s ass, he wandered off to Brenda, I think. But she was with Gally, so…”
“Wait, wait,” Thomas almost pauses in his steps. “Gally? And Brenda? Since when…” he trails off, trying to imagine that particular pair.
Newt’s laughter echoes on the whole beach.
“Tommy, you can be so behind sometimes.”
Thomas sticks up his tongue at him, a response that is very mature. He relishes the grin on Newt’s face as they pass some people Thomas is fairly sure he's never met. They all seem to recognise him though, and he hears greetings all around. Everyone is moving on and about with their day, being tasked with one thing or another. Safe Haven is quietly bustling with movement and it feels, well. It feels homey.
They move past the eating area and wave hello to Frypan, sticking his head out of the kitchen. Their friend has been pretty busy schooling some apprentices, the younger kids who are somehow really eager to work. Fry could not have been happier finally getting some help, showing the ropes and having people listen to him for once. The Right Arm people who were already in Haven had to step back as soon as Frypan arrived and took one look at the state of their kitchen. Safe to say, he's getting comfortable with his new arrangements.
Thomas notices how far they've gone without seeing the few other familiar faces and he starts looking around.
“What’s that?” Newt asks, casting him a look.
“I don’t see Gally anywhere,” Thomas pauses in his steps. Since the mention of the boy's name earlier, an idea popped into his head. “I was meaning to ask him about the–"
“Nuh-uh,” Newt crosses his arms over his chest and comes to stand in front of him. “You will not be helping Gally and his construction team.”
Thomas blinks at him. He is seconds away from asking how can Newt know that, but he quickly decides to just ignore it. Newt has always had a way of being ahead of what Thomas is doing or even thinking, reading him like an open book since he can remember. Honestly, he doesn’t want to admit how much he actually likes it.
“I need to have something to do around here, Newt,” he says instead, sounding a little desperate.
“Okay, I get that. But no heavy lifting, remember? Sonya gave you this whole speech about taking it easy. It’s like you weren’t even listening, shunk.”
Thomas feels a blush creep up his cheeks and he scratches his neck awkwardly. He was not, in fact, listening. His mind was… somewhere else, then.
Newt heaves an exasperated sigh, but it’s half-hearted at best.
“Vince’s been saying something about needing help with the garden,” Newt offers, but Thomas must make a face at that, because he adds, “Look, I feel useless too, okay? I don’t like sitting on my ass all day. But we’re both not going to be of much assistance if we’re the only people around here who still need to have a bloody medical check-up every week.”
Thomas instinctively stands straighter, because Newt tensed up, nerves coiling in his shoulders. There's a lot of frustration involved in this whole surviving-an-almost-fatal-wound situation. Thomas gets it. But there’s insecurity in it, too. The way Newt fidgets with his bad leg on the ground and shifts his weight a bit. Thomas is hit with recent memories of Newt staying awake all night because of the pain.
“Okay,” he relents immediately. “Okay, you're right.”
Newt gives him a skeptical look.
“You know, might as well broaden our field of expertise to horticulture while we’re here.”
Newt huffs an amused breath, barely anything really, but his shoulders ease, so Thomas will take it.
“Trying to woo me with fancy words, I see,” Newt says and it sounds fond.
They start moving towards the greenhouse and planting field, so close to each other it’s almost hand in hand.
“Yeah, I have no idea what that means, actually,” Thomas admits, just to hear Newt snort.
“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” his friend answers cheekily.
Thomas has no reaction to being called pretty by Newt at all. Not in the slightest. And even if it makes his heart flutter up in his throat, no one has to know but him.
— —
He doesn’t remember farming being this enjoyable, ever . He's sure this has to have something to do with Newt, though.
Newt has laughed perhaps more in the last few hours than Thomas has heard him do in the entire time they’ve known each other. Every slightly higher pitch to his chuckle, every catch of breath and stretch of lips settles something deep inside Thomas. Something clears and straightens in the very essence of Thomas’ being, he feels right and at home like he never thought he could.
That’s the second time the word crossed his mind. He played with the idea of home in his head, allowed himself a few hopeful moments of imagining the future where everything works out, where every one of his friends is alive and safe and nothing waits around the corner to ruin their earned peace. That hope was what kept him from crumbling to the ground when it was all he had the strength to do. Thomas gave space for the hope to grow, he wanted to believe it was not foolish, that it was possible.
And it turned out to be that. Possible. Present. Not the way he fully wished, with too much heartbreak and loss, all the tragedy a bitter taste lingering in the back of his throat.
But Thomas guesses, if he was ever to find a home, it sounds about right it would be in a field of sunflowers, being tugged by hand by his best friend.
Newt and he helped with the freshly planted crops, directed by the Right Arm people and a couple girls from Group A to where the situation was the most dire. They kneeled in the dirt, sleeves cuffed to their elbows and worked, till the sun moved upwards, shining directly above them. It was tiring, more so than Thomas expected, but it felt good to contribute something to this place they're carving for themselves.
They took a break to get a drink and now Newt is leading him to a part of Safe Haven Thomas has never been to before. He can do nothing but follow behind, admiring how his friend’s hair is brightened from behind almost like a halo.
“Have you ever eaten a sunflower seed, Tommy?” Newt asks, striding through a narrow path in the yellow field, and Thomas opens his mouth to answer, but a particularly nasty stalk smacks him in the face when he ducks. He sputters and Newt laughs wholeheartedly.
The blond boy leads them out of the maze of flowers and goes to bend down to a woven basket on the ground. Thomas misses the touch of his hand instantly. Newt comes back with a grin and a sunflower head, presenting it proudly to Thomas.
“And we really couldn’t have gone around the field?” Thomas asks, massaging his chin.
Newt only plucks a few seeds and tosses them into his mouth. “Nope. Now c’mon.”
He moves towards a hill with a singular broad tree rising far over their heads. Thomas groans theatrically, but follows right behind. They sit next to each other, pressed against the solid trunk in the perfect spot overlooking the whole field in front of them. Thomas sees the rest of the garden further on one side, the tents and the start of their huts on the other, and people moving around both directions.
The leaves mostly shield them from the sun shining high on the horizon and casting yellowish glimmers on the sea water. Thomas tugs his knees up to his chest, rests his elbows on them and breathes deeply.
He wonders if one day it will all stop seeming so elusive.
Newt shoves the sunflower head under his face. Thomas gives it a side eye.
“Is it good?”
Newt rolls his eyes. “No, it’s bloody awful, that’s why I’m offering it to you.”
That’s as good of a recommendation as he can get, so he shuts up and eats a few. Then a few more. He decides something as simple as a flower seed really shouldn’t be so tasty.
“Did you know,” Newt says, as Thomas gathers a fistfull of seeds to eat, “that in their growth phase, the sunflower heads rotate and follow the movement of the sun throughout the day? But as the flowers mature and their stems become stiff, most of them turn east.”
Thomas looks at his friend, curious.
“I don’t really know how I know this. I must’ve learned it as a kid, because WCKD sure as hell didn’t teach me. Maybe I grew up on a farm or somethin’,” Newt shrugs, then smiles softly, wistfully. “I remember always liking sunflowers.”
He puts the flower between them and stretches on the grass, putting his arms behind his head and closing his eyes in contentment. He looks like he has never been so relaxed in his life and Thomas concludes that it's almost definitely because he hasn’t. Newt’s never looked so peaceful and so alive. It suits him.
The sun still finds a way to shine through the rich crown of the tree and a few gentle rays brush across Newt’s face, over his forehead and his golden hair, revealing the few freckles on the slope of his nose. He looks radiant.
Thomas studies Newt’s face and thinks his friend is a lot like a sunflower.
“Hey, lovebirds!”
Thomas’ head whips around to the figure standing at the bottom of the hill. A familiar boy in shorts waves at him by the flower field. He waves back. Next to Thomas Newt groans, already recognising the ringing voice and light steps treading towards them.
“Ugh, what does this shank want,” the blond heaves up to lean on his forearms, not bothering to fully get up as they both watch Minho jog closer. The annoyance is kept in Newt’s tone only, the smirk playing on his lips compromising him.
“Had to search for you all over Haven. Could’ve warned me you’d bolt to the other side of the camp,” Minho says as a form of greeting, grinning at both of them in turn.
“Didn’t know you'd miss us so much,” Newt quips, kicking Minho’s shins in retaliation for the boy poking him with his foot.
“And do you need us for something specifically, or?” Thomas inquiries, hoping it's not too curt. He simply wouldn’t mind looking at Newt's tranquil face some more.
Minho notices the sunflower head and picks it up with one hand, choosing seeds around the empty spots. He definitely doesn’t rush with an answer. Who knew Minho can be so languid when he doesn’t have to run for his life all the time.
“Frypan called for dinner like fifteen minutes ago,” the boy answers, chewing. Thomas notices a trickle of sweat from Minho’s temples and his heaving chest.
“Have you been running?”
“If you mean before I had to chase you up this hill, yeah, I was, actually. Had to run off all the alcohol from my system.”
Newt snorts, getting up. Thomas follows in his steps.
“I don’t think it works like that,” Newt says, then takes the sunflower out of Minho’s hands. “And don’t eat so much right before dinner.”
“Dude, those are literally seeds.”
The three of them go down, leaving the yellow sunshine flowers behind as they move in the direction of the eating pavilion. Thomas sees all of their friends already gathered together by the tables and when Bredna waves them up, he smiles.
Sharing meals with his friends became the first established part of routine during his day, something Thomas can look forward to when his mind is plucked by intrusive thoughts or when he simply wants to feel normal, like he belongs. There is always a place for him at the dinner table.
He eats, complements Frypan’s cooking as he always does, and this time it’s not even just out of courtesy, because his friend has really upped his game since he accessed the various food supplies Safe Haven has to offer. He listens when the others talk and laughs when they tell jokes. He blushes a bit too, because he started to notice how close Bredna and Gally are sitting to each other, and he had been trying to see the thing between them he’s apparently missed, but his glances were as always caught by Newt, who pushed his shoulder playfully with a knowing smirk.
The atmosphere in the air reminds him of something permanent. This is what having a home must feel like, he thinks.
Afterwards, he and Newt help Frypan in the kitchen, volunteering to do it since washing the dishes is one of the few jobs around here they are allowed to touch. It’s also a nice change, Thomas notices, going from coerced and universally hated wash duty in the Glade or at previous camps, to wanting to help out because of pure sense of obligation and gratitude.
The evening comes out of nowhere, pulling everyone from their tasks and slowing the rush of things, painting the world in oranges and pinks. Thomas sits at the beach surrounded by his people, and it's weird, because there is no ache he's grown so familiar with. He actually doesn’t feel tired at all. Physically maybe a little, but he can’t shake off the feeling like the whole day was just relaxation and rest. He feels… good.
Maybe a part of this new life is how the good feeling stops being so unusual.
Thomas looks to his right, where Newt sits on their shared blanket, face every bit as blissful as his own must be. That's probably what happiness feels like.
“Hey, how come we never went swimming in the sea?” Minho’s voice breaks the silence from the other side of the blanket.
“What are you on about again?” Newt asks.
“I said, how come we never went swimming since we got here. I mean,” Minho points both hands in front of them, “the sea is literally right there.”
Thomas opens his mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. He hadn't thought about that. They are living by the beach, after all. There are cliffs and rocks but it’s pretty perfect and paradise-like as far as beaches go. Not that Thomas has ever seen one before. But he doubts it gets more ideal than this.
Minho must reach the same conclusion, because he stands and shrugs off his shoes.
“Shuck it,” he says, getting rid of his shirt and shorts in a few swift motions until he’s left in his underwear only.
Newt groans painfully at the sight, but Minho is as comfortable as ever, grin splitting his face. Then he takes off.
“Uh,” Thomas hears someone, Gally, he checks, coming to stand behind him. He’s aware of Brenda being there, too.
They all watch as Minho comes crashing into the water, cursing something loudly, something that sounds a lot like: “It’s fucking cold!” He doesn’t seem to be discouraged, though. He trudges ahead, loud and drawing the attention of other people on the beach.
“I didn’t give him anything this time,” Gally swears, probably at Brenda’s pointed glare.
“No, you didn’t have to. That’s just regular Minho,” Newt smiles, watching as his best friend laughs and yells in the water.
“Looks like he’s having fun,” Brenda points out, after Minho immerses his whole head in the waves he's created.
His friends are quiet behind Thomas’ back for a bit, and then he hears ruffling of material. Before he can even turn, two figures swoosh past him, throwing sand from under their feet into his face.
“Oh, seriously?!” He yells offended, but all he hears in return are three laughs. Brenda’s and Gally’s as they join Minho, and Newt’s right next to him. Soon a fourth one sounds out, when Minho body slams Gally into the water.
And then Thomas chuckles too.
Random groups of people pause to watch the three idiots in the water, having a great time from the looks of it. Before he knows it, there’s Sonya and Harriet, running hand in hand into the water. Frypans calls something to Minho as he takes off his shirt and tosses it carelessly on the sand. Other people whose names he’s yet to learn, two boys, a boy and a girl, three other girls - soon the water line is peppered with moving silhouettes, dark against the lowering sun.
It’s the most carefree Thomas has ever seen humans be.
He can’t help the fuzzy feeling from the inside, and truthfully he doesn't want it to stop. On impulse, he tugs at the corners of his shirt to pull it up. Immediately, it catches on his bandage. He winces at the sudden pull by his abdomen and holds a hand to press into his yet to be completely healed gun wound.
Oh, yeah. That would be why he didn’t exactly think of swimming in the sea.
Thomas huffs a frustrated breath. He watches his friends splash in the shimmering water and focuses instead on the uncomfortable pinch on his skin. That's a feeling he knows well. He can sense Newt looking at him, but doesn’t turn to face him. Suddenly, he feels very stupid and very exposed.
There’s a minute of silence. Then Newt stands up. Thomas gazes at him, his friend kicking off his shoes and socks, before coming to stand directly before his eyes. He holds out a hand, which Thomas mindlessly stares at.
“C’mon,” Newt smiles down at him. “Don’t keep me waiting, Tommy.”
That does it.
Thomas lets himself be pulled upright. He leaves his shoes right next to Newt’s on their blanket and moves where the blond directs him. They make some distance along the beach, further from the joyful shouts of their friends. Newt stops when the sand turns wet and flat, bending down to cuff his pants up to his knees. Thomas finally catches on and does the same. Before he’s done, Newt has already stepped into the water. The gentle waves splash against his calves and he can see the contact making Newt shiver. He’s still smiling, wide and bright as the sun, in that beautiful way of his. Thomas’ heart bursts.
“How about a walk, Tommy?”
Thomas wonders if this is what love feels like.
They walk in the sea beside each other, their shoulders brushing together occasionally. They walk until their camp is just a distant view and their friends are just tiny specks on the coastline. They walk until the sun turns red and the sky gets dark. The water is cold and pleasant and Thomas often looks down at the distorted image of his feet under the surface. He also often looks up to observe Newt’s profile. Newt meets his eyes every time.
The sun shifts lower and lower, but all Thomas sees are brown eyes reflected in water.
The day ends with a sunflower boy smiling at him in the sea.
— — —
Thomas’ day starts with a scream.
There’s a specific moment during his nightmares, right at the end, when the dream sequence is over, but he’s not yet awake. It’s dark then, black and empty, and Thomas feels himself being swallowed by a void. He falls, suddenly and brutally, he plummets into the abyss knowing there’s nothing to hold on to and no one to catch him. That’s when the screaming happens.
A breathless cry tears its way down Thomas’ throat when he jerks awake. His ears are ringing and there’s this awful, terrible feel of sticky blood on his hands. He rapidly stands from his hammock, almost falling on the floor before he is somehow able to find balance. He pulls his hands before his eyes and can barely see them because of the night, but he rubs his fingers against each other to find out if they’re dry. They should be pale, normal. Not covered in blood.
“Tommy?”
Newt looks at him from his own hammock, voice clear but worried. Thomas tries to calm down his heart but when he focuses on his friends' face the images from his nightmare come back like a flood.
Black eyes. Black veins. Burning buildings. Ashes and corpses. Knife in Newt’s heart. Blood on his clothes, black blood trickling from his mouth. Blood on Thomas’ hands. Kill me. Kill me kill mekillmekillmekill–
Thomas turns on his feet and runs.
The awareness of other people fades, there could have been a hundred of them staring, it doesn’t matter. Thomas can't stop. He breathes frantically through his mouth, his vision out of focus. He lets his feet lead him ahead with no sense of direction, it may just be his inner survival instinct that allows his muscles to work. Run or die.
He’s by the garden before he even realizes his legs are slowing down. He sees a familiar hill with a tree and that’s when he stops, and a ruthless gasp makes him breathless. His heart is hammering, trying to escape from his chest and tear his insides and it burns. Thomas clutches his stomach and that’s when he realizes it’s his wound that is burning. The stitches feel like they’re twisting and Thomas wheezes, because he feels hot and- is he bleeding? He feels like he’s bleeding out, like everything around is covered in blood.
He doesn’t realize another person appears next to him until someone grabs him by the shoulders. His first reaction is to attack, defend, run. He trashes at the touch, but then a voice he would recognize anywhere shushes him and he is met with a pair of dark, urgent eyes.
“Easy, Tommy, easy. It’s just me. Try to breathe, okay?”
If Thomas had any control of himself he would frown at Newt, because he is breathing. He’s breathing so much the air stings coming into his lungs.
“Like this, see?” Newt grabs Thomas’ hand and places it against his own chest, right on his heart.
Newt starts taking regulated breaths, in and out, in and out, and every movement Thomas can feel under his palm. Newt keeps steady eye contact and both his hands are firmly holding Thomas’ one in place on his body. The boy keeps breathing. Thomas tries to copy.
“Yeah, like that. Good, that’s good.”
The world shrinks only to the two of them and their breaths. His eyes dart around until he hooks them in the deep brown of Newt’s pupils and he doesn’t let himself be distracted by the pain in his abdomen and by the blood that’s still there somewhere. Thomas doesn’t see anything but Newt and doesn’t feel anything but air coming evenly in and out of his chest.
“Good, Tommy.”
They breathe together for what feels like hours and minutes at the same time. At some point, Newt lowered them both to the ground, but Thomas hadn't even noticed, too occupied with not choking. In and out. Repeat. In and out. Newt is still holding him.
Soon, the air doesn’t sting. His eyes focus. The night clears his flooded eardrums. There’s no blood. He can see Newt smile gently at him. Slowly, he lets go of Thomas’ hand and it falls limply down his side.
“Are you with me?” Newt asks.
Thomas swallows and nods. “Yeah,” his voice is a rasp.
“We should get you something to drink,” Newt says with the intention of moving, but he doesn’t get up. Too late does Thomas realize it’s because he grabbed his arm.
“Don’t leave,” he says, sounding desperate and frightened. He hates himself for it.
Newt looks down at Thomas’ hand and something flashes across his face. He nods, firm. “Okay. I’m not leaving.” Then, when Thomas still doesn’t let go of him: “I’m not going anywhere, Tommy.”
Thomas accepts Newt’s answer and lets go, hanging his head between his legs. He runs his fingers through his hair, damp from sweat. It’s okay. He’s okay. Newt’s here. They’re both okay.
He doesn’t know how much time passes. The cicadas play in the bushes and he tries to use it as a sound grounding him to this earth. Newt is a steady presence next to him. The boy doesn't say anything, and maybe it's that accepting silence, the complete lack of questions that gets to finally snap Thomas to reality. He realizes he woke up his best friend in the middle of the night and made Newt chase after him to the hill on the other side of Safe Haven. Guilt is like a bucket of cold water.
“I’m sorry,” Thomas murmurs, not meeting Newt’s eyes.
“I don’t even want to hear it,” is Newt’s instant response.
Thomas forces himself to look up and even illuminated only by the moon, he notices dark circles under Newt’s eyes.
“No, Newt, I am. It was stupid, just a stupid nightmare.”
“It didn’t sound stupid.”
Thomas winces at the thought of how his screaming and panting must have looked like to the people around him, how many more of them he disturbed. Nightmares happened before, but not like this. Now he wasn't the only one to witness them.
“I should’ve–”
“You should have what? Ignore it? Suffocate yourself? Go back to sleep? Thomas, nobody will blame you for having a bloody nightmare. We all have them. Yours was clearly a bad one and that’s okay. Don’t apologize and don’t try to excuse yourself, yeah?” Newt's voice is strained, like there is no questioning his words. There’s a pull to his eyebrows that lets Thomas know trying to talk back will not end well.
Thomas is still Thomas, though.
“I woke you up. I’m sorry.”
“I wasn’t sleeping.”
“Newt–”
“I wasn’t sleeping.”
Thomas searches his face and lets himself notice the details that mark it. His eyes are sunken and bloodshot, but the way he holds his gaze isn't fuzzy, or dizzy, or weary like in the mornings. It's not the look of someone who has been suddenly woken up. Not the look of someone who was woken up at all. He’s sitting barefoot, which, so is Thomas, but this fact allows him to notice the red scratch marks on Newt’s ankle.
Another “I’m sorry” almost escapes him, but Newt sees it and holds a hand up to silence him. He looks frustrated, but he eases his features with only a little effort, and exhales. Then, shaking his head, he breathes out a tired:
“We both have a shitty night, Tommy.”
Thomas sees the way Newt’s shoulders sag and he has a sudden urge to hug him. He pulls closer on instinct, but stops before the touch can become something real, something too tangible for a thing too fragile. They settle on silence and Newt closes his eyes. The night life buzzes quietly around them. Thomas glances up at a sky that is clear and full of stars. It feels too vast all of a sudden, so he comes back to the ground, to their legs on the grass.
Thomas wonders if it’s Newt’s leg again. Newt doesn't like to be asked, rarely answers when Thomas does. It's frustrating, not being able to help, but he figures the least he can do is give Newt some space. Even if that's the last thing he wants to do. But closing the space is scary in a way it's an uncharted territory, it's so much easier for Thomas to mess up if he allows himself to start breaching it. The space occupied by nightmares and staring at nothing and fathom pain of something that isn't there, but something that won't leave.
He wants to help, but somehow that equals wanting to touch, to soethe, to pull close. Thomas wonders if, maybe, being close would help at night, when they don't see each other, but they could feel a body that takes up the space of everything that is wrong with them.
He’s too tired to think.
Newt jawns loudly and a few seconds later so does Thomas. They both chuckle.
“Okay, c’mon. Let's get back. I don’t fancy sleeping on the ground,” Newt says, lazily getting up and stretching.
He offers his hand to Thomas, as he always does, and Thomas uses it to pull himself up. The touch is warm. They lean against each other as they walk, and if Thomas feels Newt put a significant part of his weight on him, he lets his friend do so without a word. He makes a promise to himself then, that he will talk to Newt about it. He’ll be better at pushing if needed and he’ll help, and he’ll make sure Newt sleeps soundly the next night and every night after that.
It’s what he deserves.
"Thanks," Thomas says, a mere whisper.
"Of course," Newt answers him easily.
He deserves so much more.
— — —
Thomas has been keeping himself busy since he got his bandage removed a few days ago.
Both Sonya and Newt stressed he shouldn’t jump right into heavy work and Thomas did take that under consideration. For maybe one day. He can’t help himself. He’s been aching to do more and move more pretty much ever since he was able to get out of bed without anybody’s assistance. And now that he’s finally healed enough to return back to his full mobility, he can’t imagine not jumping into heavy work.
He’s glad Gally of all people seems to understand that. The older boy gave him a job right away, Thomas didn’t even have to explain anything. The ease with which Gally has accepted Thomas into his team was surprising, not in a bad way of course, but… It was as if Gally knew exactly how it feels to thrust yourself headfirst into the first available thing to hide your insecurities and worries, and the idea that they could be so similar to each other sits weirdly with Thomas. Their relationship is still so tentative. Thomas likes his company, but the load of unaddressed problems piled between them is hard to ignore sometimes. Still, Thomas won't be the one to ruin this unspoken truce.
He tried not to focus on the knowing look, brief but there, that Gally directed at him when he first came asking for something to do. Thomas is just happy there’s a task for him now. Building new cabins is technically under Vince’s supervision, but the man approved of a new set of hands to help right away. Which was nice too, knowing that others still view him as someone to be trusted.
Changes though, no matter how small, are still more jarring than he'd liked them to be. The lack of Newt during the middle part of his day is something he's become acutely aware of. They still see each other the first thing in the morning and at breakfast and at dinner and in the evenings and then right before falling asleep, but that middle part is missing now, and Thomas got used to having Newt all day, every day. He’s become dependent on having Newt by his side in every waking moment. The boy’s like a lifeline for him.
It's not that he has to feel Newt's presence next to him all the time or he'll go crazy… but it is something like that.
Some part of Thomas, a part held very carefully, at a very safe distance, knows it’s because being apart from Newt too long feels like not having him at all. Not seeing him feels like Newt is gone. Not with them in Safe Haven like he’s supposed to be, but lying in the wreckage of the Last City. Lifeless.
No amount of manual labor is able to turn his thoughts back on the right track after that awful realization occurs.
Thomas has been keeping himself busy nonetheless, because he tries to adapt to his new routine and function like the rest of them. Newt started working too, not just in the garden. He spends a lot of time with the others, talking and essentially trading knowledge. Turns out Newt knows and remembers a whole lot. It’s not just his very specific ability to tell which plants are edible or not, or how a sunflower’s growth phase works, but what types of different tailoring seams there are, position of various star constellations, where what arteries lie in a human body.
His best friend and Sonya, sometimes Harriet when Sonya doesn't want to let go of her hand, and sometimes Jorge, if he suddenly appears out of nowhere with a fun fact, have been working on writing everything down, creating guidelines of sorts. For future generations, Vince and Jorge said. Every bit of information is useful and everyone around can contribute. They have ten pages dedicated to different ways of serving potatoes from Frypan already. Thomas thinks the only wisdom he himself could add is how to push past the lack of feeling in your legs when you have to keep running for your life.
Not the point.
The point is life goes on.
Thomas has been thinking a lot about that, the natural course of life, since he started a new chapter of sorts, in his life in Paradise. Since he traded a look with Newt and realized they're moving forward. Since they both sat next to each other in the sand in front of the med hut a few days ago and compared their scars, not covered by bandages anymore. His one is smaller but more funny looking, what a bullet would do, and Newt’s is longer but thin and pale. (The knife had an ugly blade.)
Sonya warned them there'll be stiffness sometimes, a weird sensation like skin pulling on skin. But they are officially cleared.
There was a moment of silence between them, a feeling sinking in. Their scars have healed. Quite literally. So where did that leave them?
Working, it turned out. Establishing a new routine. Adapting. Living. A peaceful, unrushed flow of daily chores, shared meals, campfires in the evening where you sit and tell stories and laugh and try to not worry, not plan, not stress, not move around and not keep your attention and energy solely on not dying.
…so where does that leave Thomas?
He tries to treat every day like it’s normal, he tries to get used to these changes, small, inconsequential changes, he tries to not overthink everything as well as not overwork himself, but no matter how hard Thomas tries, he still can’t shake of the feeling that something simply doesn’t sit right. It’s not a big thing, unless he starts thinking about it, and it becomes something huge he has no idea how to deal with.
There's this worry, that he's doing things wrong. That everyone is at least someway into figuring themselves out, but Thomas is stuck still in the same place. How much more work will it take to feel like you're not just passing the time and counting the days in a wait for something you're too scared to name?
He doesn't know. But life goes on.
When Thomas sees the sun shift low enough it reaches the treeline, he knows the work for today ends. The day was mostly chopping and moving wood into places, but it was occupying enough that Thomas didn't have to worry if he's being too unsubtle with the agitated energy he has bottled inside. Then again, he thinks people know anyway. He's aware how hard it can be to hold a conversation with him and he knows he’s a complete stranger to most of the people he comes in contact with. He knows he doesn’t particularly care to change that. And there's that feeling again of not being the way he should be.
What Thomas doesn’t know is how to pretend to be something he isn’t. Contrary to popular belief, he’s not the best with people. He feels awkward and uneasy more often than not. Sure, he may be good at acting on impulse-slash-instinct and making people want to follow, though how exactly he had managed that still eludes him. Thomas doesn’t very much see himself as special or extremely talented at anything. He thinks his ability to lead others came from desperate times and extraordinary characters he had the pleasure of meeting. That was it - he met the right people, people who just needed a little push, an ignition.
Thomas served his purpose, he gave everything he had to their shared fight. He was ready to sacrifice himself if needed. Whatever it took. In the end, it took a lot. But not him. Not his life that he was ready, so ready to give, to offer if it meant saving others. The decision, if it ever came to it, would be simple. More than it should be, perhaps.
But that’s just it, isn’t it? It never did come to that. Thomas got close to dying, but never crossed the other side. He’s here now with no more sacrifices needed to be made.
So where the hell does that leave him?
He’s scared of how much he doesn’t know how to function like this. Of how much he doesn’t know how to be alive.
So. Thomas doesn’t bother talking to people more than is socially expected of him. He wouldn’t even know what the hell to say, how exactly do you talk to a person without the circumstance of impending doom and death? He's attempted it, but it always seems forced. He knows the only people he is able to normally function around are the people he fought and took down the world's most powerful organization with. It’s that common trauma bond, he thinks.
And Thomas knows even better that there's only one person, who truly makes him feel like he's not failing constantly as a human being.
He moves through countless passing bodies, sees coutless faces, just not the one he wants. He has already checked the garden, but Newt wasn’t there. It shouldn’t be this hard to find him this time of day. There’s only so many places you can be at on a mostly secluded and not inhabited coast. He plans on asking someone, maybe Sonya or Minho, but then he thinks about checking the beach. Thomas gets this really strong gut feeling and he follows it down the sandy incline, half blinded by the shining sun.
There’s barely anyone on the coastline, but Thomas goes a little further, close to the place Newt and he walked along only a week ago. He barely sees it at first, against the sun, but there’s a head floating in the water. Its hair is bright and highlighted, like a halo. Thomas feels a sudden buzz of excitement and happiness, instantly recognizing the feeling in his body as sunflowers, soft smiles, blond hair and the smell after rain.
Newt notices him too, as if there’s some sort of shared magnetic force that alerts them when they’re near each other. The blond pulls his hand out of the water and waves. Thomas is left to imagine the smile stretching on Newt’s face, and starts walking faster to the shore, itching to get closer and closer and actually see the smile for himself. They’re both quickly closing the distance between them and Thomas is a little too transfixed with the joy of being with his lifeline again, because he walks into the water, shoes and pants full on and now completely soaked. He has half a mind to look down but then Newt is before him, smiling one of his beautiful bright smiles and standing with water splashing gently on his bare abdomen.
A small piece of life falls into place.
Thomas wants to say– something, but doesn’t even get a chance to open his mouth because something weird happens to his brain. He takes in a full sight of Newt. His face is beaming with a smile, made all the more adorable by the wet smudges and pink cheeks. His naked arms and torso don’t look so pale anymore when the sun is kissing them and they are shined with dripping water, painting glossy lines along his skin right to his hips, that are swallowed by the sea. If Thomas reached out his hand he could touch the scar right above Newt’s heart.
He's pretty sure his own has actually stopped beating. Then Newt laughs and that’s how Thomas knows he’s staring, and his heart suddenly beats very very fast.
“Decided to join me?” The boy quirks an eyebrow and glances down and just like that Thomas snaps to reality and remembers he just soaked his best pair of pants. He feels his face heat up, but Newt doesn’t let him get embarrassed.
“Good timing, I just went in. Now c’mon. Just maybe lose some clothes first, yeah?”
Thomas chuckles and his head starts nodding of its own accord.
He takes off everything but his underwear and puts his wet clothes on a towel next to Newt's. He can feel the blond's eyes on him the whole time. It shouldn't be anything, really, since something like privacy didn't very much exist in the Glade and the boys saw each other's bodies all the time, changing or in the showers, then outside of the Glade none of them suddenly became sheepish either. Nudity is nothing shocking, there certainly wasn't a point to worry about such things when fresh clothes and regular showers were a luxury.
But Thomas. Wonders. Remembering very well how just a minute ago his brain short circuited seeing Newt emerging from the water, and the way he was shamelessly eyeballing his body back in the med hut. If maybe it is something. Just for the two of them.
The water, when he meets it on exposed skin, is colder than he expected. When it creeps under his boxers and splashes over his belly button Thomas can’t help himself and he yelps. Newt laughs at him and comes closer.
“Feels weird, doesn’t it?”
Thomas huffs an amused breath. “Yeah.”
It's probably the first time in his life that he experiences anything like this. The dive they took in the Last City was different, it wasn't controlled or natural, it was a violent push and pull of motion. His feet touched the bottom of the pool and pushed him up before he had a chance to realize he's sinking. This, the sea, is another thing entirely. Thomas looks down at his hands and stirs the sea surface with his fingers. It’s so clear he can see right through it.
“You’ll get used to it,” Newt smiles and guides Thomas deeper, until only their necks stick out. “This is as far as I went. Honestly, I’m too chicken to lose the ground from my feet just yet.”
Thomas bounces off the bottom of the sea a couple times, seeing what it would be like to not feel the sand with his toes. It’s that funny feeling, weighing nothing but also dropping fast and hard like a rock.
“What got you going swimming, anyway?” Thomas asks.
Newt tests the water in front of them.
“Everybody around here seems to love going in the sea now, so I figured why shouldn’t I get the fun, when I’m officially not in ‘active recovery’ anymore. Plus, it’s just really hot today. Plus plus, I talked with Sonya. She thinks swimming might be good for my leg,” he makes a small pause. “And my body in general, y’know, after all that stab wound situation. It might actually be good for you too, Tommy.”
Newt turns around and flashes him another smile and Thomas thinks how unbelievably lucky he is, that he's the recipient of so many of them.
“Well then,” Thomas feels a grin splitting his face, “shall we?”
The way Newt’s eyes light up, somehow even brighter than they were before, makes Thomas’ heart skip a beat.
“Yeah, yeah. I just want to do this one thing first.”
After that Thomas gets no warning before Newt takes a comically loud and very big breath and disappears under water. Thomas counts the seconds the other boy spends floating under and when about ten of those passes there’s a dark shape skyrocketing towards him and Newt emerges with a big splash. Bubbles of pearly laughter leave his chest as he shakes his hair from side to side, sending drops of water right into Thomas’s eyes. He yells somewhat offended, but Newt’s joy is too infectious not to start giggling as well.
“You’re so stupid,” Thomas says through his smile, watching as Newt tries to wipe the water from his eyes. His hair is sticking to his forehead and Thomas has a very sudden urge to touch it and check if it’s still as soft as when it’s dry.
Newt’s only response is splashing Thomas more. On impulse, Thomas takes a breath as big as Newt did and all but throws himself head first into the water in front of them. There’s a broken off “Wait!” somewhere above him, but Thomas doesn’t hear anything when water flows into his eardrums. He’s made a not so clever decision of not closing his eyes and his retinas unexpectedly burn and all he sees is endless dark blue and shine rays touching the surface. His nose clogs up and too late does Thomas realize he leaped too far and there’s no ground underneath his feet. He sees bubbles of air around him and he has a brief moment of panic when he realizes again, that now he has to actually swim not to sink like a stone and that he’s not so sure how to do that.
There are arms around him and Thomas feels himself being abruptly dragged up. He gasps for air as soon as his head is out of the water and his nose and eyes sting so much it’s not even funny. Or it apparently is for someone, someone who has his arms steady around Thomas, someone who laughs over his head and someone who can only be Newt.
“Not like that, idiot. You wanna drown yourself?” It would be chiding if not for the absolute amusement and delight in his voice. “Who’s the stupid one, again?”
“Shut up,” Thomas wheezes and swats Newt’s arm, somehow finding his voice despite struggling in coughing out water from his lungs.
If he was in a position where breathing is easy, perhaps he would focus a bit more on the fact that upper parts of their bodies are naked and wet and pressed very close together. Thomas feels Newt’s sternum against his shoulder and Newt’s laugh on his neck and suddenly he can’t breathe for a completely different reason.
“Whoa, whoa, easy,” Newt clasps Thomas on the back, trying to help but being completely oblivious to his inner turmoil.
Any kind of touch of Newt’s damp skin sends a funny wave through Thomas’ body, which seems to have forgotten about its half drowning, half swimming experience to instead dedicate all its awareness to Newt’s fingers, Newt’s arms, Newt’s stomach and Newt’s hips.
Thomas knows the feeling of being touched by Newt, he feels it lingering for hours on his body, but something about this stupid water and how it’s wet and slippery and shiny and how they’re both down to their boxers makes Thomas’ blood rush to different places. He’s suddenly very glad that the sea surface distorts the image below his waist or he thinks he would die of embarrassment.
“Tommy, you good?”
Thomas shakes his head to move the hair from his eyes. He meets Newt’s now concerned gaze, and despite himself notes that his friend could be made out of pure light with the way he is glowing. He wants to groan and slap his brain into obedience to stop constantly thinking about how good his best friend looks.
“Yep,” he croaks. “Never better.”
— —
Thomas tries to take it easy after that. Which isn’t exactly his forte, as previously established, but when Newt is at his side, somehow everything seems manageable.
It makes matters worse that neither he nor Newt ever exactly took any swimming lessons when WCKD kept them, so they have to figure out everything by themselves. It would be scary to experience on his own, but again. Newt is right there. So how scary can it be?
Swimming is mostly instinctive as it turns out. They never take off too far from the shore and keep track if the other one is struggling. Thomas starts every time a fish swims by and brushes his leg, and every time Newt laughs. The blond got used to the sealife a lot quicker than him. Newt finds simple floating on his back very enjoyable, but Thomas can’t get his body to relax like that. He doesn’t see anything but the sky this way, and the idea of all that vast space surrounding him when he doesn’t know what’s happening around him and even under him, all the ways something could sneak up on him… it’s not really making taking things easy, well, easy.
Newt closed his eyes ten minutes ago and he doesn’t really look like he wants to move. It’s enough for him that Thomas says something from time to time or touches him to alert him he’s still there. Other than that, he seems perfectly content spreading his limbs like a starfish and swaying softly with the waves. Thomas observes Newt’s serene face and notices the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
He allows himself a moment more to stare before he feels as if he’s disturbing Newt’s peace and he looks around instead. The beach is mostly empty, not counting the two of them. Some people sit on the sand but they’re far away, too far to tell who they are. Thomas probably doesn’t know them, anyway. Others he can see moving at the camp they’ve built, just living their lives, some voices carrying over to blend with the sound of waves and gentle wind. The movement of the sun dictates the movement of people in Paradise and it's different from afar. More grounded, somehow.
Life goes on regardless of Thomas.
They're close enough to the shore that Thomas sees countless pebbles and seashells dug into the sand. Some small fish roam between his feet, but when Thomas reaches into the water they all swim away in quick, funny motions. Thomas’ fingers graze over tiny treasures until he finds one particularly shiny and pulls it out to closer inspection. It’s a perfectly smooth white shell, just the size of his thumb’s fingernail. He raises it above his eyes and the sun catches on it with a dark orange glow.
“What’cha got there, Tommy?”
Thomas turns around. Apparently Newt got bored of his floating session, and he stands before him in water up to his waist, silhouetted by the sun.
“I pulled it out just now,” he shows the seashell to Newt and the blond peeks a closer look.
“It’s pretty.”
Thomas gazes over Newt’s face when his eyes are still down on Thomas’ palm. “Do you, um. Do you want it?”
Newt glances up. There’s something on his face that Thomas can’t read, something curious, maybe fond and a little amused. Either way, it makes Thomas blush, an involuntary reaction that becomes a bit too frequent nowadays. He all but pushes the shell into Newt’s hand.
“Yep, it’s yours now. You’re welcome,” Thomas mutters, ducking his head pathetically.
Newt blinks a couple times, looking down at his gift. Then he chuckles.
“Thanks, Tommy.”
Thomas is glad they decide it’s enough swimming for today and he can move out of the water instead of standing there flushing like an idiot over a goddamn seashell. They both conclude there’s no point in drying themselves off when there’s just one towel, so they collapse onto it instead, pressing close to each other. The towel is just really fit for one person. Thomas tangles their legs just by accident. Accident, that’s all it is.
The fact that he isn’t actively looking over Newt’s wet body finally lets him catch a good breath and he moves his arms under his head, exhaling deeply. The sigh is heavy and it shudders on its way out and it doesn’t escape Newt’s attention.
“Everything okay?” He asks, turning his head to look at Thomas’ profile.
“Yeah. I’m just…” Thomas trails off, not exactly sure what he was going to say. His brain feels really cloggy for some reason.
“Tired?” Newt supplies.
Thomas laughs dryly, making a point to look solely up in the cloudless sky and not at Newt’s keen eyes.
“I don’t think you can get tired ‘round here. It’s called Haven for a reason.”
“Sure you can,” Newt answers without missing a beat. “If you’ve been working hard all day. Which you have.”
“It’s only afternoon,” Thomas notes flatly.
“That doesn’t mean you haven’t been working hard. And that doesn’t mean you can’t be tired,” Newt shifts and props his head on his arm, lying on his side to look at Thomas properly. “C’mon Tommy, I can see your wheels spinnin',” the blond taps a finger on Thomas’ temple.
Thomas doesn’t answer, nor does he look over at Newt. He exhales again. All kinds of thoughts and images find their way across his head, mostly invasive ones that he tried to block and leave behind throughout the day, and the ones that persistently stuck in the back of his mind. He wants to swallow them down, stand up and start tasking his body with enough effort it starts hurting, or better yet, start running, just run and run for as long as his legs will take him, until he feels nothing more than the burning sensation in his muscles and a coppery taste in the back of his throat that floats his lungs - finally a feeling familiar and old enough for Thomas to know how to deal with it.
Thomas doesn’t move. There hasn't been a need for him to run like that for some time now. There probably won't ever be again.
The sea stretches before his eyes. The waves touching the sand are gentle. He hears Newt breathe.
"Sometimes I feel like my brain and I aren't on the same team," he starts, briefly looking over at the other boy. "Like it just… forgets that we're safe now and we can relax and we don't have to think about every shit there is to think about, and that things are supposed to be calm now and normal ," Thomas pauses. His brows furrow. "I'm supposed to feel normal."
He gets irritated with himself and his obstinate urge to still stand up and run. He sits up, leaning on his arms stretched behind his back.
"Define normal," Newt comments.
Thomas waves an airly hand. "I dunno know, different."
"That's the exact opposite of normal," Newt says cheekily, which earns him a shove. He sits up too, with one leg tugged to his chest.
"Give me a break, Newt," Thomas groans. "The only time I feel normal during my day is when I'm with you." It spills before he knows it.
And it's true. Thomas can't go far doing anything around here without all his thoughts ultimately coming down to his blond best friend. It's safe to think about Newt, safer than to let himself think about the horrors of their past and the dead and buried. Well, not buried, just dead. He thinks that's part of the problem.
But Newt is always there, to distract him, to comfort him, blessedly alive and breathing and smiling each time Thomas as much as looks at him.
Thomas remembers thinking about Newt being his lifeline. A steady force always pulling him back home.
For a second he worries it's too much to say. But then Newt puts a hand on his shoulder to grab his attention and one look into those brown eyes tells him that it's okay. It's just how it is between them. It's just how they are.
"I don't think you can feel normal if you don't even know what normal is," Newt says, musing. Thomas has half a mind to say something snarky, but then, "I don't ever feel normal anymore, Tommy. I don't think I ever will."
Thomas looks at him. Their faces are close, but Newt’s eyes are looking down at nothing in particular. He only now removes his hand from Thomas' shoulder, putting it back on the towel, inches apart from Thomas' own.
"Christ, sometimes I wake up and I'm still surprised I'm not in the Glade… Alby won't come first thing in the morning to give me a hand and pull me from my hammock, and we won't do a routine check up and see Minho on his way out to the Maze," Newt gets a faraway look, clouded and sad. "Sometimes I open my eyes and I'm surprised I'm even bloody breathing."
Thomas thinks it's an unconscious reaction when Newt scratches his right forearm, the palest of scars marking it. The serum didn't heal everything.
He wants to say a million things, but none of them feel right or necessary or particularly helpful, so he keeps quiet. His hand inches closer to Newt’s and stops when their fingers touch. It’s small, but it's grounding.
Newt is zoned out, maybe he didn't realize exactly what it is he said. Thomas looks at the sea again, shimmering and shining and moving, and tries to wrap his head around it being here and existing alongside the two of them. The thought is terrifying for a second. But then it’s not. Because it's always been there, and if it has already endured the scorching sun… it always will be here, too. If there's a place in this world for something as vast and unknown as the sea, surely there's a place for them. Right?
"Do you think we'll ever get used to it?" Newt asks quietly, unexpectedly. "Normalcy and all that… living, I guess."
Thomas is taken aback. It sounds very much like the kind of question he is asking himself all the time in his head. Or aloud, when he's searching for reassurance. He looks to the side. Newt sits still and dully watches the sand slip through his fingers. His shoulders are scrunched up and he looks… small. Trapped in himself, with no light to reach his eyes.
It’s not how Newt allows himself to be seen often. From the very moment Thomas laid eyes on him in the Glade, he knew the blond is some sort of an authoritative figure. He seeps of confidence and reliance with his calm demeanor, steady eyes and a smile that never fails to lift Thomas’ spirit. It’s like the respect everyone has for him is almost palpable. Thomas knows it wasn’t built in Newt’s character in a day, rather painfully carved in him out of necessity of survival, and he knows how scared and nervous Newt is underneath all of this, but that doesn’t make it any less of who his friend is. This is the person who spent three years in the Maze and lost all hope to the point of trying to take his own life, and a person who somehow managed to come back from that. How strong you must be, to carry on after? To become a support pillar for tens of other scared and confused boys in times of terror, never ever allowing yourself to crumble ever again, even if it takes everything you got to stay firm and balanced.
Thomas is in awe of how Newt was– is capable of that. Putting your faith and trust out on the table, bearing your heart out to the world that crushes anything fragile and vulnerable, but deciding to do it regardless because others need it in order to move forward. Doing it simply because you care .
If there is anything steadfast in this world, anything Thomas could lean all his weight on with the surety it will hold him, it’s Newt.
Newt, who belongs to the sun and the earth, in the gentle waves of the sea and in the sunflower field where his hair matches the petals.
Newt, who holds his hand when he wakes up trembling with the remnants of nightmares, who’s warmth pulls him away from the sandpaper-like voice in his brain that tells him to run, who still speaks to him softly, so softly.
Newt, who doesn’t sleep at night.
Thomas doesn’t know how exactly you’re supposed to take care of your lifeline.
He watches Newt when the boy’s eyes flicker to him to hold his gaze for a few seconds, before returning back to focus on his hands.
Thomas swallows. What he has learned about the world so far is that there are moments of something pure, between the screaming and the feeling of blood on his hands. Like the strong, evident existence of the sea in a world that has burned everything beautiful. Moments when Thomas miraculously seems to do just the right thing. The glistening of brown eyes with something sweet, the overwhelming stretch of lips and the feeling that he will get the hang of all of this living eventually, because if he is able to make Newt smile, then he must be doing something right.
Thomas doesn’t know how exactly you’re supposed to take care of your lifeline, but he supposes if there’s any point of him living at all, then it must be in figuring it out.
He brings his hand on top of Newt’s and sees it cause goosebumps on his friend’s arm.
"We’ll figure it out eventually" Thomas says, watching how Newt directs his gaze to look at his hand before meeting his eyes. "We're learning, aren't we? We said we'd learn together. And that's what I intend to do."
Newt looks at him in a way that makes Thomas think the boy can see right through his soul. Thomas doesn’t shy away from him. He would open his soul and his heart wide open for Newt if he could.
And then Newt smiles.
"I forget how much of a bloody optimist you are sometimes," he says, rolling his eyes, but Thomas is busy watching the way his shoulders ease down and the little smirk forming on his lips.
It hits him, then. Something he hoped might be true, but never trusted himself enough to believe it. But he looks intently, as he always does when it’s Newt, and sees the tension leave the blond’s body, his eyes clear. It's the same feeling every time, something blooming in his chest, because Newt smiles again and everything is right in the world and Thomas is okay.
Newt laces their fingers together. And that’s how Thomas knows.
When Newt looks at him again, a stupid smile tugs at the corner of Thomas' lips. Of course, he thinks. The two of them- of course.
“What?” Newt asks happily, his accent making the word sound funny.
Thomas shrugs, feeling giddy. “Nothing.”
“Mhmmm.”
Thomas wonders what would Newt do if he told him he loves him.
“This? This is cute, by the way,” Newt holds something his fingers have been playing with and Thomas realizes it’s the little shell he gave him. “I’m definitely keeping that.”
He can’t help himself grin. “Good.”
Of course.