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Thomas noticed.
He noticed how their hope was dying each day more, looking like it was growing to its nonexistence. The hope of finding them, the ones taken by WICKED. The hope of finding Sonya, Aris, and all the immune kids. Of finding Minho.
He noticed how sometimes they all felt like they were spinning in circles, looking for ghosts between the sand and the scorching Sun. How they had no clue about where their friends and WICKED could possibly be.
Noticed how, even though they all felt like they were stuck sometimes, not a single person from the group gave up to the temptation of giving up.
And it was because of those moments. He knew it. Those moments to recharge their batteries.
Those moments when they found an abandoned city hidden in the scorch, when they did their searching for supplies and found enough to continue to fight. To eat and sleep. To survive.
Those moments when they could rest a bit and enjoy… something. The cold breezes during the sunsets. The food Frypan managed to make with the little stuff they had. The time to wash themselves with actual water from some random pond that still managed to exist. To put on some fresh clothes they found in almost entirely destroyed buildings. Time to enjoy themselves a little bit.
But also, they wouldn’t give up because they knew people were waiting for them. Because Thomas knew Minho was waiting for him.
Thomas noticed everything.
How Brenda and Jorge had a relationship of daughter and father he knew they were lucky to have. Because they took care of one another like no one else among them.
How Frypan — even after being frustrated with everyone for not helping him with the food the way he expected them to, after saying he would quit making them their meals — actually enjoyed cooking it. Because he liked doing something he was actually good at. Because he cared about his friends.
How Vince was a wise and self-assured man, and how he had so much knowledge about stuff Thomas even didn’t know about the world they lived in.
How Harriet was strong and talented with everything she did. How she stayed strong even after her friend, Sonya, and Aris, the friend she had just reunited with, got kidnapped again by the people she knew were capable of doing terrible things to them.
Thomas noticed it all.
He noticed how Newt’s limp was more present in the scorch.
How the back of his neck and forehead had a sunburnt thanks to the heat of the burning sun, leaving pale skin tinged with a soft red layer.
How he didn’t care about what clothes he would put on — but he always claimed the same brown leather jacket.
How he was a good shooter.
How his muscles were showing everyday more after their little work out sessions to stay in shape.
How he asked Brenda once a week to cut his honey colored hair with her knife, because he refused to let anyone else near his head with that sharp metal thing.
How the scar beneath his eye was starting to close, but it was inevitable that it would be there forever. And how he had managed to get a new scar on his collarbone during some mission on the scorch.
How he started developing freckles of sunburn as well.
How he would cross his arms as a defense. Lick his lips with sarcasm.
How he wrinkled his nose up everytime he was confused or stressed.
How he pressed his lips together, jaw locked, everytime he and Thomas shared silent glances.
Thomas noticed how his own stomach clenched everytime that happened.
How he wished Newt was closer.
How he started to wonder how many freckles Newt had now. Maybe if he got close enough, he would be able to count them.
That thought was never able to grow just enough.
Thomas was always the one to look away first.
The sun had just touched the horizon when they all started to settle the camp for the night, right outside of a house on the entrance of a new discovered city.
The sky was stabilizing to its signature oranges and pinks right before it got dark. Thomas gave himself a second to take a breath before he started to help the others.
Gather wood. Empty the trucks. Spread the food around. Make the fire for the night.
On that same day, Harriet, Brenda and Jorge had gone out to explore the city and look for more food. It had been a successful search.
They came back with flashlights, three big and full bottles of water, a lot of packages of dehydrated meat, canned food, some new shirts, a new knife Brenda claimed as her own already.
And, to everyone’s delight, they found something they didn’t find that often. A small red radio and some bottles of… Something.
Thomas couldn’t make out what they had inside — he didn’t recognize them, — but he had a guess once he saw Newt and Fry share a look, something sparkling in their eyes.
“I bet this’ll beat Gally’s secret recipe.” Frypan said, rubbing his hands together, nostalgia filling his eyes.
“It’s impossible, but still,” Newt said, taking one of the bottles from the box Brenda was holding and opening its cap. He smirked at Fry, “let’s give it a try”.
Brenda cheered, Fry laughed and agreed, Harriet tapped on Newt’s shoulder. Thomas stared at Newt taking a sip of it.
Some minutes later, the camp was settled. They made sure the area was safe and clear of any threats or cranks before putting up the bonfire and turning on the radio, hoping to get a signal, a voice, a melody, anything.
They gathered all the extra stuff they had inside the house. They spread sleeping bags on the ground around the fire, near the trucks. They waited while Vince messed with the radio antenna.
When the first note traveled out of the radio and into their ears, the whole group got silent.
And when the melody of some unknown song started to play, most of them cheered.
Thomas looked at Vince, who seemed proud of himself, holding the little radio. Thomas had to admit, he never believed it would work. He couldn’t believe there was even a signal from any radio station still working somewhere.
The radio was failing a little, making some static noises, but still, it was music playing from it, and it could be heard throughout the sizzling.
He didn’t even register the scene in front of him until Brenda was calling him.
“Come dance, Thomas!” His friend said, already holding a bottle of whatever that alcoholic drink was, giggling while getting on her foot.
He smiled, but denied. He shook his head.
“I’m fine, but you do you.”
“You’re so lame.” Brenda rolled her eyes, taking a sip of the drink. She turned to the other boys. “Fry? Newt?”
“You don’t have to ask us twice.”
In a heartbeat, the boys were standing, each with a bottle. It didn’t take long for Harriet to join them.
Thomas observed in silence while Newt walked around the fire with them. He observed Newt smile and laugh with his friends. Observed Newt move his hips in order to match the rhythm of the song.
A heartbeat. Thomas swallowed dry.
And he stayed there, sitting on the wooden bench, his back to the truck, watching his friends drink, dance, laugh. He watched Jorge and Vince talking excitedly by his left about the radio and how it was still working. He watched Jorge turn on the volume, and Brenda cheered at that.
He watched blond locks shine on the orange flames of the bonfire. He watched the brown jacket being tossed to the side, exposing a gray tight shirt, exposing fit arms.
He watched Newt dance. Smile.
That would be a long night.
Thomas was never much of a drinker. Back at the Glade, he had never really enjoyed the bit of alcohol they had in there. Newt had made him try it once. It was embarrassing how he simply spat it out.
So, after Newt and Brenda tried to make him pick up a bottle so many times, and having to deny all of them, he was starting to get annoyed.
He was happy for that little moment. He knew it was important for the group to rest a bit, to loosen up. Because, sometimes, people needed to forget a bit about their problems and have fun.
He watched the adults chatting, distracted and drinking as well. He watched his friends dance and drink from countless bottles.
The songs ended, but another always came up. He knew his friends didn’t recognize any of them. They didn’t care. They never stopped.
They could forget for some hours about the dangers and catastrophes waiting for them outside of their little bubble.
The whole moment was important. It was relieving. Warm.
But still, Thomas got frustrated.
Yes, because he was tired of denying bottles. Yes, because he had to explain to Brenda and Harriet three times already that he’s not a good dancer. He doesn’t dance.
But also, a strange and unknown feeling climbed his chest every time he looked at Newt. At how Newt was laughing and having fun, at how many empty bottles he already tossed to the side on the ground. At how he spun Fry and Brenda around, dancing.
Thomas considered getting up and joining them because of the sight. He considered spinning Newt around himself.
He never did.
So he just watched.
He watched Newt.
He watched the boy giggle over his words. He watched how Newt’s face was a bit red. He watched him almost fall thanks to his hurt let, his limp.
Watched Newt go around the fire and get close to him, smiling down at him.
Thomas wasn’t smiling.
“Tommy, I-” Newt played with every syllable with his tongue, his accent clearly showing. Thomas noticed how he sounded tipsy, even if he didn’t let the boy finish his sentence before interrupting.
“You’re drunk as hell.” It wasn’t to mock him. It wasn’t a friendly comment. It was cool and short, and Newt seemed to get Thomas’ frustration through his voice.
“Oh, shut up. I’m fine.” Newt rolled his eyes, a smirk in his lips. He kicked Thomas’ foot.
He kicked it hard, but Thomas didn’t complain about it. He knew the blonde probably didn’t measure his strength thanks to the effects of the alcohol.
“No, Newt, seriously. I think you should stop right there.” He tried to show in every word how serious he was.
Newt's smirk faded. He looked straight into Thomas’s eyes.
“Don’t need you to babysit me, mate. S’alright.” He spat.
It was flat. It was scornful.
It was probably the first time Newt ever spoke to him like that.
In a blink, the blonde was turning on his ankles and moving back towards the group, he almost tripped, he didn’t look back. And just like that, he disappeared.
Thomas captured how quickly Newt was back into his cheerful mood once he started dancing with Harriet, who was probably just as drunk.
He captured Newt cracking another bottle.
He captured the way Newt never looked back at him. Not even once.
Thomas ran a hand through his hair. He let it rest there. He pulled some strands.
He felt his stomach twist.
He was so helpless.
The stars were out. The radio was off. And everyone was getting ready to call it a night.
Harriet was putting out the fire. Frypan and Brenda were taking away all the trash. Vince and Jorge were already settling themselves to keep watch.
Thomas was still sitting on the same large wooden bench, his food by his side. He didn’t touch it.
Thomas watched the blonde sitting alone beyond the burnt wood that was once the bonfire. It was dark and, without the bare light of the flames, all Thomas could see was his silhouette. Still, he was able to watch Newt look down at his own foot, chin on his hand, elbow on his knee.
It seemed like he was fighting some thoughts inside his own mind. Newt’s head suddenly fell to the side, like it was heavy. He kicked a rock.
“I think he had too much of it.” A voice called Thomas’ attention to his right, and he turned to that direction only to find Frypan collecting some dirty napkins. “You’re not eating anything?” He pointed to Thomas’s food.
“No.” Thomas answered. Then, back to the first topic, “didn’t you guys drink as much as him?”
“No, man. You should know by now how he is.” Frypan sighed, shaking his head. “He’s much more done than any of us.”
“How many bottles did he have, Thomas?” Brenda asked, suddenly appearing next to Fry. Thomas looked at her in a questioning way. She sighed. “I know you were looking at him, and I know you kept track.” She winked at him.
He rolled his eyes. He didn’t even want to think about what the girl was insinuating.
“Five.”
“See? I had two.” She said, then.
“Maybe someone should go take a look on him.” Frypan proposed.
“He doesn’t need a babysitter.”
Brenda and Fry exchanged a glance.
“You do you.” Brenda said, and Thomas knew she was quoting the same thing he said earlier to her. He sighed.
When Frypan collected Thomas’ untouched plate and the two continued collecting trash somewhere else, he was once again left alone with his thoughts.
Newt was fine, he said it himself. He was old enough to know how to take care of himself if he needed to.
And Thomas was hurt. By the way the blonde spoke to him. He just wanted to help.
But why did Thomas have to be angry in the first place?
Was it because he saw Newt dancing with their friends?
Why did Thomas care so much?
Still, he wouldn’t do anything about it. It hurt, but he knew he wasn't responsible for Newt. And he didn’t want the blonde thinking he was acting overprotective.
But, when Thomas got up to get into his sleeping bag and settle down for the night, he sensed movement just over the ashes, on the other side of their camp.
It was Newt getting up.
It was Newt looking back at him, an unrevealed feeling in his chocolate eyes, just out of Thomas’ reach in the dark.
It was Newt walking toward him.
“Tommy, I’m sorry.” It was his voice, almost jumbled syllables, calling out to him. He was getting closer and closer, and Thomas could now see that his face was all tinged with a soft red.
His arms fell loosely on both of his sides. His blonde hair, lit only by the glow of the stars above them, fell over his forehead, threatening to cover his eyes. Thomas knew he would ask Brenda to cut it soon.
“What?” Was all Thomas could say.
Newt didn’t stop moving. He continued to walk toward Thomas. “How I talked to you I know-” But he tripped on his foot.
It all happened in a heartbeat. But Thomas moved faster. “Hey-”
The moment he noticed Newt was about to fall, he stepped forward and grabbed the blonde in his arms. “Hey, it’s alright, buddy. I got you.”
Newt inspired slowly on Thomas’ arm, and Thomas felt him shiver. He felt a smell emanating from the blonde's shirt that reminded him of the drink he had tried at the Glade.
He grabbed Newt’s arm and spun him around in order to face him. He saw the glassed brown eyes look at him with awe. He noticed how close Newt’s freckles were.
His eyes traveled through Newt’s face, and found his lips. His swollen and parted lips.
Thomas was suddenly very aware of their proximity, very aware of the knot in his stomach, of the fireworks in his heart.
He was suddenly very aware that everyone was probably looking at them.
Every last piece of hurtful notion Thomas had been feeling vanished in that same instant at the sight of Newt tripping. He knew Newt probably didn’t want his help — or maybe he was just too proud to admit it, — but Thomas also knew he had to take care of his friend.
He holded Newt still while they sat on the bench behind them.
Thomas was surprised when he saw — no, felt — the blonde lean against his shoulder for support. When he felt Newt’s hand rest against the fabric of his jeans on his knee.
“I’m sorry you have to see me like this. I promised myself I would never drink this much again if I ever had the chance-” Newt almost tripped over his own words. Thomas felt the warm breath touch his shirt.
“Don’t feel sorry, I’m not upset.” He smirked. “You actually look so cute when you’re flustered like this-”
“I’m not bloody flustered!” It was Newt’s turn to interrupt Thomas. He raised his head from where it was resting against Thomas’ chest. Thomas saw the sarcastic grin on the blonde’s mouth, the playful look on his eyes. Newt licked his lip. “It’s the alcohol, you twat.”
“Hey!” Thomas laughed.
“Uh, I probably look like a piece of klunk.” Newt said, ignoring Thomas, but it sounded like he was just thinking out loud. His head fell onto Thomas’ shoulder again, blonde hair tickling the latter’s neck.
Thomas' lips grew into a smirk. “I could list a few things you look like.”
Newt gave his leg a little punch. His answer came like a whisper on Thomas’ chest. “Oh, yeah? Like what.”
His smirk only grew wider. “A squishy piece of klunk.”
Newt’s head was up again, eyes wide open, cheeks flushed red because of the alcohol still. “Shut up or you’ll make me puke.” He laughed.
“Just don’t puke on me.” Thomas joined him.
And when the laughter and giggles ended, they stayed there, in a comfortable silence. And Thomas let himself breathe a little.
He looked down at the scene. Newt was, once again, curled up against him, arms now around his waist. Thomas couldn’t see his face due to how it was tugged on his own chest, but he could feel Newt smiling.
Newt looked so little in that position, even if he was considerably taller than Thomas.
And Thomas knew how Newt wasn’t someone to be playing with, how he was strong and wasn’t one to let his guard down. If he didn’t know Newt, or if Newt wasn’t so friendly, he would probably be scared of him.
But, in that moment, Newt showed himself being vulnerable, there, in Thomas’ lap. And he never showed his vulnerability to anyone.
Just to Thomas.
And something warm grew on the boy’s heart at the thought.
“Hey.” A whisper came to Thomas’ ear, a whisper so low he almost didn’t catch it. Newt turned his head up the slightest bit. “Are we okay?”
And Thomas smiled.
Because he saw how suddenly sleepy Newt was on his lap. Because he was the one taking care of his drunk friend. Because Newt trusted him to do that.
Because he could never be angry with him.
He had almost forgotten completely about the whole reason Newt came up to him minutes ago.
“Yeah, we’re okay.” His arm rested around Newt’s back.
He looked up. To the sky.
All he could see were bright and small dots of light, a strand of stars that ripped through the dark sky like the work of a dagger.
He looked to the right, back to the ground.
Where a boy laid down next to him curled up in his own sleeping bag, inches away. Blonde locks of hair everywhere. Thomas observed the rising and falling of the boy’s chest.
The scent of alcohol had quickly vanished, since Thomas had helped him change his shirt. But the blonde’s grogginess and clumsiness when he had laid there was still a sign that the effects hadn’t gone away completely.
Newt had covered himself up to his nose, so all that could be seen were his eyes, closed.
And twelve. There were twelve freckles in his right cheek.
Thomas closed his own eyes, still facing the sleepy boy.
Or so he thought. His eyes opened again when he heard it.
“Promise me you’ll never leave me, Tommy.”
It came as a surprise. It was unexpected. It was a low whisper that only Thomas was able to hear, a request, a wish. It probably were reactions to the alcohol still, Thomas reflected to himself. Or else Newt wouldn’t be saying that out of nowhere.
Still, that same warm feeling crawled its way back up to Thomas’ chest. And he didn’t fight it.
His lips involuntarily curved up into a smile. He let it stay there, he also didn’t fight it when he whispered back, the only right answer.
“I’m always going to be right here.”
Silence made its presence between them, and he let the space dust above consume him into a deep sleep right after that.