Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

was it casual?
is it casual now?
it’s casual, if it’s casual now

If there was one thing Thomas hated, it was getting up so early in the morning. Trying to open his eyes, Thomas quickly pressed his thumb on the phone to turn off the alarm. “Shut up, you little shit,” he muttered sleepily.

It's ironic, he thought. It had been almost three years since he had received his acceptance letter from the university. At that moment, he couldn't have been happier. Thomas had a very clear recollection of the day. It was around 11am when Brenda called him downstairs to say he had got the post. Sure of the addressee, he literally sprinted into the kitchen. He shouted so loudly in his excitement that his sister choked on her muesli, obviously spilling it all over the table. When he calmed down, she gave him a hard slap on the arm. But he'd just been accepted into the university and major of his dreams - criminology, so it didn't matter, he didn't even feel the punch.

But now, as the clock struck 7:45, he wished the letter had been lost on its way to his letter box. Unfortunately, in this universe, he had classes at 8:10 on Monday (who in their fucking right mind decided that classes at that awful hour was a good thing?), so he managed to get up and change into some decent clothes that weren't pyjamas. As usual, he ended up in a hooded sweatshirt and a pair of oversized jeans. Despite his sisters' best efforts to influence him with a good sense of style, they were miserably unsuccessful. Thomas just... didn't care as long as he felt comfortable. So they decided to make him a capsule wardrobe in plain colours, so he wouldn't do himself any harm by wearing badly mismatched outfits to uni.

On his way to the kitchen, he grabbed his beloved headphones and a backpack. On the counter was a small bag with the name Tom written on it. Teresa, he thought.

He had often been amazed that he was so fortunate to have someone as wonderful as her in his life. She was always the one to look out for Thomas and make sure he was taken care of, especially when he needed it (which wasn’t very often, thank you very much). She always cared for him and made sure that he ate properly, got enough sleep at night and took his medicine when he needed it, even though she had her own responsibilities. He sometimes questioned whether he was worthy of his friends. Thomas had this one special personality trait that made him do all kinds of irresponsible things, and it was usually when Teresa or Brenda stepped in to make sure he wouldn't accidentally kill himself.

Speaking of Brenda, of course Teresa made breakfast for her too. Which is actually quite sweet, considering Brenda usually got up around 10am and Thomas thought she had plenty of time to prepare the meal herself. His other friend worked as a tattoo artist and she also hated getting up early, so she didn't work until midday, something Thomas envied her for. It was always a mystery to them how Teresa managed to find the time to cook for all of them when she started work (internship to be precise) at 7am. With that thought running through his mind, Thomas grabbed his bag, texted his friend Thank you, T xx and quickly left the apartment.

For his sake, their flat was located near his university. It was a ground rule for him when they were looking for a place to rent. He couldn't possibly cope if he had to spend another 30 minutes in the morning fighting through the crowds on the subway, thank you very much. As Depeche Mode's Never Let Me Down blared from his headphones, Thomas wondered if he'd see Minho at the university today. Judging by the texts he'd received last night, it didn't look too promising. Although when he walked into class he saw his friend grinning like an idiot from the third row, looking pretty much not hungover. How the fuck?

“Hi,” Minho whispered as Thomas unpacked.

“Well hello, I'm surprised you decided to show up today.”

“Can't risk missing class though,” he said as excitement started to show in his appearance.

“That's reasonable I suppose.”

“I need to tell you something,” Minho started, watching the professor go through the door, “but it has to wait until the end of class. I could tell you earlier, but you decided to show up a minute before class started like a real shank here.”

“Yeah well, I'm not really an early riser,” Thomas mumbled, rolling his eyes at his friend.

After class, they gathered in front of the university and Thomas lit a cigarette. Teresa would've killed me, he thought. She hated this little anxiety habit he had. When the symptoms of his ADHD disorder were at their most unbearable, he was able to smoke almost a pack of cigarettes a day. At that point, Teresa put together a PowerPoint presentation on the harmful effects of smoking and made him sit and watch her do it for almost two hours. Afterwards, he promised her that he would try to quit for his own sake.

Luckily, she wasn't there, so he visibly relaxed (still feeling a little guilty) and gestured for Minho to continue. Apparently his friend had come up with a stunning, extremely exciting idea for their final university project.

“Well, I thought you understood the words 'I can't possibly risk it by saying this here'.”

“Yes, I understand, I just don't think it's that deep, honestly,” he knew that Minho could be a bit dramatic at times, in fact it was one of Thomas' favourite traits in his personality. However, he didn't think that the whole mysterious aura was necessary here. They were out of earshot of the others.

Minho frowned at him, looking incredibly irritated. “You're just saying that because you don't know the details that I can't tell you here.”

Thomas shrugged when he said that. To be honest, he was planning on inviting the friend over tonight to play some games on his PS, so he could wait and hear the story later. “Okay, so let's go to my place after class. We could order some take out, play Cyberpunk and you would tell me these important details or whatever.”

Then again, Minho's brow furrowed. “If that's not the problem, I thought we could go to my flat.”

Thomas' eyes widened a little. Obviously he had been to his friend's place before, though not very often. It was really just a matter of distance - Minho's flat was on the outskirts of town, while Thomas' was in the city centre. It was just easier for them to meet there since it was close to the university and other places like bars or clubs. “Well, okay,” he said, scratching the back of his neck.

“You seem surprised.”

“I don’t mind it, it’s just unexpected.”

“I have all the files at mine. Besides, it's been ages since you’ve been there, right?”

It's not that Thomas hates public transport, it's just that he didn't like it early in the morning. So when they finished their lectures, grabbed something to eat from one of the fast-food stands near the university and took the underground to Minho's place, he didn't really mind. All the time they talked about unimportant things and overcoming exams. Neither of them brought up the conversation they had had a few hours earlier, until they were standing in front of their destination.

“Before we go - my flatmate is here, so please don't mention the subject of our project in front of him,” Minho said and pushed the key into the lock.

Thomas shrugged before speaking. “No problem mate, but do you mind if I ask you why?”

“I just know he won't like it. He asked me to drop this a few days ago,” he said as he opened the door.

The flat looked exactly as Thomas remembered it. There was a small kitchen and a living room that was much wider than the other rooms. The first time he had been in Minho's flat, he had got the impression that everything looked out of place, but oddly enough it suited the boy's energy. He felt comfortable in his place and it made him wonder why they didn't come here more often.

The last time he was here he was pretty drunk after celebrating Minho's 23rd birthday. It was fun, although he didn't remember it very well, he wondered why. Minho threw a little party and invited Thomas and some of their friends from university. It wasn't much, but they managed to have a good time playing board games and cards. Not to mention the amount of alcohol served. It was also the first time he spoke to Minho's flatmate more than a few words, which he usually did, it wasn't just Hi, What's up and Bye coming out of his mouth. To be honest, they talked for almost two hours straight before he passed out, not that he remembered it either, and the next day, Minho's friend was nowhere to be found.

“Hey Newt, what’s up man?”

Torned from his thoughts, Thomas managed a small hi while looking at the boy in the kitchen.

Newt waved his hand at them, obviously eating something, and a few seconds later he picked up a plate from the counter. “I didn't know you were bringing anyone here,” he said, putting headphones on his head, “I won't bother you though, I have some work to do.” Newt gave them a gentle smile and quickly left for his room at the other end of the flat.

While Minho went to his room to get the things he wanted to show Thomas, he made himself comfortable in the living room. First Thomas put his things on the couch, then he started scrolling through his phone. He found himself stalking Newt on Instagram - but not for long, as his account was private. Request sent he saw on the screen after pressing the blue button.

“So I guess this is all I have...” Minho stood next to him with some papers in his hands. “But first things first - story time.”

“I can't wait to hear it, since you made me come here for it,” by now he was seriously interested, so there was no irony in his voice.

“Since all our uni mates can't shut up about their ideas for their final project and you're too lazy to do it, I started lurking myself.”

Thomas frowned - it was certainly not like that. It was just that he had thought (and he still did) that since the deadline was in the next 8 months, they would have plenty of time to do this shit. He wasn't that lazy.

“I'm fucking with you, Thomas, don't make that face,” Minho laughed as he read his mind perfectly, “so I asked Newt if he could give me access to the unsolved cases, more specifically the old, archival newspaper scans from the 90s. He found them in the secured databases of some libraries and...”

“Wait, what? And how on earth could he do that?” It was only the beginning of their conversation and he was already stunned because, what? Well, he knew that Newt studied computer science, but... “What I mean is - isn't that illegal?”

“What? Hacking into databases? Well, technically, yes, but tell me, do you really think anyone in the world would give a fuck about some archival newspapers?”

Well, he got the point, didn't he?

“So we found something interesting there. I mean, it wasn't really hyped up at the time, but in the 90s one of the pharmaceutical companies started to pick up some volunteers for the project, which involved drugs and shit like that. I don't have much information about it because I found it in some conspiracy theory magazine, but it doesn't matter!”
Minho stopped his story for a moment when he saw the judgmental look on Thomas' face. “What’s important is that around that time some people started to go missing and after two or three years they were found dead. It was always a suicide or a tragic accident. I don't think it's a coincidence, don't ya? Look at all these articles!” He said, handing Thomas some printed papers.

It looked disturbing, he could admit that. But people were always going missing, there were always car accidents, drownings and fires. He had no idea if there was an unusual number of them, but even if there were, why didn't the police do anything?

“I mean, it's interesting, but it's uncharted territory and more of a conspiracy theory than an actual true crime case,” Minho gave him a look that said you're always a party crasher, so he stopped and sighed. “If you want to do some research, I'm all for it, you know that, but I'm afraid we're not going to pass our class if we do a project about something so controversial.”

“Yes, I know. That's why I asked my friend Ben, who works at the police station, if he could do some research and check if the police have looked into it.” Minho said so casually, despite mentioning his acquaintance in the police, crossing his arms.

“And? What did he say?” Thomas asked. He was surprised that his friend really thought about everything.

“He said he had found something and that he wanted to meet me at the police station tomorrow evening. Do you want to come?”

Shit. Tomorrow was Brenda's birthday. She hadn't always been very intense about it, and she probably wouldn't mind, but he still didn't want to miss it. She was one of his closest friends - more like family now.

“I'm sorry Minho, I can't,” he said, scratching his neck, “I want to, but it's Brenda's birthday. Hope you understand.”

Minho patted him on the shoulder and gave him an understanding smile, “Hey, it's okay bud, tell her wishes for me”. He stood up and grabbed the controller, “now move your ass, we're gonna play.”

Wait, he thought - there's one thing he forgot to ask, “this company we're talking about, what's it called?”

“It's called WCKD. I bet you know who they are, don't you?”

Teresa. Yeah, now it makes sense why Minho asked him to come over.

“Teresa has an internship there...”

“Yes, I know, I remember. That's why I was hoping we could meet somewhere else, I didn't know if you wanted to involve her without knowing everything I know.”

He didn't know what to think. Of course he was curious, he studied criminology for God's sake. Of course the whole missing people thing seemed more than a little shady. But it didn't sit right with him either, because of his and Teresa's relationship. What if they'd found something suspicious and decided to go to the police? Wouldn't she be partly involved? Even if she didn't do anything like what was described in those articles - and he knew she wouldn't - she would still lose her job and there would probably be other consequences. It was clearly a conflict of interest.

“I don't know Minho. I think I should talk to her about it first, I don't want to be the backstabber here.”

“Suit yourself. I don't wanna sound harsh, but I doubt that anyone with a stable moral compass would question our little investigation. To be honest, I was thinking more of her safety.”

Shit. Thomas didn't like the way that sounded. Obviously he cared about Teresa's welfare.

“I know she'd approve of what we're doing, it's just not my decision,” he began to explain, “and why are you being so careful about it? I mean, I get it, it's crazy, but it happened a long time ago and we only have a few clues and a little information.”

Minho rolled his eyes at him before speaking, “Thomas, don't you see? They're probably guilty and if they're capable of killing more than 20 people and getting away with it, it's safe to say that they could be dangerous even now.” After saying that, he patted him on the shoulder, “I like her, I really do, and I know you trust her with all your heart, but tell her that only if you're certain she won't tell anyone.”

Thomas wasn’t sure. There had never been a secret between him and Teresa before. For as long as he could remember, she had been the closest person to him. No matter when or where, he'd always known she'd have his back. And with this shit? Thomas had no idea at all. He remembered how excited she was when she found out she had got the internship at WCKD. But if they really were that evil, if they really killed those people... maybe it would be for the better. Even for her, because he doubted she'd ever want to be a part of something so morally screwed up. Besides, it wasn't really Teresa's style to sit and wait when something shady and bad was going on. Especially if it was somehow connected to her. She wouldn't do nothing, she wouldn't just watch what Minho and Thomas were up to. But that was the point, wasn't it? That wasn't his choice to make.

“I know but don’t worry - it’s Teresa she wouldn’t do it without asking us first.”

“I hope you’re right,” Minho said while grabbing the controller and handing it to Thomas, “Now shut it and let’s play.”

Thomas was in his thoughts all the way back to the flat. He'd already decided to tell her, but he was worried about her reaction. He scolded himself. It was Teresa. She would understand. She always did.

As he entered her flat he immediately smelled instant noodles. Brenda was home, Thomas noted.

She was sitting on their couch, eating a late dinner. The sound of The Office was playing in the background. He never really understood why she was so obsessed with that show.

“Hi Thomas,” she said with her mouth full. She was wearing a white tanktop and black shorts. Being a tattoo artist, she was obviously tattooed, but in a messy way. She hadn't chosen a style. He had always thought that it suited her character very well.

“Hi Bren, is Teresa home?” He found himself asking even though he could feel what answer he would get.

She shook her head. “Nuh-uh. I think she's working overtime again.”

He frowned. It was obvious that the internship was important to her. He felt a pang of guilt.

“Thomas, are you okay?” Brenda stood there now, arms crossed, looking at him worriedly “you look like a kicked puppy.”

“Yeah, sorry,” he exhaled slowly, “I don't feel well, I...”

Brenda pulled him into a hug. She ran her hands down his back, her grip tight but comforting.

“Did you take your pills today?” She asked quietly, her voice muffled by his shirt.

He nodded. There had been a time when he had been careless with his health, he could admit that. But that was in the past. Yet Thomas felt even more guilty now. Brenda was worried about him. Again.

“It's not that. I'm just tired, that's all,” it was only a half-truth, but it had to work.

She wasn't convinced, but she retreated anyway. “Okay. You should rest though,” a small smile tugged at her lips.

The talk with Teresa would have to wait, he thought as he brushed his teeth and prepared for bed. Thomas heard her coming home later that evening, but he didn't want to bother her. Well... he was too afraid to bring up the subject. He felt really selfish.

Tomorrow they'll have an evening off because of Brenda's birthday, so there will be time.

Before lying down, Thomas found himself staring at his phone. Newt accepted his request and followed his account shortly afterwards. With a smile on his face, he drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

And I'm not gonna miss his old inflated ego, shallow thinking
And I'm not gonna miss denying that I've got my own damn reasons

“Thomas?” Teresa looked at him with an expectant expression. “Mind telling me what that is?” She gestured at the package on the counter.

“Those are the candles,” he replied with an apologetic smile.

“Oh yes, I know. But what is this?” Teresa's posture was firm, almost intimidating.

“Those are the candles, dear.”

She sighed and closed her eyes. In front of them were two candles - both in the shape of the number 2. Both in the Frozen pattern.

“Take it easy T, Brenda would love them,” Gally said as he patted her shoulders. She quickly pushed him away and nodded.

“Yes, you're right, but I specifically asked for the red ones, Thomas, and they're blue, are you colour blind?” Even though she was pretending to be irritated, her voice was amused. Teresa turned away and took the cake from Frypan.

“They were the only ones in the store!” Thomas defended himself, his hands raised.

She just rolled her eyes and placed the cake on the table in their booth.

Their party was waiting for Brenda to arrive at Rachel's parents' bar. All of them were dressed in red, which matched the colour of the cake. It was late in the evening and Thomas was truly thankful to the heavens that some of his friends were rich enough to be able to host the birthday party away from their own homes. He was sure there would be a lot of cleaning to do after tonight.

They met Rachel soon after they moved to town. She came to Brenda to get the big serpent tattoo on her arm. Teresa and Thomas were in the flat at the time and they instantly clicked as they started talking about Marvel movies.

Frypan was a different story. On Thomas' 22nd birthday, his sisters took him to a burger joint. They were a bit high at the time, so it was no surprise that they begged the poor worker, who was the only one on shift, to let them into the kitchen. When Thomas tried to fry his own meal, he almost hit him with a pan. The strange worker was a man called Siggy, who got his famous nickname Frypan from that night. Needless to say, they all started hanging out together after that.

And Gally? To be honest he had no fucking idea who it was. Brenda knew him from somewhere and she really liked him, much to Thomas’ surprise. The man was really obscene and weird sometimes.

“They'll be here in a minute,” Rachel said, not taking her eyes off the phone, “Harriet just texted me.”

“Harriet's coming too?” Gally looked over Rachel's shoulder. “Perfect, she's hot.”

“Ew, Gally, she's a lesbian,” Teresa frowned as she glared in his direction.

“I'd still smash her though.”

“Gally, please shut the fuck up,” she groaned and grabbed a lighter to light the candles.

They were all a little tipsy when Brenda came up with the idea of a karaoke contest. That's probably why they all agreed straight away, even though they weren't the only ones at the bar.

The lights flickered in the maroon shadows. Teresa and Rachel had literally planned everything, even the drinks were mostly red. The music playlist was Brenda's, and that's probably why there were so many Hispanic songs. She had Latino roots after all.

Rachel brought them another tray of shots as Daddy Yankee's Gasolina started to play on the stereo. Soon after, Brenda grabbed the microphone and started singing. She knew Spanish, so the performance wasn't as bad as it could have been. Thomas and the group cheered loudly as she bowed to them at the end of the song.

Thomas chose Womanizer by Britney. It was his go-to song and he wasn't ashamed to admit it. Not at all. He had a lot of digital footage (most of it filmed by Teresa) from the other nights and he was sure that he would nail it every time.

Many drinks later, they were all watching Gally and Rachel's performance of Lady Gaga's Just Dance. Teresa was laughing with Brenda, her hair messed up from all the dancing, when Thomas' phone screen lit up in blue light, contrasting with the red shadows, showing an incoming call on Instagram from Newt.
Thomas' eyes widened and he suddenly sobered up (well, not quite, but still), because what? It was after midnight and he barely knew the guy. He put down his cold Cuba libre and was about to end the call when Teresa took his phone out of his reach.

“Who's that hottie calling you?” She teased, grinning at him like an idiot. Her grip wasn't firm and Thomas was well aware of the danger of dropping it.

He bent over and took his phone back. “Minho's friend. But I don't know what he wants from me,” Thomas said, staring at the screen.

“So pick it up and you'll get your answer,” Brenda spoke as she poured her Long Island drink through the metal straw.

“He's weird. If it was important he'd text me,” Thomas shook his head and hung up, putting the phone in his back pocket.

Teresa laughed, “You need to stop being so afraid of talking on the phone, love, really.”

He gave her a death stare, which only seemed to amuse her more, and she stuck her tongue out at him. Sometimes Thomas really did hate his friends.

“Guys, I just had the most amazing idea!” Brenda said with a big grin on her face and slammed her fist down on the table, spilling their drinks.

He woke to the sound of the doorbell ringing. His head was killing him, to put it mildly. For the first few seconds Thomas had no idea where he was. As he looked around him, it became clear that he was in their living room. The only detail - Thomas was lying on the hard floor, with the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel's lying next to him.

“Thomas! Answer the fucking door!” It was Brenda, he was sure of it when he heard her raspy, hungover voice from the other side of the apartament, probably from Teresa’s room. Why she was in Teresa's room was something Thomas had no clue. Not that he gave a damn about it, they had been so drunk the previous night that he should have been grateful that they had all ended up in their own apartment.

“Why me?” Thomas groaned, but he was still on his feet and on the way to the door. His stomach was in knots and his vision blurred. A perfect Wednesday morning, to say the least. He thanked all the gods of the universe that he hadn’t got any classes today.

“Because.” He saw her face as she appeared in the doorway of Teresa's room and quickly shut it. She looked terrible and it only gave him the impression of what his look must have been like.

He obviously managed to trip over their shoes as he approached the corridor. Thomas hissed as he opened the door, cursing internally whoever was behind it. He was sure he’d kill them if they didn't have a good reason for bothering him.

“Newt?” His eyes widened at the sight of the blond boy. It was literally the last person he expected to see here. Newt's cheeks flushed at the sight of the dishevelled Thomas leaning against the doorframe. He was instantly painfully aware that he must’ve smelled of alcohol and sweat. Great.

“Uh, um,” the boy cleared his throat. “We need to talk.”

“About?” Thomas frowned at the sight of him and crossed his arms. He really wasn't in the mood to have a conversation with anyone, especially his friend's friend. Not that he didn't like him, it was just a bad moment.

“I'd rather talk about it somewhere more private.”

“Couldn't it wait?” Thomas knew he sounded like a brat, but seriously, he had a massive headache, his throat was as dry as the desert and he had just woken up. Sue him, he just wanted to go back to sleep.

Newt's irritation clearly grew as he rolled his eyes at him (Geez, okay, Thomas thought) and sighed loudly. “It's about Minho.”

Thomas' expression became confused when he heard the words. He gestured for Newt to come in. “Sorry about the mess and the smell. We were having a party,” Thomas muttered as he closed the door and leaned against the counter in the kitchen.

Newt nodded in understanding, glancing quickly around the room. It wasn't really messy, there were hardly any bottles and it wasn't dirty. They cleaned the place a lot, considering they were all in their twenties.

“So...?” Thomas began, looking at the boy expectantly. His own posture was secure, arms crossed and a bored expression on his face. God, he didn't make a good impression, not in the slightest. But could anyone blame him?

“So he didn't come home last night. I tried to contact you earlier, but you didn't answer,” Newt began, looking at Thomas, visibly uncomfortable, “I thought I'd come here to meet you in person after my classes (after? holy fuck, what time is it? Thomas wondered), because if I'm guessing right, you might have more information than you think you-...”

“How did you know my address?” Thomas asked him suddenly, his question catching Newt off guard.

“I... um, me and Minho have this location sharing feature on the phone, so I guess I just remembered it?” His words came out more like a question than a sentence. He ran his hands over his face as he spoke again, trying to collect himself. “But that's not the point, I...”

“So if you have this feature, why don't you just... locate and find him?” Thomas interrupted Newt again. He wasn't really doing it on purpose, it was just the fact that he was tired and this whole conversation didn't seem that important. Minho was a grown-up ass, for God's sake, and he really, really liked to party. His best guess was that he was now sleeping at some random girls' house.

Newt exhaled loudly as he closed his eyes for a few seconds, before opening them again, less irritated. “His phone was last active yesterday at the police station.”

Oh. Oh.

“Yeah, and I bet it's got something to do with WCKD, doesn't it?” Newt looked at him, almost frightened, as Thomas' hand flew to his mouth, silencing him.

“Shh, not here!” Thomas whispered angrily. He looked at Teresa's door, checking for any movement. After confirming that she hadn't heard anything, he exhaled and took his hand from Newt's mouth, running it through his hair. “If you want to talk about this, please not here,” his voice was still a whisper.

The boy looked at him as if Thomas might lose his mind at any moment. He stepped away from him when they were no longer standing so close to each other. “So what's your idea? It's important, as I'm sure you've already realised.”

God, why was he so... stiff? Thomas thought. Then again, he hadn't been all that friendly today either.

“Wait here, I'll change and maybe we can go to your place?” He said as he was already moving backwards towards his room.

“Yeah sure,” Newt replied, suddenly smirking, the left corner of his mouth lifting slightly, “nice tattoo by the way.”

Thomas followed his gaze, looking very dumbfounded at his very own leg, with a very visible, fresh Monster High logo tattoo on his thigh.

Brenda’s famously amazing idea from the other night.

“Fuck.”

As they made their way to the car park - because, of course, Newt had a car - Thomas began to become painfully aware of the fact that he was totally fucked.
Not only had he not told Teresa, even though he had promised himself that he would, but Minho was apparently nowhere to be found and that had to be connected to WCKD somehow. He just wished his friend would come back and then he would convince him to drop the case.

The entire ride to Newt's flat was awkwardly quiet. Thomas felt guilty for being so harsh earlier, but he didn't say anything. He still felt too hungover to have a friendly conversation, even if he'd tried.

As they entered the apartment, Thomas realised that this was the first time he had been here without Minho. It was noticeably quieter and he didn't feel comfortable there anymore, wonder why.

“Why didn't you want to talk about this at your place?” Newt asked as he leaned against the wall of the living room.

Thomas hesitated for a moment. What could he say that wouldn't sound like Teresa was an untrustworthy villain?

“Well, I didn't want my friends to get involved in this,” it didn't really sound like a very credible explanation, but he had no other choice here. He wasn’t really in the mood for opening either.

Newt nodded, watching him closely. “Why was he at the police station yesterday?”

Thomas told Newt about Minho's plan to meet Ben because he was supposed to find something in the police files. “Why didn't he tell you?” The question suddenly popped into his head and he couldn't push it away.

Newt sighed at his words and sat down on the couch. He ran a hand through his golden hair before speaking again. “He knew I wouldn't like it. I already told him it was a bad idea,” he chuckled, but there was irony in his voice, “and look where it got him. He's bloody missing.”

Thomas scratched his neck awkwardly. He didn't really believe he'd been kidnapped or anything. Of course something wasn't right, but... Minho hadn't done anything risky, he just happened to be lurking around with some information from 20 years ago, and that was all.

“Newt, he's probably sobering up on some random girl's couch or something.” It was awkward, he didn't know how to comfort the boy, he thought. It was not as if they were friends, was it? They hadn't even hung out together before. Except for that one time at the party, but that was different.

“No, you don't understand. We... he doesn't do that. He has never been quiet for so long.”

“Are you two together or something?” Thomas couldn't help but ask. Well, Minho was his friend and he knew about his casual hookups because he loved to yap about them on Monday mornings at their early classes (much to Thomas' displeasure), but the way Newt talked about their relationship... it just seemed so intense. Thomas knew they were good friends, but even he and Teresa weren't like that, or so he thought.

“Wait, what? No,” Newt looked at him with a confused expression that quickly turned to irritation. “God, you're really insufferable.”

Oh, excuse me? Yeah, maybe his question was a little too intrusive. Maybe they were just besties, bound by trauma or whatever. But he was so damn tired and uncomfortable that Thomas' lips parted slightly and he stood there with raised eyebrows. “Yeah, sue me for asking out of curiosity, it's not my fault you're acting like an old married couple.”

“You just don't take it seriously, do you?” Newt was on his feet now too, and had a frown on his face.

Thomas snorted. “Come on. You're just being overly dramatic.”

Newt tilted his head down as he shook it. His arms were crossed and he looked very frustrated. He gave him a cold smile before opening his mouth. “Why don't you just go then, huh? I really overestimated you, I thought you were a better friend, that you would care more about him than what, hm?” Newt stepped forward, his voice raised. “Sleep? Sobering up while lying on the couch doing nothing?”

“It's not like that!” He snapped back, fighting the urge to just shut up and leave the apartment. “Well, how many hours have passed since he left? Ten, twelve? You know he's the party animal, and...” Thomas groaned as he looked up, trying to calm himself. “We can't even go to the police station, they'll laugh at us.”

Wait, no. There's one thing they could do, he thought as an idea flashed through his mind.

“Newt?” His voice was suddenly more distant and much calmer. Thomas' eyes were fixed on some random object, his mind spinning. “Maybe we should get back to your car.”

Chapter Text

Well we pinned your missing persons picture up
On every mother-loving post
How's it feel to be a ghost?

“Well,” Newt began, looking surprised as he stood outside the police station. “I thought you said this was a bad idea.”

Thomas nodded, “Yeah, I might have said that.” He dropped his eyes from the building and turned to face the other boy. “But it's different.”

“How so?”

“We're not going to report that he's missing,” he scratched at the back of his neck, “I mean, not at first, obviously.”

Newt stared at him, dumbfounded. Under different circumstances, he would've thought he looked hilarious.

“Just trust me with this,” Thomas said and moved towards the entrance. He wasn't sure if his plan would work, but it was worth a try.

The police station felt like a beehive. Everyone seemed too busy to notice two young adults approaching the reception desk. Newt cleared his throat, trying to get the attention of the lady sitting in front of them. Her desk was separated by a thick wall of glass. It looked intimidating, even if you didn't mean any harm. Either she ignored them, or she didn't hear them. Thomas assumed the first option was more likely.

Newt gave him a quick glance before he moved his gaze over to her. “Hello?”

“What do you want? Are you here to fill out the report? If so, go to Section A, there should be blank papers there. Fill them in and then come back to me.” She said, not looking up at them, concentrating on the computer screen.

Thomas stepped forward and leaned on his elbow over the reception desk. “Well, that's not why we're here.” Lady finally looked at him unimpressed as he smiled at her. “Our friend was last seen here, so we thought he might have been arrested or something.”

He could practically feel Newt's burning eyes on his head as he shifted behind him. Please, please, I'm going somewhere, he thought, praying that Newt could somehow hear his thoughts. Suddenly, he wished telepathy was a thing.

“Arrested? I can look it up, what's his name?”

Thomas told her Minho's name and waited tensely, though he pretended to be carefree.

“No, there's no Minho Parker here.” Lady moved her eyes from the computer to Thomas' face, “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

He sighed as he tried to feign disappointment. He really did wish she'll bought this.

“Oh, really? See, there's this thing...” he began as he shifted his position to lean all the way back on the desk, his arm crossed next to his chest. “Our friend has a habit of getting into trouble, and as far as we know he's been seen here with a guy called Ben, I'm sure he works here...”

“Mr Benjamin Detroit?” She cut him off.

“Yeah, that guy. Maybe they got into a fight or something, we were hoping to talk to him...”

Lady interrupted him again, “I'll call him, please wait here for a moment.”

Thomas let out the breath he didn't know he was holding as she turned away and picked up the phone. By now his plan was working well.

“He'll be here in a minute. You can wait here...” she gestured to the chairs against the wall behind them.

Thomas thanked her and headed to the spot. Newt followed shortly after.

“Well...” the boy began, sitting down next to him. “We should probably get our story straight next time.”

He nodded and leaned back in his chair. “Yeah. I just wanted her to feel more included. You know, they never shit where they eat.”

Newt chuckled beside him. As he was about to reply, they saw Ben approaching. Wow, that was quick, Thomas thought.

He was a blond, muscular man, maybe 25 years old. He smiled at them, though it didn't reach his eyes. “Come with me, please.”

They got up and followed him. Ben seemed to be leading them to his own desk in another part of the building. He stopped by the door with the automatic lock and pressed his card into the screen next to it. A green light flashed and they entered a large room with several booths. Thomas realised that this was probably their main workplace when a group of men in uniform walked past him and Newt. Soon after, Ben grabbed two stools and placed them near his own desk as he also sat in the chair.

“I was told you wanted to talk to me about Minho. Are you his friends?”

“Yes, we are, and...” Newt started, adjusting his position.

“We're his friends from university.” Thomas interrupted him, taking the lead in the conversation. “Yesterday he told us he had an idea for our final project. He didn't tell us the details, just that his friend from the police knows something cool.” He felt Newt shifted beside him. Please, please, please Newt play along, damn, why can't he read his bloody mind?

Ben nodded and gestured for him to continue.

Thomas cleared his throat, “He was supposed to meet us today, but he didn't answer our calls or messages. We figured you'd know more since you were the last person to see him.”

“Exactly.” Newt added after a few seconds. Okay, that was lame, Thomas thought. But good that they were on the same page.

Ben was silent for a while. Then he shook his head and chuckled to himself. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm afraid I don't know as much as you expect me to.”

“Really?” Newt said with a raised eyebrow, his voice dripping with irony. Thomas shot him a warning look.

Ben either ignored it or didn't catch it. “Unfortunately, yes. Actually, I told him I don't have anything. Even if I did, I'm not supposed to share it with others.” He sighed loudly and crossed his arms. “Minho insisted on meeting, so I agreed, because why not? But as soon as I told him again that I wouldn't help him, he literally stormed off and ran away.”

Newt's eyes widened and his eyebrows shot up. Thomas moved his eyes away from the boy's face and looked at Ben once more.

“He ran away?”

The man chuckled, but there was no amusement in his voice. “Yes, I was surprised too. But I didn't question it, I assumed he was disappointed or something.”

It didn't add up. It definitely wasn't what happened.

But he had to play along.

“Okay, thanks for clearing things up,” Thomas sighed and shook his head, “but we still don't know where he is. Besides, maybe you could help us report him missing while we're here?”

Ben looked at him uncertainly as he tilted his head, “Are you positive he's missing?”

“Yes, we're sure,” it was Newt. He sounded surprisingly calm. Thomas was sure he'd be irritated at this point. “He hasn't answered our texts, we've been to his place, no sign of life either. Not to mention the last time his phone logged in was here.”

Ben exhaled loudly and stood up. “Okay, wait here, I'll get some papers and we'll get this done.” Then he walked over to the large metal cabinet at the other end of the room.

Thomas heard Newt clear his throat, so he quickly whispered, “Not now,” not taking his eyes off the man who now returned with papers in hand.

“He's lying.”

Newt sighed as they made their way out of the building. He checked their surroundings before answering. “Yeah, I noticed that myself.”

“He told Minho he'd found something.” Thomas didn't even glance at Newt as he spoke. His mind was spinning, too many thoughts running through his head. Too many questions.

“You're shaking.”

What? Thomas finally looked up at Newt. He was standing a few paces away from him, staring at him with a confused yet worried expression on his face. Right, Thomas thought, gazing at his own hands. They really were shaking. He clenched his fists and relaxed them after a few seconds.

“I'm sorry.” He tried to collect himself, breathing deeply and slowly. God, he really wanted a cigarette. “For snapping at you earlier. I didn't mean to be a jerk.”

Newt was still staring at him and he suddenly felt very small. Not to mention that he had forgotten to take his medication because of all the morning bustle (if you consider 1pm a morning hour).

“It's all right. I haven't been nice to you either.” He came closer and took the keys out of his pocket. “I was just stressed about Minho.”

Thomas nodded and walked alongside Newt to his car. The panic seemed to have left his body for now and he was content with that.

“By the way - that was a really great plan.” The boy said as he started the engine and drove off. “I mean it. I wasn't sure at first, but I'm glad I followed you.”

“It worked well,” Thomas smiled, tilting his head down. “Much to my surprise too.”

Newt laughed at his words. It sounded nice, and it felt good to be appreciated. “Where can I drop you off?”

“My place. I have a few things to sort out.”

He still hasn't told Teresa. He was afraid to at first, but then it was Brenda's birthday and Thomas couldn't bring himself to broach the subject. They were all so careless, they were having fun. It would be evil to ruin that.

Or maybe it was evil not to tell her the truth because he was a coward. Guilt. Yeah, that was the emotion that overcame his whole body. How could he lie to her? They'd never kept secrets from each other. And yesterday it came so easily to him. He didn't deserve his friends, he was sure of that.

And there was Minho. Newt must’ve known him longer than Thomas, but still - he was his friend too. They went to every class together, they hung out a lot, and he trusted him. Then Minho disappeared, and what? Thomas' first reaction was to assume that his friend was reckless. Why was he so selfish? He should’ve cared more, he should’ve been there for him, he should’ve answered the goddamn phone, he should’ve...

“We're here.” Newt's voice snapped him out of his spinning thoughts. Had he noticed Thomas zoning out? Even so, he clearly chose not to mention it. Thomas was grateful for that.

They were silent for a few minutes. It wasn't comfortable, but it wasn't awkward either. Even though he felt the sudden urge to say something. He just couldn't find the words.

“I'll give you a call if I find out anything about Minho, all right?” Relief washed through Thomas when he heard that Newt was the first to speak.

“Thanks. But we should probably meet again soon. If Minho is still missing-...”

“Fuck.”

Thomas looked at him. He didn't mind being interrupted, it just wasn't Newt's style. Well, he barely knew him, so maybe he just assumed it. Still - strange.

“I should probably tell his parents.” Newt said in a tired voice.

Parents. He had almost forgotten it was possible to have those.

“Do you know them?” Thomas was one hundred percent aware of how stupid this question was. But he asked it anyway, because he really had to answer something and he couldn't think of a better option.

Newt nodded, of course, and looked ahead. They were sitting in his parked car, although the engine was still running. “But I haven't seen or spoken to them for a long time.”

“If you like, I could accompany you when you meet them.” He tried to give him some support, to show him that he cared.

He didn't expect Newt to laugh, though.

“Thomas, they live in a different country.”

Well, that explains his reaction.

“You should probably go,” Newt gave him a small, barely perceptible smile. “You said you had something to do, right?”

“Yeah,” Thomas chuckled and opened the door. “Text me later, okay? With any updates.”

“No problem Thomas.”

Entering the hallway, he immediately spotted a familiar face. Brenda was sketching something in her notebook, sitting cross-legged on the couch. She lifted her head and grinned at Thomas.

“Where have you been? You almost had me worried.”

He smiled anxiously at her and came to sit beside her. She looked much better than a few hours ago, her clothes changed and her hair pulled back. “Sorry, I was with Newt.”

Her eyes widened as she shifted on the couch to make room for him and looked at him in shock. “The one who called you on my birthday?”

Thomas nodded and sighed, “Yeah, he came over to talk and... do something.”

Brenda watched him carefully, noticing his worried posture. “Did something happen?”

Their eyes met and that was all the confirmation she needed. “Tell me Thomas.”

He covered his face with his hands, “Where's Teresa?”

A frown appeared on her features as she realised he'd changed the subject. “She's asleep in her room. She hasn't even had that much to drink, but she was certainly the most knocked out of all of us last night.”

“Oh, okay,” he said, his voice quiet. Maybe it was a good thing that Teresa wasn't awake yet. Maybe he should open up to Brenda first. She was also his best friend. Maybe she would help him.

“I fucked up... I am so, so fucked up,” he whispered, looking at her worriedly.

She put her hand on his knee, caressing it with her fingers. The gesture encouraged him to speak, but was also comforting.

So he told her. He told her everything.

First he explained the situation with their project and the fact that Minho had found something shady going on with the WCKD company. Brenda tensed almost unnoticeably when she heard the familiar name, but she didn't say anything, knowing it might make Thomas back off. Then he told her about Minho's disappearance, the trip to the police station with Newt. The way they tricked them into starting a search for him, when under normal circumstances they would probably ignore it. Thomas told her about Ben's lie, remembering what his friend had said to him, that they had a lead. She was silent the whole time, only nodding occasionally to show that she was listening carefully.

“But besides all that, there's something else. I'm worried about Teresa. How it might affect her work and... well, I'm involved now too.”

“You haven't told her?” It was the first thing she said to him in the last 30 minutes.

“I-...” He dropped his head. Thomas knew, he really, really did.

Brenda noticed his tense reaction and quickly corrected herself. “It's okay. We'll figure it out.”

“I feel like I'm betraying her,” his voice was barely a whisper.

She smiled gently at him and squeezed his knee. “You're not, you just need to tell Teresa everything you've just told me as soon as possible.”

He dropped his head to the back of the couch and looked up at the ceiling. “I know Bren, I just... I tried, but I can't, I'm a coward.”

“She'll understand, I'm sure.”

“Tom?”

It was a strange sight, seeing them both jump on the couch at the sudden voice coming across the room, he was sure of it. It would have been funny if he hadn't been so flabbergasted. Because, well, there she was, standing next to them, not sleeping at all. Teresa stood there with a shocked expression on her face, but he knew her better and he noticed the hurt in her eyes. How much had she heard already?

Brenda collected herself first. She grabbed her notebook and slipped her phone into her pocket. “I'll leave you two to it, I should get to work,” Brenda sighed and headed out of the apartment. Thomas waited until they were alone, sitting in the uncomfortable silence.

“I need to tell you something,” he said as soon as he heard the door close.

Chapter Text

Run boy run! This race is a prophecy
Run boy run! Break out from society

“I really don't know what to tell you.” Teresa said. She was silent the whole time he spoke. Her eyes were fixed on her hands, her expression unreadable. It felt wrong. The tension between them was heavy and it felt like all the oxygen in the room was gone. He looked at her again, hoping their eyes could meet. But she avoided him, gripping her thighs tightly.

“Are you mad at me?” Thomas asked her, dropping his gaze to the floor. He knew she was disappointed that he hadn't trusted her enough to say it before. Now they were sitting next to each other, guarded, and Thomas wished they would make up.

“No Thomas, I'm not.” She sighed and finally looked at him. “I just don't understand why you didn't tell me. We're supposed to have trust, I...” He saw Teresa's hand run through her hair. She was very pretty. She had those ocean blue eyes, dark little curls and soft pink lips. Everyone they had ever met always assumed they were together at first. He didn't know why, though. They never gave anyone the faintest hint that their duo was anything more than platonic. Yes, they were quite close, but Teresa was more like a sister to Thomas. He'd known her since he was a little boy. A small, frightened boy, sitting alone on the bench in the orphanage garden.

“I know Resa and I'm really sorry.” It was the nickname he had given her a few years ago. It was only he and Brenda who called her by that name. “I should have told you sooner, but I was too afraid.”

She sighed, intertwining their hands. “Please don't ever be too afraid to trust me. I'd never hurt you.”

“No, it wasn't like that,” Thomas was worried because he'd assumed she'd be angry with him for digging around where she worked, not because he was scared of her. “I thought you'd be angry about the whole WCKD thing.”

Teresa squeezed his hand before dropping it and looking at him with a smile. “I'm not mad, at least not at you. If all this is true, I'm mad at them.”

“It's true, I swear,” he could admit that he wasn't sure at first either. He doubted that it was possible for a single company to do all this nasty shit and never face any consequences. But now that Minho was missing, he was convinced that something had happened. It was strange, of course, because they weren't a real threat to WCKD, or so Thomas thought. They didn't know much, just scraps of information from some old conspiracy theory magazines. So why would WCKD want to eliminate them? It seemed that it might do more harm than good.

“I believe you,” her voice was calm and it soothed his nerves. After all, there was no reason for him to be worried about her reaction. He shouldn't have doubted her. “So what happens next?” She added after a minute.

“My guess is we wait for Newt's update.”

And so they did. For maybe 30 minutes, tops, before Newt called. And Thomas obviously didn't answer it, ignoring the amused look Teresa gave him. Instead, he typed a short message on Instagram and hit the send button. The reply came in less than a few seconds.

@thomasedison_

Everything ok?

@nwtnisc

Spoke to his parents. They’re coming here

And they asked me to go to the police once more

@thomasedison_

Why?

@nwtnisc

They want me to keep an eye on the investigation while they’re not here

Rush them or somethin’

Teresa looked at him expectantly. She wanted to know their next steps, because she wasn't going to sit there and pretend that nothing had happened. She needed to know how much she could help.

@thomasedison_

Come to my place if you’ve time?

@nwtnisc

Give me a minute I’ll be there

Newt arrived at their apartment after 20 minutes. Thomas opened the door and let him in, and when the boy spotted Teresa he gave Thomas a questioning glance.

“Oh yeah, Newt this is Teresa, Teresa this is Newt.”

She shook his hand and gave him a soft smile. “I know about Minho, Tom told me.”

Newt looked between them, a strange understanding spreading across his features. He nodded and smiled back.

“She has an internship at WCKD,” Thomas said, studying the other's face. He seemed shocked but didn't interrupt. “Obviously she didn't know or see anything because-...”

“Because I'm not that important,” Teresa finished for him. “Honestly, I'd never have assumed that. I spend half my day there almost every day and it looks like a normal pharmaceutical company. But I believe you, as I told Tom before. And I want to help.” She was determined, anyone could see that. Her posture was firm, her voice calm but serious. Newt seemed to notice this too, for he relaxed visibly at her words and nodded.

“I spoke with his parents today. We'll start the search soon.” He remained silent for a minute, his mind wandering as he began to pace the living room. “And for now, I don't think we should do anything else.”

“What?” It was Thomas' turn to be confused.

“I know it sounds weird, but I really think it's the best thing we can do. There's no need to draw the WCKD's attention to us. Especially if we don't know much. Maybe the police will find out more than we will.” Newt's eyes were fixed on Thomas' as he stopped. He also sounded very determined and sure of what he was saying. It almost made Thomas obedient without any questioning. Almost.

“And you really think they would do anything?” His voice was a little harsher than he had expected. Newt flinched at his words, but his expression didn't change.

“I hope they do,” he sighed before continuing. “Now we need to focus on finding Minho, all right? We should be looking for him first, and after that we will be concentrating on the ones who are guilty of this.”

“But what if we don't find anything? What if they have him somewhere?” Thomas couldn't bring himself to assume the worst. He refused to even fully acknowledge the possibility that his friend might already be dead. That would never be an option.

“Then we'll give them hell for it,” there was something mischievous in his eyes, and that, combined with the determination, could send a shiver down one's spine. But not for Thomas, no. He felt the same way, he was angry as well. Newt ran a hand through his hair. His blond locks covered his forehead. “But for now - first things first.”

“I agree with him,” Teresa joined the conversation. “Our first priority is to find Minho. We should start by looking in the area where he was last seen.”

Thomas nodded. “I doubt the police would be effective, especially in the next few days, they probably assumed he got lost or something.”

After that they were silent, thinking. They had to plan their next steps.

Newt was the first to speak. “I'll print some missing persons posters and we can put them up near the police station. I have classes tomorrow, but I'll be free around four.”

“We can also ask people who live or work nearby.” Thomas added.

“Good idea.”

Teresa sighed as she checked something on her phone, frowning a bit. “I have to work then, but maybe we could tell our friends? I'm sure they'll help us,” she looked directly at Thomas as she said this.

Newt's brow furrowed and Thomas understood right away. He didn't want to involve more people in the actual version of the story.

“But we won't mention the WCKD. There's no point in them knowing.” Thomas said, glancing towards Newt.

“All right. I guess that settles it,” he nodded at his words. “I should go, I need to get everything ready.”

“So soon?” Teresa asked and they both turned to her with confused expressions. “What? I thought maybe you could have a drink with us, I dunno?”

“I'm driving, I can't.”

Thomas groaned as soon as he heard his words, because really? It was one time and they literally partied yesterday, thank you very much.

“She meant coffee, Newt, get a grip.”

He looked at him uncertainly and said unimpressed, “You do realise it's evening now?”

“Yeah, so?”

Newt blinked.

And then blinked again before turning to Teresa.

“See you later, it was nice to meet you,” he smiled and headed for the door. “I'll be in touch with you guys.” And then he left.

“I like him.” Teresa said as she walked into the kitchen and put the kettle on.

Thomas followed her, chuckling. “Are you interested?”

She groaned, but her voice was soft and nice, “Oh God, no.”

He ran. He ran until he was out of breath. Even when he stopped, it was only for a minute or two. And then he would start running again.

Thomas has been a runner for as long as he could remember. When he was a little boy, he used to run away from his guardians, who would get angry if he didn't listen to them. And he didn't listen much. So he ran to avoid getting hurt. Then, when he was a teenager, he was on the run again, but the circumstances were different. He didn't fear. He was a runner for the sake of victory. And he won a lot of races. He ran as an adult too. He ran because that was the way that he had been taught to deal with his emotions. Whenever he felt sad or stressed or angry. Whenever he was frightened. He ran when he had a fight with Teresa or Brenda. He ran when he was overstimulated. He ran when he broke up with his ex-girlfriends. He was a runner even when he was happy.

And now he was running because his best friend was missing.

It was late in the evening when Thomas had to leave the apartment. After Newt had left, maybe two hours ago, and they had texted their group about the whole situation, he felt out of breath. It was as if they had wasted all their oxygen on worrying and planning. He was choking on stress and guilt. So Thomas got up and did the one thing he knew best how to do.

Running calmed his nerves and, paradoxically, allowed him to breathe again. His mind stopped spinning and he could think. He could think without that terrible pounding in the back of his head. He could make himself remember.

And he did.

He remembered the first time he met Minho, three years ago. It was their first day at university and they happened to be sitting next to each other. He was almost as excited as Thomas to be there. When classes ended, they spent the rest of the day talking and laughing. They clicked immediately, he felt like he had known him all his life because it was so easy for them to hang out. Thomas wasn't the kind of person who let everyone in. He seemed outgoing, and honestly he was, but he didn't trust people. Well, never enough. And Minho was different. They didn't have many heart-to-hearts, but they didn't need them. If Minho wanted to know something, Thomas would've told him.

It was so natural! For three years, his friend played an important role in his life. They did all their assignments together. They gossiped and laughed about other students almost every day. Thomas knew his favourite game and his favourite food. They celebrated each other's birthdays and Minho got to know his other friends. He couldn't even count now how many times he had been in Thomas' flat.

Wow.

He realised how much he missed him. How he missed knowing that he would see him when he walked into class. How he had always taken it for granted and now he wasn't sure if he would ever see him again...

No. No.

Minho is alive and he'll be back, Thomas thought. But did he really believe that?

“Yes, I know, I'm sure I'll see him again,” he murmured to no one, his voice trembling from all the running.

He was standing in the park by the woods. He knew that no one could hear or see him, and he was grateful for that as he felt the tears forming in his eyes.

So he started running again.

Chapter Text

I remember you said don't leave me here alone
But all that's dead and gone and passed tonight

The last two weeks of his life blended together so that he couldn't really be sure what happened when. It wasn't a loop, the events were different and separate, but the amount of stress, worry and guilt did its thing and Thomas was confused, to say the least.

It all started the day after he told Teresa. He and Newt started a search, putting up posters and asking random people Hey, have you seen this person by any chance? but with no results. It should be discouraging, it really should, but Thomas was focused on one task - finding Minho alive and well. So they didn't stop. They asked more and more people, visited more and more places in the area, printed and put up more and more posters.

Soon after, Minho's parents arrived and he was overwhelmed by the realisation of how nice and caring these people were. At their first meeting, they hugged him and his mother even pecked him on the cheek to thank him. They thanked him and Thomas couldn't fight the guilt that rose in his chest and tightened his throat. He had done the bare minimum and he knew he could do better. Maybe he could have prevented the whole mess from happening or something like that. Or he could have been less of a dick when Newt had shared his worries with him the other day. It was eating him alive, and despite Newt's assurances that everything was fine, he still felt badly.

Minho's parents were worried sick, he could tell by just looking at them. They insisted on going to the police almost every day. It was a good thing, because the police was starting to do something. It wasn't much, but it was better than none at all.

They also spent some time together. He and Newt were invited to dinner and he accepted with a smile, knowing that they were in need of some distraction in order to keep their sanity. Deep down, though, Thomas knew it wouldn't change anything. Nevertheless, he went along. And the dinner was amazing. He learned so much about his missing friend it was shocking. Most of it was just a bunch of childhood stories, but he loved every single one of them. Apparently Minho and Newt had known each other since they were little and were inseparable since then. They went to the same high school together and after Newt graduated and moved out of their childhood town, Minho followed a year later. Thomas found it very adorable.

But it wasn't the revelation of the month. He already knew they were super close, didn't he? It was the fact that Minho was adopted when he was four and that his real parents were dead that surprised him. His friend's parents had mentioned it casually, or maybe not so casually, because Minho's mother's eyes had been watering and she had been beating herself up about how she should've been a better mother. Which was ridiculous, since she was the most warm-hearted, loving woman Thomas'd ever known. So he made sure to say what he was thinking, and the gentle smile she gave him in return could melt the coldest ice.

It was shocking because Thomas' parents were dead too, but neither of them had ever mentioned it. They shared a similar childhood trauma and didn't even know it. How many things like that were left unsaid between them? Thomas promised himself that when they found Minho, he'd make sure to share more things and memories with his friend.

Probably the day after the meeting, Thomas received a call from the police. Apparently they wanted to question him because they thought Minho'd just decided to run away. That was bullshit and Thomas knew it. The policeman asked him if his friend had behaved unnaturally, No, he hadn't, if he had mentioned a place he wanted to visit soon, No, he hadn't, if he wanted to visit his parents, No, we're in the middle of the academic year. Either way, it was just pointless. Minho wasn't the kind of person who would run away and let the others worry about him. The guilt would've eaten him alive. Later he learned that Newt had also been questioned, and after their statements the police finally dropped the hypothesis.

Unfortunately, there was a problem - they had no troops. It seemed as if he'd disappeared from planet Earth as soon as he left the police station. Speaking of which, almost a bloody week later, police finally checked the cameras. It turned out that Minho'd taken a few steps outside the building and disappeared into an alley where there were no cameras or even any shops, literally nothing, and that was the last time he was seen. The police assumed that he'd probably been kidnapped as they searched the area and there was no blood or clues. This only made their own hypothesis, which included WCKD, more plausible. Not that they shared it with anyone.

It was no surprise to anybody that the last two weeks at university had been a torture for Thomas. To say that he was uninterested in lectures would be an understatement. It was the last thing he wanted to do, but he attended anyway because he couldn't risk falling. Still, it felt terrible. Every day was a painful reminder that his best friend was missing, and when he sat in class he couldn't do anything useful. So Thomas just stared, thinking about their search and what they should do next. Soon everyone around, including the profs, knew that Minho was missing and they all shot pitiful looks at Thomas. He hated them, he wanted to shout at each of them that I shouldn't be the one to pity, but he held his tongue. There was no point in being hard on the others, for their intentions were good.

Only his friends have been the light these last few days. As soon as their little group had received the message from Teresa, they came up with a plan to go on rounds in search of Minho. Some of them also reached out to Thomas personally to see if there was anything else they could do to help. One day, Jorge, Brenda's father, called her to make sure Thomas was okay and to tell Brenda to keep an eye on him. It all reminded him how lucky he was to have his friends and family in his life. At times like this (not that anything like this had ever happened before) they were a tremendous support.

Thomas couldn't put his finger on exactly when they started searching the areas where people rarely went, like the woods or the rocks near the beach, but it must've been a week ago. It was scary though. He was afraid of what they might find.

That's why he never went alone. There was always someone a few inches away. He didn't ask for the escort, though. He assumed it was just the silent initiative of his friends to always accompany him on his walks. It was usually Teresa or Brenda, but sometimes they walked in a larger group with Frypan or Gally. Most of the time they kept quiet, occasionally calling out Minho's name. Sometimes, when Thomas was in a slightly better mood, they would sing some silly, well-known songs and bump each other's shoulders. And sometimes Brenda would tell them funny stories about her customers that made everyone laugh. Mostly, though, they just walked around with their flashlights on. A hundred metres away from them, Harriet and Rachel were also searching, and sometimes in his vision he could see Newt walking alone or Minho's parents.

They finished searching the rocks after three days and moved towards the forest. He didn't admit it to anyone, but he was relieved that they hadn't found anything. Because, well, if they had found something, it would have been something bad.

It was the second day of searching the woods when he stepped away from his group, just to clear his mind and be alone for a minute, only to bump into Newt a few metres away. Thomas was nervous, but it disappeared as soon as he saw the other man's expression. Newt looked absolutely terrible. Well, he'd seen him the last few days, but he hadn't seen him, at least not that closely. The last time they'd spoken was during dinner with Minho's parents, and even then he could tell that the boy was stressed and exhausted. But now it was ten times worse. Newt had dark red eye bags, his skin was pale and not in a healthy way, and he could see purple veins running down the boy's neck. It looked as if Newt hadn't slept properly for a few days. Suddenly, Thomas felt the urge to comfort the boy, but he realised he had no idea how. So he blocked the thought out of his mind and just mumbled his apologies before turning away.

It was that night when Thomas found himself lying in his bed, thinking. He couldn't sleep because the image of Newt's tired eyes kept popping into his head. It really worried him, and he didn't know why, after all they weren't friends. Thomas blamed his empathy at first, but he couldn't deny that Newt had grown on him. For the little he knew, Thomas could tell that Newt was actually a nice, funny and kind person. Especially when he heard all those stories from his highschool days. He certainly didn't want to admit it out loud, but Thomas wouldn't mind getting to know him better.

But now it seemed that Newt was in a worse state than Thomas. It wasn't much of a surprise, as he'd known Minho longer and they were closer, but it was still alarming. He looked like a living corpse and that wasn't even an exaggeration. Maybe I should text him? Ask if he's okay? the little voice in the back of his head said. He shook his head. No. That wouldn't be a good idea, would it? After all, he wasn't his friend, it would probably be awkward or weird. However, Thomas felt sorry for the boy and it only strengthened his will to find Minho.

Barely conscious as he began to drift off to sleep, Thomas promised himself that when they met again tomorrow, he would say something. Or ask. He didn't know it yet, but he wasn't going to pretend to be untroubled any longer.

It was Thursday, so he had to get up and drag his ass to campus. As always, he struggled to wake up, but the last two weeks had made it even harder. Not to mention that the lectures he had today were absolutely, utterly, entirely boring. When he arrived at the university, he did nothing but procrastinate and stare into space the whole time he was here. He had a lot of catching up to do in the near future, not that he cared about that now. It was probably at the bottom of his list of priorities. Thomas couldn't help the disappointment that always built up in his chest when he entered the classroom and Minho wasn't there. The other students noticed it too and kept their distance from him. To be honest, he preferred it that way, he wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone.

As soon as the lectures were over, Thomas sprinted to his flat. Not that he was in a hurry. He was supposed to meet his friends later that day, when they would all be finishing their day's work. It was just that nowadays he only felt comfortable in his own apartment. He probably sounded pathetic, he thought. Well, it didn't matter anyway.

Thomas visibly relaxed as soon as he made himself comfortable and lay down on his bed. He wasn't expecting anything unusual as he scrolled through his phone. He was just waiting and waiting. That's probably why he was shocked when his phone vibrated in his hands, indicating that Minho's mother was calling.

His first instinct was to hang up, but he couldn't afford to do that now. Why was she calling? Was it because she wanted to postpone the search? Well, he could start earlier and they could come in their own time. Thomas hesitated, but after a few seconds decided to answer the phone. It could be important, and he knew that she was already too worried for his liking.

“Hello?” He spoke unsurely. Oh, how he hated talking on the phone.

“Thomas?” Minho's mother answered. Her voice was cracking and it made him shiver. Something was wrong.

“Yes? Is everything okay Mrs Parker?” Was it the sniffing he heard?

“We thought we should...” She trailed off and started to cough. At this point his hands began to shake. “The police informed us that they had found Min...” Pause. “They had found his body.”

What? No, no.

He must have heard her wrong.

“Wh-what?” He stammered, his voice a disbelieving whisper.

She cried into the phone, the sobs quickly muffled by something.

“Mrs Parker? What's going on?” Thomas felt a lump form in his throat. He must have heard her wrong.

“This afternoon the police found Minho's body under the cliff near the beach,” she said quickly, as if trying not to break down.

No.

No. No.

No, no, no, no, no, no.

It can't be.

“We thought you'd like to know. Thank you... for your help.” Long pause. “We'll let you know the details of the funeral.”

He heard the sound of the call ending. It was probably the last thing he noticed before he collapsed to the floor.

He felt his knees burning with pain, but he didn't care. Everything went black for a second and his world began to spin.

Dead.

No. No!

But he was. He was fucking dead! The police found his lifeless body and...

His vision was blurred and he couldn't feel his limbs.

He wouldn't see him again. He wouldn't hear his voice anymore.

All of a sudden he couldn't breathe anymore and he started to choke, desperately struggling for air.

Minho was dead.

The world fell silent.

He felt it. He felt the touch on his shoulders, soft but urgent, as if it wanted to lift him up. Then the hand (was it a hand?) moved to his cheeks, caressing them. Why were they wet? Was he crying? Probably. The tears were hot and his eyes were burning. He tried to open his eyelids, but it hurt. Slowly he lifted them. His vision was blurred and he couldn't see anything. Well, no, he could. There was someone next to him. They were kneeling in front of him, their hands on Thomas' face. But he couldn't see them, just the outline of the person. They were also saying something, Thomas thought, as he noticed the movement of the other person's lips. It didn't matter, though, because he couldn't hear anything, just the buzzing in his head.

Thomas closed his eyes again. How much time had passed since he had heard the terrible news? He didn't know. How could he? Thomas was lying on the floor the whole time. Did he scream? His throat was sore, but that could be from crying.

When he felt the touch on his shoulders again, he gulped and tried to sit up. Why was someone bothering him? Thomas was suddenly ashamed. He was a mess, and he didn't want to share his condition with the others.

Thomas blinked and then blinked again. This time he moved his own hands to his face. Clearing his eyes, Thomas recognised the person facing him. It was Teresa.

Her pupils were dilated, her expression frightened. He glanced at her hands and they were trembling. She looked at him as if she feared Thomas would lose his mind.

“Teresa?” He tried, but his voice was hoarse. It came out more like a whisper, almost unnoticeable.

“What-what happened, Tom?” She sounded worried, her eyes searching his face for an answer.

He swallowed again and shook his head. How could he even say it? It still didn't feel real.

Maybe it was a nightmare? A horrible, horrifying dream? Maybe he would wake up in a second. God, he would give anything to be able to get up early on any Monday morning now. Just to go to class and see his friend smile again, he would do anything.

But no. It wasn't sleep, it wasn't a dream. It felt too real.

“Tom please, talk to me,” her voice cracked, she sounded like she was crying too.

“I... I can't,” it was a whisper. Low and quiet. Thomas' head dropped. “He's...” The fucking god. He broke down again.

And again, Thomas felt the touch. Teresa took him in a tight embrace and laid his head on her chest, his face shaking. She ran her fingers through Thomas's hair, the way it always comforted him. He was such a mess, his sobbing echoing around the room. But she waited. She waited until he was done.

After maybe ten minutes, he didn't pay much attention to the time, he slowly moved his head and pulled away from Teresa's touch.

“He's dead.”

Her face said it all as her tears began to flow and Thomas couldn't hold back either.

“Oh, Tom,” the words came in a soft tone, heartbroken but subtle. “I'm sorry.”

He leaned forward and buried his face in her neck.

“I'm so, so sorry, Tom.”

It was probably Teresa who informed the group of the news. He wasn't sure, but his phone was silent for the rest of the day. Thomas was grateful for that.

She must have told Brenda too, he guessed, because the moment she walked into their flat she pulled him into a hug and muttered comforting words against his skin.

He stopped crying, yet he felt painfully numb and drained. Brenda and Teresa tried their best, but they knew he needed to grieve. That's why they stayed with him when they fell asleep on the couch a few hours later. They'd watched some films earlier, and Thomas couldn't care less about any of them. It was a distraction, but it didn't affect him at all. He didn't sleep a wink either. Teresa and Brenda lay cuddled up on the couch and Thomas stared at nothing.

The supposed image of Minho's body under the cliff rose from his mind like a poison and he groaned faintly, shaking his head as he tried to get rid of it.

We missed his body, the terrible thought crossed his mind. We must have been close to him and hadn't noticed.

Fuck.

Because the other day they did a fucking search of this area and they didn't find anything. They...

He suddenly felt very sick.

And Newt. His exhausted face appeared in his mind, as well.

How was he feeling? Oh, God. Thomas remembered the promise.

It was a few minutes past 3am, he realised as he looked at the phone screen. Maybe Newt was asleep? He didn't want to wake him.

@thomasedison_

Are you awake?

Thomas pressed send. It was worth a try, especially if the boy was feeling as bad as he was.

The reply came in less than a few seconds. He stood up, grabbed a blanket and laid it over the sleeping bodies of his friends.

Wait, Thomas thought, and he quickly found a pen and wrote a note explaining his plans. Then he called a taxi and left the apartment.

Chapter Text

I want to believe
Instead I look at the sky and I feel nothing
You know I hate to be alone
I want to be wrong

It was official.

He was officially an idiot. And he was stupid. Or maybe he just couldn't think rationally. Thomas couldn't decide.

Because it was almost 4am when he stood outside his door.

What was he thinking? This was the question that had come to Thomas' mind while he was sitting in the back seat of the taxi cub earlier.

It was an impulsive move and he knew it. The idea came to him and he just accepted it. Why did he want to visit him now? Out of pity? No, it wasn't like that.

Maybe he was just worried. Newt wasn't his friend, but he was a human being with feelings, and his childhood best friend had just died. So Thomas felt the need to help. Even if he didn't know how.

It was also the fact that Newt seemed to be the only person who could understand him at the moment. Teresa and Brenda were great, but they didn't know Minho like he did.

So Thomas hesitantly knocked on the door, his heart rate rising alarmingly.

He heard some rustling inside and his anxious thoughts boomeranged on him.

What if Newt didn't want anyone around? What if he wanted to mourn alone? Why didn't he ask before coming here?

He was so, so stupid.

And the door opened.

Thomas' eyes widened at the sight of the boy standing next to him. His mind went blank.

Newt was leaning against the frame of the door, his face lost in the shadows of the night and the warm yellow light glowing behind his back, probably coming from the inside of the apartment. But that wasn't what caught Thomas' attention.

His eyes were bloodshot, his cheeks puffy and his skin swollen. There was no doubt that he had been in tears earlier.

One look at the boy and Thomas knew he had made the right decision to come here.

Newt didn't say anything, just took a deep breath and dropped his head. His hair was dishevelled and Thomas couldn't explain it, but the movement made his insides sink with grief. It suddenly felt so real, the loss.

Newt stepped inside without a word, leaving the door open, indicating that he wanted Thomas to follow. So he did.

The only light in the room came from the small lamp near the couch. The corners of the room were covered in darkness and Thomas didn't mind. It was quiet and oddly peaceful. Then he saw the sheets on the couch, the pile of books and a closed cardboard box under the table, and the feeling of sorrow returned. Newt was sleeping here, he assumed.

And it occurred to him that he was standing in his place, staring silently at his personal things, probably invading his privacy. The familiar feeling of panic rose in his chest, hurting his lungs and ribs.

Thomas shifted his gaze to Newt, the boy resting against the wall, arms crossed, his own gaze lowered. He was uncomfortable, that was for sure.

“I'm sorry.” He tried, but the boy didn't say anything, didn't even look at him.

Yes, he was an idiot.

“I'm sorry, I don't even know why I came here, I...” Thomas said hastily, dropping his eyes. He felt his own hands move, one landing on his neck. “It was stupid. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have... I just thought that maybe...”

His eyes landed on the boy again, only to reveal that he was now looking at him as well.

“I can't sleep,” Thomas said suddenly.

Newt nodded slowly, staring at him with... understanding?

“Me too,” Newt's voice sounded hoarse but calm.

“And I'm so tired.”

“Same.”

It was Thomas' turn to nod as the silence fell. The tension felt uncomfortable and he couldn't help but play with his fingers, looking everywhere but at the boy. Newt probably noticed this as he moved from his position and disappeared into another room.

Thomas exhaled deeply. Fuck, he thought, staring at the ceiling. It could be worse.

Perhaps two minutes later the other boy returned, face and chest buried in something he held...a sleeping bag?

Oh, realisation crept across his features.

Newt placed the sleeping bag on the floor, next to the couch. “You could sleep on the couch, I'll-”

“No,” Thomas cut him off, shaking his head. No way, he thought. Even Newt's posture looked tired, not to mention his eyes. There was no way he would agree to this.

“What?” Apparently he didn't share his opinion.

“I sleep on the floor. End of discussion.”

He saw Newt narrow his eyes in thought.

“No.”

What a brat.

“Then I'll leave,” Thomas shrugged. “Besides, you seem to need a good night's sleep more than I do,” he said before biting his tongue.

“What was that supposed to mean?” Newt gasped, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

Shit.

“I... Well,” perhaps he should be honest. He had to convince the boy, didn't he? “You look like you're going to collapse any second.”

Thomas heard Newt sigh. It sounded defeated, which was good.

“I suppose you're right,” he walked over to the couch and let out another sigh. “It's not like I've slept much the last few days.”

He couldn't help but smile as he acknowledged his victory. “You'll thank me tomorrow,” Thomas said as he made himself comfortable on the floor.

“Yes, I'm sure I will.” Thomas couldn't see his face from where he was, but he could hear Newt's smile in his voice. It sent a wave of relief through Thomas' body. For a moment, it was peaceful.

Unfortunately, he couldn't stop thinking. His mind never allowed him to relax anyway.

Why was it that he had never spent time with Newt? It wasn't as if he hadn't met him before. They'd even talked once. Yes. Talked. For almost two hours. He didn't want to think about it, though, and Newt never brought it up either. So long, so good.

“Are you awake?” the sudden but soft sound, a whisper, snapped him out of his thoughts.

“Barely.”

Silence again.

And then, “Newt?”

He hummed back, indicating he was listening.

“I feel like part of me died too.”

Newt was quiet for a minute, and Thomas just stared at the ceiling, waiting.

“I feel the same.”

They were done talking, he knew it. So he closed his eyes again.

Shortly afterwards, Thomas fell asleep.

It was warm and he couldn't help smiling. He didn't want to open his eyes yet, he felt too comfortable to move. The air smelled foreign, but nice. Where was he?

Thomas forced himself to sit up and rubbed his face. He looked around the room, trying to make out the place.

He was at Minho's.

Oh, wait.

At Newt's.

With a sigh, he cracked his neck. Of course.

The events of the day before hit him like a lethal wave, shattering his morning calm.

The call. The realisation.

Teresa's words, the night.

Something moved beside him and he turned to the source of the sound.

Newt was sitting there now, his head in his hands. “Morning,” his voice hoarse from sleep.

“Hey,” Thomas replied quietly. He felt sick.

“What time is it?”

He reached for his phone. 11 unread messages from Teresa and Brenda.

“It's 20 past 1pm.”

Newt groaned and fell back onto the sofa. “So I missed classes today.”

Thomas shrugged. He couldn't be bothered with the university right now. “Yeah, me too. But I really don't mind. I doubt I'd go either way.”

A flash of the same understanding appeared on Newt's face. He blinked and looked away.

“It still doesn't feel real, does it?”

“It doesn't,” Thomas replied honestly.

He couldn't help staring either. Newt's face was different, healthier. Of course, he still looked tired, the bags under his eyes very visible, but his complexion was brighter, his eyes seemed much more vibrant. Was it the sleep? Probably.

“I can't remember the last time I slept that long.” Newt said lazily.

Thomas hummed in response, too lost in his own thoughts to answer properly.

That long? Has he slept at all in the last two weeks?

“What do you mean?” He asked after a few minutes.

“Hm?” Newt looked at him in confusion. He had probably been silent for too long.

“About the sleeping thing.”

Newt waved his hand at Thomas. “Doesn't matter. I have insomnia, I suppose.” He gave him a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, “Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and can't go back to sleep.”

It was probably only a half-truth, but Thomas didn't push. He wouldn't force him if Newt didn't want to tell him.

“I should go,” he said instead. “I'm sure Brenda and Teresa are worried about me by now.”

“Brenda?”

“You know her. She helped us with the search...” Thomas stopped and closed his eyes.

“Right,” Newt said after a while. “So you need a lift?”

He opened his eyes again and shook his head, “No, I can manage.”

“Thomas, I'm not going to faint behind the wheel,” Newt stood up, his voice irritated but with a hint of amusement.

“No!” he said loudly, looking at him with wide eyes. “No, that's not what I meant...”

“Sure,” he watched as Newt reached for the keys. “Sure you didn't.”

It seemed that every time they were in the car together, it was as if the air in the car was enchanted, making it impossible for them to speak. Thomas, however, had no problem with it. He watched the world go by outside the window. It was a sunny day, and when he closed his eyes he could feel a nice, warm touch of the sun's rays on his skin. It made him sleepy again.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Newt's long fingers moving over the steering wheel with each turn. He was a calm driver, always balanced. It amazed Thomas all the more because he had never learned to drive.

“So what do we do now?” Thomas was the first to break the silence, looking at Newt's side profile. He had a straight nose and a visible, sharp jawline. His face was bathed in sunshine and Thomas noticed the small brown freckles on his cheeks. It all made him look... alive.

But he didn't answer the question. In fact, he did not seem to acknowledge Thomas' words, for his expression remained the same. Needless to say, he was starting to get anxious.

Had he said something wrong? Was it too soon to start this conversation?

Newt sighed and glanced at Thomas. “I don't know. I'll try to find out more and then we can talk.”

He nodded back and continued to stare out the window. They were approaching their destination when he recognised the familiar neighbourhood.

Thomas wondered what he would be doing now if none of this had happened. He would probably be laughing his head off with Minho as they walked around the campus. Well, that won't be possible anymore.

Newt stopped next to the apartment and Thomas gave him a gentle smile to say goodbye. As he opened the door, he heard the sound of the other boy's voice.

“Say hi to Teresa for me.”

Soon after, he put the key in the lock and wondered if the girls were inside. It was after 2pm, so it was possible that they were both at work.

It all became clear when he walked in and saw the two of them sitting on the sofa, cuddled up and watching something on the TV. Deadpool, he realised as he heard the familiar voice of Ryan Reynolds.

“Thomas! Where have you been?” Teresa was standing next to him in a second, Brenda right next to her. They both looked too worried for his liking.

“I left you a note,” he said with a shrug. After all, he hadn't left them without having said anything.

“Yeah, we just...” Brenda began, leaning over the wall. “I guess I was surprised you stayed so long.”

Oh, yes. He felt the blush spread across his features. It wasn't like he'd planned it. It just... happened.

“I fell asleep there, I was tired.”

Brenda nodded at his words.

“And he was tired too,” Thomas added, his thoughts drifting to memories of the night. “To be honest, I think he hardly sleeps at all these days.”

“Yeah, I'm not surprised,” Brenda sighed. “I mean, he was close to Minho, wasn't he? And they lived together, imagine how many memories this place holds for Newt.”

Shit. He hadn't thought of that.

He obviously knew how much Minho meant to Newt, but he forgot that they had literally lived together for years. There had to be a reason why he slept in the living room and not in his own bedroom.

It was so fucking unfair. He shouldn't have had to go through all that pain. Minho shouldn't have died. And... was he murdered? Yes, he must have been. Fuck.

He suddenly felt sick.

And so fucking angry.

Someone killed his friend.

Was it WCKD? Or was it...

“Thomas?”

What?

Teresa frowned, her expression worried. “You kind of zoned out.”

He moved his eyes quickly to hers before dropping them again.

“I'm sorry,” Thomas blinked, and then blinked again. “I'm not feeling well,” he turned away.

Thomas needed to get out of here now. He could feel his limbs starting to tremble, his lungs suddenly filling with thick air.

“Tom...”

And before he closed the door to his room, there was a soft voice from Brenda, probably addressed to Teresa.

“Don't.”

It must have been an evening when she came because the sun was almost down. Brenda turned on the light and sat down at the end of his bed, putting her hand on his leg.

Thomas wasn't asleep. All this time he had just been lying here, wondering about everything. His head was spinning as he remembered all the moments with his friend that would never happen again. At first he cried. But after a while he couldn't. Maybe it was his own body stopping him, or maybe he just started to feel numb. Maybe both.

“Hi,” her voice was affectionate and she gave him a reassuring look. She looked good, he thought as he noticed two braids on her head.

She handed him a bowl. Steam wafted from the inside. He took it carefully, not wanting to burn himself.

“I made you some food. Figured you didn't eat much.”

Something in the pit of his stomach flipped over and all of a sudden he was starving. With all the shit that was going on, he had forgotten to eat. When was the last time he actually ate? Thomas didn't really want to think about it.

“Thanks Bren.”

She smiled at him as he started to eat. It was ceviche from Jorge's recipe. He recognised it immediately.

Thomas would never forget the taste of this meal.

He was eleven when he first met Brenda. She was a year younger than him and he sometimes saw her sitting alone in the school corridors, but they never interacted. Until one day.

It was the beginning of spring and Teresa got out of school an hour later than he did on Wednesdays, so he decided to walk home alone. There were a bunch of new automatic toys, bought for their orphanage by a wealthy charity donor, and he hadn't played with them yet, as they were always occupied by other children. So he gathered his things and left the school, pacing in anticipation. However, he didn't expect to see a small group standing in a circle next to the bench.

It was a group of three boys from the younger class, and he recognised them. Because of his friendship with Teresa, who was two years older than him, he usually hung out with older kids or kids his own age. He had never really spoken to these three before.

He was about to turn away when he noticed the group laughing and another person sitting next to them on the bench. Thomas immediately forgot about the toys.

“Hey, what are you doing to her?” He asked as he recognised a girl. She looked at them with an annoyed expression.

“Who are you?” One of them asked, turning to face him. The boy was clearly irritated.

“I'm Thomas, from the upper class.” Maybe he sounded cocky, but he didn't care. He was older than them anyway. “Now leave her alone.”

Another boy spoke, snorting. “And what if we don't?”

“Then I'll tell the teachers.” He repositioned himself to look even taller. “Now get lost.”

The group looked at each other before frowning angrily and all of them gave Thomas the death glare before they left. The last one even bumped into him, muttering snitch under his breath. Thomas didn't care, though, and when he approached the girl to comfort her, she stood up quickly and looked at him accusingly.

“What have you done, you fool?” The girl hissed, crossing her arms.

What? Thomas was taken aback.

“I thought...”

“I can fight myself, I don't need anyone to protect me,” she said, grabbing her backpack as she started to walk away.

Thomas blinked in surprise before following her.

“What's your name?”

The girl snorted, turning her head to look at him. “I don't want to be your friend.”

“I just want to know your name.”

She rolled her eyes at him.

“I'm Brenda.”

“I'm Thomas.”

“Yes, I know, you've said it before.”

They were now walking side by side, silent. He didn't know why, but he liked this girl. She seemed funny.

The orphanage was near the school, so it was a short way. Before he could turn in the right direction, Brenda stopped him.

“Where are you going?”

“To the right, why?”

She snorted. “There's an orphanage here.”

“Yes, I know.”

The understatement spread across her features as she muttered a soft oh. There was a long pause and they stared at each other.

“I should probably go,” Thomas broke the silence and scratched the back of his neck.

“And I think we should play pirates at my house,” Brenda replied, smiling at him. She looked determined and he grinned back.

They were soon at Brenda's house, which seemed to be about five minutes from the orphanage. It was a small house, but it looked cosy and Thomas got a strange feeling of peace and home inside. It was nice and it made him happy. He had never felt like that before.

Not to mention that a few hours later her father Jorge made them dinner, which happened to be the best meal he had ever had.

“It's a ceviche hermano,” Jorge said, beaming at him.

When he returned to the orphanage that evening, he was beaten by his caretakers as punishment for leaving without permission. He didn't regret it, not in the slightest.

Brenda met Teresa the next day. He was sitting with Teresa at lunchtime when she approached them.

“You've already replaced me, I see,” Brenda said with a playful grin.

Teresa looked between them shyly.

And needless to say, once they were introduced, they all became an inseparable trio.

Thomas snapped back to reality as he finished his meal and put the bowl down by his bed.

“I don't want to lose anyone else,” he whispered, looking into her eyes.

Brenda said nothing at first. She just pulled him into a tight embrace and let him cry into her shoulder.

“You won’t.”

Long pause.

“You won’t.”

He couldn't be more grateful that he had decided to interrupt the group of boys twelve years ago.

Chapter Text

I can't be what you need
I am stuck in a dream

“...it takes place on Monday at 2pm.”

Her voice was calm, but he knew she was anything but. It was the second time she had called him this week, and for a minute he had really hoped that this one would go better than the last. No such luck.

Thomas nodded before remembering that she wouldn't see that. “Of course I'll be there. Anything I can do to help?” He tried to steady his breath as he realised it sounded a little ragged.

“No, dear. Just take care of yourself.”

“Thank you, Mrs Parker.”

The call ended and Thomas rested his head on the bark; it felt rough and dry against his skin. From running earlier, his heart rate was still high.

The funeral.

He knew it was coming, that it was expected, but he still felt the hopelessness spreading across his chest. Everything would change after this. It would be official. After that, Minho would only exist in their memories.

And the worst part was that he actually believed that they would find him. He thought that maybe WCKD had kidnapped Minho, and that possibility scared him, because he knew what they were capable of. But that didn't stop him from hoping to see his friend again.

It was only a few days ago that he found out that it wasn't the WCKD that he was supposed to be blaming.

Thomas had learned that it was himself he should have blamed from the very beginning.

He let out a loud breath and rubbed the sweat from his forehead. It was probably the right time to go back to his flat, considering it was a late Thursday night. After all, he didn't want to make Teresa and Brenda worry any more about him, and Thomas should also tell them about the funeral. He could have done this by simply sending them a text message on the phone, but he wanted to do it in person.

It allowed him to pretend for the next 20 minutes that nothing had really happened. And pretending was something Thomas was good at.

So he jogged off, on his way home. Fooling himself, probably for the last time, that maybe, sometime, he would see him again.

The next day after his breakdown and Brenda's efforts to comfort him, he realised it would be best just to avoid the subject. His sisters went along with this without putting any pressure on him. They must have been worried because they both asked to stay at home with him and, as expected, Thomas said no.

Obviously he hadn't been to class this week. Thomas figured that the university had been informed of Minho's death, so it was only a matter of time before every single student they knew would hear about it, and he wasn't ready to face all the people who would give him curious or (even worse) pitiful looks. So he stayed at home and politely refused his sisters' company. Firstly, he didn't want to be a burden, as Teresa had an internship and Brenda had clients, and secondly, he preferred to be alone. It wasn't like he was doing much these days. Mostly Thomas just got up around noon, watched some stupid TV shows (like Extreme Makeover: Home Edition) and prepared some dinner for his sisters (mostly different kinds of pasta as he lacked cooking skills). He tried to play some games on his Playstation, but every single one he associated with Minho, so he immediately dropped the idea.

Newt didn't call or say anything. Not that he expected it (or maybe he did?). After all, Thomas didn't want to be disturbed either. Thomas also wanted to be alone. He just thought that maybe Newt would send him a message after the news from two days ago. Because that had changed everything, hadn't it? Not that Thomas had reached out to him either.

Thomas shook his head before opening the door, trying to collect himself before stepping inside. Even if running allowed him to clear his mind and forget his troubles, it didn't make them magically disappear. He desperately wanted it to go away and prayed that it wasn't real. It was like a living nightmare - the only difference being that he actually had to face it and live with it in the real world.

“Tom, you're back,” Teresa's voice made him look up, forcing him to concentrate on what was happening next to him. Her face looked relieved, as if she had been waiting for him. In the living room, Brenda was sitting on the sofa with a notebook in her hands. Thomas assumed she was drawing something, perhaps another tattoo project.

“2pm on Monday,” and when he saw a questioning look from Teresa, he quickly corrected himself. “The date of the funeral, I mean.”

“Oh, okay. Would you like me to tell the others?”

The others, meaning their friends. He hadn't spoken to them for almost a week. Thomas was sure they knew about Minho and he was also sure they would want to go to the funeral with him. Even if they hadn't always been close, he could always count on their support.

“No, I want to do it myself.”

The room was supposed to be cosy, he thought, with all those plants and candles on the shelves. He was never good with plants, always killing them after a week. Brenda was the opposite. She loved gardening and had a special place in her heart for flowers. Her favourite was the pink and white Astrantia and Thomas would never forget her smile when he and Teresa managed to buy her a bouquet of them for her 19th birthday. They were really hard to find. First, Thomas did some research to find out where to buy them. It seemed that there was only one specific flower shop in their area that sold them. The shop was in another town, so it was almost a two-hour drive in total. However, it was all worth it when Thomas saw Bredna grinning broadly as she placed the bouquet in a purple vase and put it on the kitchen counter next to the framed photograph of Jorge and her.

Sadly, the plants in the office were more basic than the ones Brenda adored. He recognised the Monstera Deliciosa, as it was kind of popular now, but the rest of it was just a bunch of green flowers to him. With that, and a large Yankee candle scented with Watercolour Skies (what the hell was that scent anyway?) on the desk next to him, the room had a stereotypical millennial decor. Not to mention a live, laugh, love sign on the bookshelf next to the beige abstract painting hanging on the wall. Besides the large desk in the middle, there were two armchairs on either side. The one he sat in was actually comfortable and he felt almost relaxed. Almost, because it was still a psychiatrist's office and he still didn't want to be here.

“Tell me, Thomas,” she began again after typing something on her computer. It wasn't their first meeting, although he hadn't seen her for a few months. He'd already told her what was going on lately, but apparently she had more questions. She always had. “How do you feel about it?”

Thomas shrugged in response. He knew that answer wouldn't satisfy her, so he wasn't surprised when she tilted her head and sighed.

“You have to be honest with me, okay?” She waited for him to answer, so he nodded. “Okay, good. Now tell me, Thomas, how do you feel about Minho's suicide?”

He dropped his head as soon as he heard those words.

You could've helped him.

It was Tuesday that week when Minho's mother called. Thomas was eating dinner, Brenda sitting next to him, The Office on the TV. We didn't want you to hear about it from somewhere else, she told him.

You could've helped him, Thomas.

Brenda's face confirmed it. She had heard it too. Suddenly he wasn't hungry anymore.

You could've helped him, Thomas.

But you didn't.

Eventually he learned that Minho hadn't left a note, nothing. He hadn't even said goodbye to anyone.

You could’ve helped himYou could’ve helped himYou could’ve helped himYou could’ve helped himYou could’ve helped himYou could’ve helped himYou could’ve helped himYou could’ve helped himYou could’ve helped himYou could’ve helped himYou could’ve helped himYou could’ve helped himYou could’ve helped himYou could’ve helped himYou could’ve helped himYou could’ve helped himYou could’ve helped himYou could’ve helped him

“I mean, it sucks, I guess,” Thomas' voice sounded nonchalant, though he was fooling no one. His whole body language screamed the opposite; his hands were shaking slightly and his eyes were full of sorrow. Needless to say, the truth was that the guilt was eating him alive. He couldn't accept that he hadn't noticed anything. Minho seemed fine, even happy. Was it all just an act?

“If you're blaming yourself or if it's just too much, you should consider an appointment with a psychologist...”

“No, I'm not blaming myself,” a lie. Thomas was absolutely sure it was his fault. “And I don't need an appointment, I just need my pills, please.”

“Okay, okay. It's okay,” she said politely, as if trying to reassure him. He almost rolled his eyes at the sound of her voice. “Speaking of which... How are your symptoms? Have they gotten worse?”

“I don't think so. I haven't noticed anything special.”

“What about your anxiety?”

“The same as usual, I think.”

“I see...” She typed something on the keyboard, her gaze fixed on the screen. Thomas looked away, fidgeting with the hem of his black shirt. He just wanted to go home. “Here's your prescription,” the small printer on the desk turned on, and the paper with the names of his pills appeared. She quickly grabbed it, signed it and handed it to Thomas.

“Thank you,” he stood up, relieved. Finally it was over.

“And Thomas, before you go...” she said to him as he approached the door. “Please remember to take care of yourself. If you're feeling depressed, you need to talk to someone qualified, okay? Because the way your brain works, it can increase your feelings of sadness just by overthinking everything. You need to remember that.”

“I know, I know,” it was so uncomfortable for him for unknown reasons. “I'll remember, I promise.”

She smiled at him for the last time before they said goodbye and Thomas closed the door behind him.

The sun was shining down on him through the window of his room. It was almost midday and, considering it was November, the weather was surprisingly nice. This autumn seemed to be unusually warm. Thomas felt the soft fingers running down his chest, adjusting his shirt. He absentmindedly followed the movement in the mirror in front of him.

“I think you're looking good,” Teresa said with a concentrated frown, checking his outfit for the last time. He was wearing an all-black shirt with a jacket over it; his trousers were the same colour as well, along with simple tied boots.

She looked beautiful, he thought. Even though she was wearing a simple black dress with a coat and heels, Teresa managed to pull it off with such elegance. She always had a good sense of style and he envied her for that.

Suddenly the door opened, jolting Thomas out of his thoughts. Brenda stood in the doorway, smiling softly at them.

“It's time. We still have a long way to go.”

Teresa nodded and walked out of the room, Thomas following her and quickly grabbing a pack of cigarettes from his desk.

Minho's hometown was where the funeral was to be held. It was almost two hours' drive from their city. Thomas hadn't been there before, he'd only heard about it from his friend. Now, even though none of his family lived there, Minho's parents decided he should be buried in that town. After all, he spent most of his life there, it was probably the closest place to him.

Teresa was driving, with Brenda next to her in the passenger seat. They both wanted to go with him, not just as a support. After all, they knew Minho too. Thomas was silent the whole way, not taking part in the conversation. He couldn't help but think that under different circumstances he would be exploring this place with his best friend as his guide.

The rest of his friends were standing just outside the cemetery. Rachel lit a cigarette as soon as they arrived. Thomas quickly followed suit, earning a disappointed look from Teresa. She was clearly against his smoking, but didn't say a word.

“Hey guys,” Harriet said, smiling at them as soon as they joined the group.

Thomas nodded, matching her expression. Next to her stood Gally, looking sombre. It was a rare sight to see him in such a dark mood. Gally was often indelicate and could be considered rude, but he rarely showed his emotional side.

Strange. Everything had been strange since his death.

A cool breeze blew across them, reminding Thomas of the season. Half the leaves had already fallen from the trees, making the entrance to the cemetery glow orange. It looked both beautiful and enigmatic.

He was halfway through a cigarette when he noticed a familiar face standing across the path. His hair was slightly tousled, probably from the wind. Thomas couldn't quite make out his expression from this distance, so he dropped the cigarette on the ground and walked away from the group.

Newt hadn't noticed Thomas until he was literally standing next to him. From that position, Thomas could finally see his exhausted eyes and the purple bags under them. He gritted his teeth; it was clear that the boy hadn't had many hours of sleep, not just tonight, but probably over the past week.

Thomas wasn't surprised. He had assumed that Newt would be as grief-stricken as he was, if not more so.

“How are you?” Thomas found himself asking with such eloquence.

Newt looked at him and replied with a sigh. “Could be better, I suppose.”

The silence fell as they both watched Minho's parents enter the cemetery. The funeral was about to begin in a few minutes and that realisation sent a chill through Thomas' body.

“Honestly, I don't think this is real,” Newt's voice was barely a whisper.

Thomas tilted his head to focus on him. The boy met his gaze, his eyes filled with... something like intensity?

And then Thomas couldn't help thinking that his words had a double meaning, as Newt's posture suddenly changed from exhausted to fierce. And he was confused, to say the least.

Thomas knitted his eyebrows, trying to read the boy. He wanted to say something, but the approaching voices changed his focus. Everyone seemed to be gathering in one place, which could only mean that the ceremony was about to begin.

Before they left, he took one last quick look at Newt's face. Whatever had been there before was now gone, the sombre expression returning.

The course of the funeral had already begun to blur in his mind, even though he hadn't left the cemetery yet. It was probably because he had somehow drifted off during it. From the start, Thomas was overwhelmed with guilt, which took over his mind and body. He heard the officiant say something, but he didn't listen. Instead, he looked into the faces of Minho's parents, which were full of sorrow, and it struck him once again just how unfair the whole situation was.

He was supposed to be his goddamn best friend. He was supposed to notice when Minho was depressed. So why the hell didn't he?

Thomas was the one to blame and he knew it. He knew that he had failed.

Even now, still unable to find any sign in his memory that his friend was depressed, Thomas could only curse himself inwardly. It wasn't right, he remembered how his friend had acted and it gave him a strong cognitive dissonance.

Not only was he a shitty friend, he was also painfully oblivious and probably selfish. If Thomas wasn't so self-centred, he might have noticed some changes in Minho's behaviour.

Now it was too late, his friend was buried a few metres beneath the ground. He could never undo that, he would have to live with the guilt for the rest of his life. And he deserved it very much.

The worst thing was that no one seemed to share his opinion, no one really blamed him. Thomas felt like a coward standing here, next to Minho's mother, who gave him a fucking smile before she left. He really was the worst person alive, he thought as he returned the gesture.

He looked around, trying to find his friends. Brenda was standing with Harriet a few metres away; he couldn't see Rachel and Gally, so he assumed they had already left. There weren't many people during the ceremony, just their group, Minho's parents and a few other of Minho's friends, though he didn't speak to them. Thomas wasn't in the mood to talk anyway.

Suddenly he felt someone grab his hand and intertwine their fingers. He turned his head - it was Teresa. She gave him a reassuring smile and started walking towards the exit.

Was it really possible that this was the end? It felt like a movie. Like an act.

How could he function now? Did he sound dramatic? Was he being overdramatic?

Was this grief? Denial? An acceptance?

He held on to the contact of her skin, grasping it like a rescue circle.

They walked for perhaps a minute until they heard a voice calling to him.

“Thomas?" Newt was standing next to the tree, the sunlight glinting through the leaves, making his blond locks glow in shades of gold. “Can we... talk? For a second?”

He dropped Teresa's hand and slid his arm behind his back. “Yeah, sure.”

She looked between them before speaking, “We'll wait for you in the car, Tom, okay?”

“I can give him a lift after, if that's all right.”

“Oh, okay. I'm sure he won't mind.”

Thomas felt awkward, it was almost as if they were talking about him without acknowledging his presence. The conversation was starting to take a really strange turn.

“I'll go with Newt. It's okay Resa, you can go home with Brenda.” He decided to say something, to make up his mind, to put an end to this uncomfortable situation.

She nodded before saying goodbye to him and Newt, then turned and left. Brenda was no longer there, presumably waiting by the car.

Now that Thomas was alone with him, he was not sure what would happen next. Yes, Newt wanted to talk. But was there really anything to talk about?

Should we part ways now? No contact? Thomas thought as a sudden realisation hit him. Minho's disappearance was the only thing keeping them close.

He felt a barely perceptible sting of sadness in his chest. He didn't want to lose Newt.

“Sorry to bother you, I just...” The other boy's voice snapped him out of his thoughts and Thomas decided to focus on their conversation for now.

“Don't worry about it. What's going on?”

Newt's eyes were distant; he must have been thinking hard about something. His body shifted nervously, his arms crossed. “It's awful, isn't it? Watching his parents blame themselves for Minho's suicide,” he began to speak, and Thomas noticed how hollow his voice sounded. It sent a shiver down his spine. “Especially because that's bullshit.”

Wait, what?

Thomas blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

Newt met his eyes. “It's fake.”

Thomas shook his head. He wasn't making any sense.

“I don't follow.”

“Minho didn't kill himself.” What the hell is going on? “He couldn't.”

Thomas' mind was spinning. He didn't understand anything. Newt's behaviour was strange, what was he even saying? What was going on?

“What...” Thomas was surprised to find his throat suddenly dry. He coughed before he could speak again. “What do you mean?” What was going on?

Newt sighed and rubbed his eyes, his hand resting on his forehead. “I know it sounds crazy, but you have to believe me. He didn't do it.”

Thomas felt like throwing up. “But the police? I mean, they examined his body, they...”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know,” Newt interrupted. “But I knew him. He would never do that.”

“Newt...” Thomas understood, he really, really did. He blamed himself too, but...

“What?”

“You have to stop Newt.” Thomas said it firmly. They had to accept it. They had to accept that they hadn't seen the signs. It was painful, it was agonising, but it was the truth.

“You don't believe me, do you?” He sounded hurt. He looked hurt, biting his lower lip, clenching his fist.

“Would you?” Because, really. Would anyone?

There was a silence, a painful one. Newt dropped his head, and Thomas watched.

Then a voice, a whisper. “I don't know.”

“Minho's dead, Newt.” As much as Thomas didn't want to say it, he had to hear it. “We failed him.” I failed him.

“No,” Newt shook his head, his eyes filled with determination again as he stared at Thomas. “We're failing him now. Because Minho,” he paused for a second, gesturing between them, “our best friend? No. He wouldn't do that. Not without a proper goodbye. He wouldn't leave us. And you know it, I know you know it.”

Thomas' mouth fell open slightly, but before he had a chance to say anything, Newt was speaking again.

“I'm not trying to... I'm not in denial. I just know Minho. He would never do this. You have to believe me.”

For a second, Thomas thought Newt was shaking, but no, it was just Thomas' head. He felt so dizzy it was almost unbearable. How should he react? What should he do? Thomas wanted to say something, but somehow he was unable to.

Then Newt sighed and laughed. It was a cynical laugh, his head tilted upwards to reveal a pulsating Adam's apple at the base of his throat.

“You know what?” Newt looked at him again, his gaze unexpectedly cold enough to make Thomas almost shiver. “I don't really care if you believe me or not. It won't make any difference, because I'll do anything to find the truth, to reveal the identity of the person who killed him. I'll do anything.”

Newt stepped forward, his eyes fixed on Thomas. All of a sudden, he felt anxious.

“Because Minho didn't deserve this. And I would never accept it. With or without your help,” he pointed at his chest and Thomas instinctively stepped back a little. “Even if it's the last thing I do in my life, I'll get justice for him.”

Shit.

Newt's hands were certainly shaking now, and he could see tears in Newt's eyes from their close proximity.

Thomas's throat was so dry that he had to clear it; a sinking feeling in his lungs.

“With my help.”

Newt lowered his finger and stepped back, frowning. “What?”

“I'll help you.”

A moment of silence that felt like eternity.

“You change your mind a lot,” the other boy replied, a faint smile on his lips.

And Thomas couldn't really deny it, it was the truth after all. Especially now that he seemed to find himself, for some unknown reason, trusting Newt and following his ideas almost blindly.

“This building here,” he pointed to the right side of the windscreen, “was our high school.”

Thomas followed the view until it disappeared. “Looks nice.”

“Yeah, don't judge a bloody book by its cover.” Newt replied with a grin.

It was nice to listen to Newt's soft voice as he talked about his and Minho's memories. Thomas imagined the two of them - young and reckless - and it made him regret not meeting Minho sooner. He was sure they would get along and maybe, just maybe, he would be friends with Newt too.

They were almost at the end of the town, buildings becoming less and less common. Newt mentioned some names of their childhood friends; one of them, a guy called James, was a bully Minho had fought once. It was so bittersweet, the memories.

“Isn't it weird?” Newt asked, concentrating on the road. “That we never listen to music when we're together in the car.”

Well, it was true. They were always silent, not even talking to each other. Something seemed to have changed.

“Yes, it is a bit strange,” because it really was. For example, Thomas, Teresa and Brenda were always arguing about who was going to choose the playlist for the trip. And no matter who won the fight, they would all end up yelling out the songs.

“Here,” Newt took something out of his pocket and handed it to him, still keeping his eyes on the road. It was a phone. “Put something on.”

Thomas froze for half a second, processing. “It's locked.”

“PIN is 1234.”

Thomas snorted, because, really?

“What?” He asked, although he was also laughing.

“Nothing,” and with that Thomas unlocked Newt's phone. And shit, he was holding his phone. That felt private, he thought as he opened Spotify. At the top of the screen was the other boy's playlist simply called car rides. He settled on it, turning on the shuffle option before hitting play. He wanted to know more about Newt's taste in music, but going through his Spotify library felt creepy.

The song started and for a few seconds Thomas thought he didn't know it. But when the vocalist started singing, he recognised it immediately. Put Me Down by The Cranberries.

He looked at Newt; for whatever reason, it was a surprise to him. “The Cranberries? Really?”

“What?” The other boy replied, giving him a quick look. He smiled, his hands moving confidently around the wheel.

Thomas chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. “I don't know, I like them too.”

“Well, I love their music. I have every album on CD and every version of their vinyls too.”

“Vinyls?! You have a record player?” His mouth dropped open in shock and awe. “Why didn't I know about this?”

Dolores O'Riordan's shooting voice echoed in the background as Newt spoke again. “Well, I keep it in my room because I don't... I didn't trust Minho to use it.”

Thomas obviously noticed the mistake, but tried not to show it. He didn't want to ruin the peaceful aura they had created.

“Besides,” Newt began again, “you've seen it before. The record player.”

Huh?

Confusion must have spread across his face because Newt chuckled and shook his head.

“I'm not surprised you don't remember. You were pretty wasted at that party.”

Oh. That party.

That Minho's birthday party we never mentioned before and now we're apparently talking about it, Thomas thought.

The next song started, Silver Springs by Fleetwood Mac.

He realised it was the perfect opportunity to change the awkward subject.

“You literally have the best taste in music of all my friends,” Thomas said.

Friends. He liked that.

Newt glanced at him, the grin still on his face. “Agreed. It's nice to spend time with someone who thinks the same”, he said the last words with a laugh.

“Well, Minho's taste in music was… questionable,” and Thomas laughed too, remembering that his friend had once gone through a musical phase, and it would have been all fine if he hadn't quoted lines from Hamilton or Heathers in every sentence.

But to be honest, he didn't mind his friends' music choices. Teresa was into indie or singing poetry, constantly listening to Phoebe Bridgers, Fiona Apple or Lana Del Rey. Brenda, on the other hand, was more of a rock person, her favourites being Paramore and My Chemical Romance. And then there was Thomas, stuck in the 90s.

Newt had been humming along since the beginning of the song, tapping his fingers on the wheel in time with the rhythm.

And now the last part of the song was about to start, and it was Silver Springs after all, so he needed, he just needed…

“Time cast a spell oooon youuuu, but you won't forget meeee!” And Thomas was singing, because how could he not? “I know I could've loved you, but you would not let meee…”

He saw Newt startled at first, looking at him, surprised and maybe a little worried, but then the sound of his laughter rang in Thomas' ears, and Thomas knew it was worth it.

“I'll follow youuu down 'til the sound…”

“Of my voice will haunt you,” and Newt was singing with him too, grinning widely.

“GIVE ME JUST A CHANCE!” Thomas shouted, shaking his head exaggeratedly.

“You'll never get away from the sound of the woman that loves you…”

“WAS I SUCH A FOOL?” This time it was Newt's turn to sing, with a gesture of his hand into the air.

“I'll follow you down til' the sound of my voice will haunt you!” Thomas was tapping his hands on his thighs to the rhythm of the song, using Newt's phone as a mic.

They screamed, laughed and sang for the rest of the song. He desperately wanted to capture the moment and just stay there. It was the first time since he had received the news that he really felt that one day everything would be all right. He had hope and he wanted to hold on to it. Even though Thomas' mind kept reminding him that they were just singing a song, he couldn't deny that this moment was special. It meant something, it had to mean something.

As the voice of Stevie Nicks faded away in the car's stereo, the two of them tried to catch their breath once more. Not for long, though, as Thomas heard Precious by Depeche Mode start to play.

How could Newt's taste in music get better every second?

“You've got to be fucking kidding me,” Thomas blurted out with an almost accusing look in his eyes.

“What?” Newt glanced at him and chuckled.

“I love them! It's my favourite band!” He said, gesturing towards the speakers.

“I only know a few songs, so not that much, though I have to say they're good.”

“They're incredible Newt, incredible,” Thomas replied, making the other boy laugh. “And don't worry, I'll teach you their whole discography, you're talking to an expert.”

Well, Thomas really wanted to learn Newt's taste in music, he really did; but now he had more important things to do, Thomas thought as he added a few singles to the queue.

It was going to be a long trip.

Or it was supposed to be, because when Enjoy the Silence started playing and Thomas happened to have his head against the car window, he immediately drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

How I long for our trysts
Without ever touching his skin
How can I be guilty as sin?

He silently watched Newt's face as he moved his fingers across the paper, his brows furrowed in concentration, one hand resting on his mouth. Newt nervously pinched his lower lip, and Thomas had an intrusive thought to grab his hand and stop the movement. He didn't, of course. Instead he started to play with the hem of his red Adidas shorts.

They were sitting on the floor of Thomas's room, piles of freshly printed pages spread out beside their legs. The sound of the rain falling on the window made him feel a little sleepy, which wasn't good. He and Newt had work to do.

Maybe it was strange that they were meeting again, only the day after Minho's funeral. Maybe it was strange that they weren't crying anymore, at least not now. Maybe it was strange that Thomas suddenly felt so determined to find out the truth, so eager to know more about this whole mess. It was as if all his grief had turned to perseverance, he had to get more answers, that was now his top priority, his only priority. And it seemed that Newt felt the same way.

He wondered if he was bottling up his feelings, putting them aside and not dealing with them properly. But he shook off that thought as soon as he saw Newt scribbling something on one of the pages, the smell of printer's ink filling his nostrils.

“Anything interesting?” Thomas asked, moving a little closer so he could have a look; their arms brushed lightly.

“I don't know, honestly...” The other replied, handing him the paper. “It's just another fact about WCKD. John Michael was the one who started the company.”

“Oh,” he read the lines, learning that WCKD was now almost 60 years old. Damn.

Thomas put the note down beside him, noticing the mess they had made.

“Do you think he's still alive?”

“I don't know,” Newt began, reaching for the laptop. “Give me a minute, I'll check...”

And Thomas waited, watching the other's focused expression. The blue light from the computer screen illuminated his face. Although it was only afternoon, the weather was beginning to make it dark outside; the only light in the room was the lamp on his bedside table.

Thomas liked his room. It was smaller than in his hometown, but he still managed to fit in all the furniture he needed. There were a few posters of his favourite games on the walls, Christmas lights wrapped around the curtain rod and three Spider-Man figures on his shelf above the bed. It was these little details that made Thomas' room fully his, a reflection of his personality. Looking around the place, Thomas realised that he felt really at home there.

Suddenly an idea struck him and he stood up, earning a confused look from Newt.

“We should do the crime board.” Thomas said and walked over to his desk; a few inches above it was a cork board hanging on the wall. It had some receipts and some notes pinned to it, so he grabbed them, crumpled them up into a ball and threw them on the floor.

“What?”

“You know. Like in the movies.” He grabbed the thing and sat across from Newt, putting it between them. “It could be useful, you know, for noticing the patterns.”

“For noticing the patterns.”

“Yeah, you know what I mean.”

And Newt smiled at him, his chin resting on his hands. “Let's do it then.”

He smiled back, excitement growing in him. Truth be told, this wasn't the first time Thomas had done this; it was an inherent part of his studies. Still, he couldn't help the thrill of it, the feeling that he was in the middle of a puzzle-solving session. Oh God, I'm weird, Thomas thought.

First they sorted all the papers into three separate piles. The first was about The Creators, as they called the people who created or worked for WCKD, the second was about the company itself, and the third was mostly stuff that Minho and Newt had found earlier. It was easy to say that the third was probably the most important, as it gave them a real lead. The pile contained clippings from five different articles, two of them from the same magazine.

“We need to contact the people who wrote them.”

“Yeah, too bad they're all anonymous,” Newt sighed as he pinned a photo of WCKD Chancellor Dr Ava Paige to the board. She was wearing an all-white suit and looked rather intimidating, with no smile on her face.

“No, look,” Thomas said as he handed him an article and pointed to the name written underneath it.

“Rose,” Newt whispered as he read the name. “That still gives us nothing. We need to speak to the editors or publishers.”

He nodded back, but scepticism crept into his mind. “I doubt it'll be easy.”

After all, what were the chances of them willingly talking to two students? Not to mention that there was a good chance that none of the magazines would be in print anymore.

“Probably,” Newt stopped, rubbing his eye with one hand. “I'll find their names, addresses or whatever, and you can finish this board, yeah?”

He did a quick scan of the pages again. There was actually a lot of information on Ava. She was like - the highest rank in WCKD; she was often photographed, usually next to some new medical discovery. She never smiled, though, which reminded Thomas of the White Witch in the Narnia films. He could also easily find out the facts about her life; where she was from, what university she was a graduate of, et cetera. Ava seemed to be an open book that was just waiting for them to read it. Thomas highlighted the most important parts and small details and pinned them to the board; he also made a mental note to buy some red and blue wool to tie it all together later.

Besides John and Ava, there was also a guy called Janson who was Ava's deputy and he was literally invisible. Thomas searched the internet and there was no sign of him anywhere except for a little note on the official WCKD website. They only found one photo of him and it was black and white and of terrible quality. He was obviously younger than Ava, but it was the only information they had about the man. Thomas made a big question mark next to his face and moved on to the next pile.

At first this company seemed innocent, even good. They made medicines, sometimes pioneering ones. There had also been a time when the government had sponsored some research, mainly to find a cure for a few selected viruses; they had tried to find another form of vaccine, but failed. Could this be related to the mysterious deaths from two decades ago? He wondered. It was possible, but Thomas couldn't really believe that the search for a cure would have been so desperate that it would have cost someone's life if there hadn't been a pandemic. It had to be something else, some other reason. If only it was real.

If only WCKD really was behind it all.

Before Thomas could overthink, before he could start to doubt what they were doing, Newt spoke again.

“I found them. Only one of these magazines is still in print. It's no surprise, really. I think we should contact them first. There's an address for their office and the name of the editor-in-chief,” he pinned the note to the board. “And look, the article Rose wrote is so mysterious, but also so specific. It was written last of all, and only in this one we can read about experiments with drug use,” Newt spoke so eagerly, as if he really believed in these theories.

“Yeah, considering she didn't make it up.”

The boy looked at him with an unreadable expression on his face before dropping his eyes back to the papers. “That too. Well, she doesn't say much. She just mentioned these things. No further details. It's strange.”

“Maybe she was scared? Or maybe she was on crack or something.”

Newt giggled at Thomas' words and he couldn't help smiling, too. He really liked seeing the other one happy.

“Anyway, I can't find anything about her or this magazine on the internet. I assume there's more in some online archives, but I need my computer to check it out.”

“Yeah, Minho mentioned earlier that you're a dangerous criminal.”

“Oh yeah,” Newt snorted, setting the laptop down on the floor. “I should definitely be in jail for hacking into library databases.”

Thomas was finishing up the board while Newt was writing an e-mail requesting a meeting. He knew they had done almost everything they had planned, although he wanted to spend more time with the boy. Newt's presence was calming his nerves and Thomas wasn't ready to let that feeling go yet, so he got up and headed for the kitchen.

It wasn't until the kettle was boiling that he realised he hadn't asked Newt what his favourite drink was. Thomas made himself a cup of black coffee, but he knew it wasn't everyone's first choice. Judging by the boy's accent, he settled for the random tea he found in the drawer. He was probably being stereotypical, but in his defence, tea also seemed like a safe option.

By the time he returned, Newt had also finished his task and handed him the laptop to read the email. It was quite eloquent; the boy probably had a natural ease with writing. Thomas clicked the send button before looking back at Newt to find him staring at him with a grin.

“Your tattoo is completely healed, I think.”

Oh. He forgot about that.

“Yeah, um,” Thomas dropped his gaze to his thigh and brushed a finger across the Monster High logo. “I wanted to erase it at first, but it grew on me.”

“Leave it. It makes you look cute.”

He should probably get whiplash from the speed with which he looked up at Newt.

“Thanks?” Thomas muttered, well aware of the heat rising in his cheeks. It got worse when Newt started to laugh at the sight of him.

And that was it. The most embarrassing experience of Thomas' entire life.

“Sorry,” the boy gasped after a minute, rubbing his eyes with his hands as Thomas desperately wanted to be dead. “Do you have any other tattoos?”

It took him a few seconds to recover from the humiliation and speak again.

“Yes, but only one,” and after seeing Newt's curious look, he rolled up his shirt slightly.

On the right side of his abdomen were three small stars painted with the black ink.

“The one on the left is mine. Next to it are Teresa's and Brenda's,” he said with a chuckle. “It's an old one. We did it before Teresa's move away.”

“Oh,” Newt caught his eye, “I thought you and your girlfriend lived together.”

“Wait, what?”

“You know, with Teresa...” Newt started to explain, but quickly stopped, startled by a loud groan from Thomas.

“Oh God, she's not my girlfriend,” he said loudly, his face buried in his hands. “I don't know why everyone thinks we're together, but we're not.”

“I'm sorry, I just...”

“It's okay,” Thomas interrupted, looking at him again. “She's like a sister to me, nothing more. I promise.”

Newt grinned at him. “All right, I get it.”

“Besides, I live with Teresa. She's just older than us, so I meant the time before I graduated from high school.”

After that, they fell into a normal conversation. It was peaceful; the sound of the rain was still there, and the familiar feeling of sleepiness slowly began to fog Thomas' mind. As he listened to the other's voice, Thomas realised that he really liked Newt. The boy's personality reminded him of the waves of the ocean, the feeling of the salty seawater touching your skin for the first time, the colours of the sunrise on the beach. He couldn't really explain it, but Thomas knew that he had never felt like this with anyone before. They clicked somehow and he hoped Newt felt the same.

He hadn't noticed anyone entering the apartment until the door to his room opened to reveal a surprised Brenda. Her hair was soaked, as were her clothes; she must've forgotten her umbrella.

“Oh, hi Newt. I had no idea you'd be here today,” she looked between them as she spoke. “Anyway, I wanted to talk to you, Thomas, about Jorge's birthday present, but it can wait.”

“Don't worry,” Newt stretched out his arms and stood up. “I was just leaving anyway.”

Thomas was also standing in a second. “You were?”

“Well, I need to do some research.”

He wanted Newt to stay. Maybe it was childish, but he didn't care.

“But...”

And the thing was, his whole body reflected his feelings without him having to say the word. Thomas' nails dug into the palm of his hand; the action didn't cause much pain, but it was noticeable. Not to mention the intense stare directed at the other boy.

“No, you stay here and we'll order food. I'm so hungry, you have no idea.” Brenda said nonchalantly, although Thomas could tell by her look that she probably recognised his silent message.

There wasn't much room for Newt to disagree now, and it was very likely that he didn't want to. His shy expression betrayed him and the smile he gave the girl a second later spoke louder than a thousand words.

“By the way, Thomas,” Newt began, putting the unfinished slice of pizza on the plate. “How did you know my favourite tea?”

The dumbfounded look on his face made the other chuckle. “What?”

“You made me an Earl Grey tea, I recognised the bergamot flavour. It's my favourite.”

Brenda snorted as she took a sip of her beer. “He didn't do it on purpose, believe me.”

“Brenda!”

“What? It's the truth! You're the most oblivious person I've ever met.” She shrugged and looked at him mockingly before turning to Newt, who was trying to hide his laughter behind his hand. “He literally never guesses. You have to tell him straight.”

Thomas groaned and rolled his eyes. “That's not true. You just tend to give me mixed signals.”

“Mhm, whatever.” Brenda said with a grin.

The sky was a shade of dark grey and they had almost finished their food and beers, Newt only having a glass of water because he was driving, when the boy spotted the certain wooden box under their coffee table.

“Do you play chess?” He asked, already standing up and crouching next to it.

“Well, Teresa does. And Brenda a bit,” Thomas replied, putting the bottle down on the table.

“But don't get your hopes up. I only know the basics.” She said, moving to sit on the couch where Newt had set up the pieces on the board.

“What about you Thomas?” The boy looked at him expectantly.

He stood up and sat down next to Newt on the floor, his elbows resting on the coffee table. “I don't know anything, but don't worry, I'll watch you both play.”

He smiled at him. “All right. Watch and try to learn.” Then the boy nodded to Brenda, who seemed to be playing white. “You start.”

She placed a pawn on the e4 square and Newt responded immediately by moving his piece opposite.

As the boy's fingers touched the figure, Thomas knew he wouldn't be able to look away; his eyes focused on the way Newt's hand flew between the pieces of wood. There was something mesmerising about the action. He seemed to know exactly what to do, how heavy each figure was, how each figure should be held. Thomas was fascinated by the precision and perfectionism of it all; he wasn't concentrating on the game itself, barely noticing where the pieces were being placed.

Newt and Brenda took each other's figures a couple of times, and after a few minutes Thomas noticed that she was taking more and more time to think after each move. He looked at the boy; his expression was focused, but he seemed relaxed, as if he had everything under control.

It wasn't long before Newt grinned and said “Check”. After another forced move, the game was over; the boy obviously won. He and Brenda shook hands before she leaned back on the sofa and sighed.

“You're really good. You should play with Teresa.”

Thomas nodded, although he could already see that the boy was going to win. And then he realised how strange it was for him to think that. He had seen Teresa play many times, she had even tried to teach him once. And it was clear that she was good. So why did he immediately assume that the odds were on Newt's side?

He'd never seen the boy play before, and he wasn't exactly watching the game today. Thomas shook his head, trying to make sense of what was going on. He looked again at Newt's hands, remembering how surely his fingers had wrapped around the pieces earlier, how his eyes had glistened when the game was almost over; and then he understood that it was the confidence and ease that had caught Thomas's attention. The boy had looked like he was solving a riddle with no difficulty, and that must have amazed him. It was the only logical explanation. Right?

Right.

A long, exasperated sigh escaped Thomas' lungs and he closed his eyes. Everything was clear now. His behaviour was reasonable.

“What?” He heard a girl's voice.

Shit. He had forgotten that they were there as well, so he muttered a quick “Sorry”.

“We were just talking about you playing with Newt.”

“Did you forget the part where I said I can't play?”

“It's okay, I'll teach you,” his voice was calm and Thomas could even hear his smile. How could he say no?

Newt moved the board that was now in front of him. “Do you know how each piece moves?”

He nodded, Teresa had taught him that before.

“Good. Let's get started then.”

He didn't know what to do, so he just parroted Brenda's move from earlier. Newt chuckled and looked at him.

“King's pawn opening. Classic.”

“I literally have no idea what you're talking about.” He heard the girl's laughter in his left ear.

“It's the most popular way to start the game.” Newt began to explain, pointing to the figure on the checker. “Now your bishop and queen have gained some activity.” Then he grabbed the black pawn and mirrored his position, while Thomas struggled not to be distracted again.

“What should I do now?”

“Your pawn is unprotected. Do something about it.” Brenda said, taking his left knight and handing it to him.

After he had made his move, Newt looked at the girl with a grin and she winked.

And respectfully, what was going on? Thomas thought. Obviously the two of them had agreed on something, and he immediately became suspicious. Probably Thomas should have been prepared for a bit of humiliation, although he didn't have much time, because after four moves Newt had captured his pawn and checkmated his king.

Four moves. It took him only four moves to defeat Thomas.

His two friends burst out laughing at his stunned expression.

“What the hell just happened?” He asked with burning cheeks, staring wide-eyed at the checker.

“It's called a scholar's mate.” Newt started, looking at Thomas. He was laughing, but he was trying hard to hide it. “The f2 or f7 pawn is rather weak as it's only defended by the king. That's why I targeted it.” Then he turned the board over and quickly moved the pieces back to their original position. “I'll show you how to avoid it. This time I'll play white.”

They repeated the moves until Newt had placed the queen on the h5 square. “Now you have to do something or you'll lose. Try moving your pawn to g6.”

He did as he was told and the other boy smiled. “You see? You threaten my queen and I have to pull back. You just gained an extra tempo.”

The shooting heat overwhelmed his chest and the rest of his body as Thomas watched the other's expression. He didn't know why he was suddenly so affected by Newt's presence. It felt nice and familiar, but Thomas couldn't deny that it also scared him a little; they were bonding so quickly and effortlessly.

The boy's smile was addictive and it took every ounce of will he had to get his mind back on the game. He obviously lost, although this time he was beaten in 18 moves. Progress.

They played chess again (well, except for Thomas, who was just watching, trying to learn something but failing miserably) until the door to the apartment opened and Teresa entered. It was late in the evening by then; the girl's posture was visibly tired, but her face showed excitement.

“Hi Newt. What are you doing?” She took off her coat and went into the kitchen to boil some water, probably for tea. Brenda was also up and on her way to meet her.

“We've been trying to teach Thomas to play chess. There's a pizza in the fridge for you.” The girl said as she hugged her friend. Teresa snorted and he gave her an exaggerated eye roll before turning to look at Newt.

The boy stared right back at him, his eyes speaking silent words, asking the questions. And surprisingly, Thomas knew what the other was thinking; he nodded before breaking their gaze again.

“We need to talk to both of you,” he said, looking at the girls.

They both glanced back, “Okay,” was all Teresa said before she took Brenda's hand and sat down on the sofa.

So Thomas started, remembering and explaining almost everything Newt had told him yesterday, and also mentioning in detail what they were doing today. He knew it was only fair to tell the girls the truth, even if it sounded crazy.

When the story was finished, there was a moment of silence. Thomas honestly expected they wouldn't be convinced, but he hoped they would at least try to understand.

“How can I help?” Teresa's words entered Thomas' mind, but he had a hard time registering them. Luckily for him, Newt answered the girl's question.

“Perhaps you could find more information about Janson. We tried, but the internet gave us nothing.”

It wasn't the first time Thomas had been impressed by the loyalty of his friends. Even though they were telling the girls a story that could have been the plot of a thriller, they didn't question it. He felt so grateful he could hardly breathe.

About two hours later, he found himself standing outside his apartment building, next to Newt's car, watching as the boy fumbled in his pocket for his keys.

The weather was finally reflecting the season; a light drizzle and a cold breeze hit his cheek, making him shiver despite the coat he was wearing. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, the streetlamps outside the only source of yellow light. Many brown leaves were drowned in the puddles and the smell of the city's bustle added to the autumn atmosphere.

The rest of the evening passed peacefully; Teresa and Newt played chess together, while Thomas and Brenda played a few games on PS, which he was proud of as it was the first time he had done so since Minho's death.

“Well... I guess I'll be going,” the boy said as he opened his car. “I'm glad we could meet today, really.”

“Yeah, same.” And it was the truth. Not only did Newt's presence calm his nerves, but they were able to work out a plan for their next steps.

And before he knew it, before he could even register what he was doing, Thomas stepped closer and pulled Newt into a tight embrace; the scent of cinnamon and pepper entered his nostrils and after a few seconds he felt the boy's arms move shyly around his waist, acknowledging and returning the hug.

For a second, his heart stopped and he panicked, wondering if he had overstepped the other's boundaries. But the thought quickly disappeared as soft curls touched his temple; it felt so soft and so gentle that he was afraid to move.

Thomas inhaled the air around Newt's neck, his eyes fluttering shut as the intoxicating ambience overwhelmed his body. The sensation was almost too strong to bear; a slight tingling ran down the back of his neck. Even though it was a cool night, his skin burned; thousands of thoughts swirled in his mind, not a single one coherent.

And he wished he could just capture this moment, freeze it and hide it in the depths of his consciousness. Thomas silently prayed to live forever with his friend in these sweet nothings.

After a minute they pulled away, the chill of autumn immediately hitting his face again, and the ghost of Newt's touch haunting him the moment the other stepped into the car.

It was wrong. It felt wrong to part ways with him.

Even after the boy had driven away, Thomas stood there, deeply confused, staring into the darkness for some time.

Chapter Text

You're the one I'm calling on
You're the one who's calling me to have it

Something had changed, and Thomas knew it. He couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was and why, but he knew it was there.

After the evening they spent together, Newt became part of his everyday life. They started texting each other, not only about Minho's case, but also about their day and other ordinary things. Somehow, it felt natural, and their conversations never felt forced.

Thomas took another week off from university; he still felt unable to face all those people who would ask him too many questions or stare at him pitifully. Besides, he needed it. And yes, maybe he wasn't grieving in the right way, because Thomas' mind kept wandering to the sheets of paper and the crime board he and Newt had made, but this gave him a reason to wake up every day. Suddenly he stopped crying every night, his mind was only on the case and it gave him the strength and motivation he desperately needed to carry on.

He also learnt more facts about Ava. She had no children, and there was no information about her husband. It seemed that, as dramatic as it sounded, her whole life had been devoted to the company. Ava started working at WCKD when she was about Teresa's age and quickly rose through the ranks to become Chancellor. It was impressive, he had to admit.

Teresa managed to find some information about Janson, but it wasn't much. He was also young when he joined the company, it seemed he and Ava had known each other for over twenty years. Considering how long he had worked there, it was surprising how mysterious Janson was. Teresa, however, found a picture of him of better quality. After sending it to Newt, they both agreed that the man bore an uncanny resemblance to a rat.

By the end of November, it became painfully clear to Thomas that if he wanted to pass his upcoming exams, he might want to consider going back to university. Of course, his psychiatrist made sure that he was granted medical leave to avoid being expelled, but not attending classes didn't help his state of knowledge. Apparently Newt had a similar revelation, as they both decided to come back to class in the last week of the month.

It was tough at first. As expected, the stares of his classmates drove Thomas crazy, and the constant whispering around him only made it worse. Frankly, he was surprised he managed to get through it without breaking down, though he suspected it had something to do with his blond friend who he had been texting since he entered the building.

Newt had never had any classes with Minho before, so no one around him really knew what had happened. Even though the boy couldn't really relate to Thomas' current experience, he was the one who made Thomas feel most understood at the moment. He obviously appreciated Teresa and Brenda's support; they were the best friends he could have ever dreamed of having. But with Newt it felt... different. It was as if he knew exactly what to say to calm his racing nerves. By the end of his first day back, Thomas felt even more grateful for Newt's presence.

The last month of the year had finally started and slowly the stares began to fade. It seemed that everyone was back to minding their own business and ignoring Thomas. He even managed to catch up with all the material, although he deliberately ignored the project he was supposed to do with Minho. It was too early for that.

The amount of work at university was really overwhelming at times, and his mind was always wandering to other things anyway. The editor of the magazine still hadn't contacted him and he hadn't seen Newt in over two weeks.

Lost in these thoughts, he finished his dinner—a simple pasta dish—and handed a plate to Brenda, who was sitting beside him.

To no one's surprise, Teresa was still working, so the duo spent another Friday night together, playing some video games. They talked, Brenda mostly complaining about her customers, until a text appeared on Thomas' phone screen. He grabbed the thing and unlocked it.

It was Newt.

@nwtnisc

Hey, are u free tomorrow?

He frowned; had something happened? Why did Newt want to meet now? Maybe the editor had answered their mail, maybe he had found something, maybe—

“Date?” The voice suddenly appeared next to his shoulder, making him jump a little, and Thomas quickly put the phone down, out of the girl's reach.

“What? No,” he scoffed, “I don't know why he wants to see me.”

“Aren't you two friends?” Brenda asked, picking up the game controller again, her eyes now glued to the TV screen.

“Yes, we are, but...” Thomas sighed. He leaned back on the couch, his expression tired. Of course, Newt was his friend. “It's not like we see each other often.”

@thomasedison_

yeah what's up

“So?” She asked as he typed the answer. Thomas shrugged; maybe it wasn't such a big deal after all.

@nwtnisc

I need your help

I'm moving out tomorrow

At least I'm supposed to

I have literally nothing packed at all

I just can't bring myself to do it

Thomas stared at the screen for a few seconds while the messages came in. Moving out? Well, it wasn't very surprising, was it? Since the boy's roommate had been Minho and he was now—

@thomasedison_

okay i'll be at ur place at 1

Thomas stood in the middle of the living room, surrounded by cardboard boxes. There were still so many things scattered around, but he guessed most of it belonged to Minho. It felt strange to know that this was probably the last time he would ever be in this apartment.

“You're coming?” Newt stood with his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the door. The door leading to Newt's room.

Thomas snapped out of his thoughts and nodded before moving forward to join the other. He had only been in Newt's room once, and he had been extremely drunk at the time, so he didn't remember much. Besides, he was sure that he had hallucinated some of what happened that night as well.

Okay, he wasn't supposed to think about it now.

No, not at all.

He stepped inside, and immediately the familiar scent of pepper mixed with cinnamon hit his nostrils. They had been packing since noon, so the whole room was now bathed in warm, orange sunlight. The combination of these things made him a little sleepy. He yawned; hiding it behind a hand and rubbed his eyes.

“I know it's stuffy in here, sorry,” Newt began, moving to open the window. The sudden breeze of autumn air made Thomas shiver, so he closed the door behind them. “I haven't been here for a while,” the blond boy said, looking around.

He followed his gaze; the first thing he noticed were the Star Wars posters on the walls. Thomas had only seen the films once or twice in his life, so he obviously didn't recognise all the characters. A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, he read the text in his mind.

The room seemed chaotic at first, but he got that impression from the general lack of furniture. There was only a shelf next to the desk and a wooden wardrobe next to the doors. Newt didn't seem to have a bed either, just a simple mattress on the floor. All his belongings were piled on the floor or on the windowsill, which could only add to the disorganised picture. But the longer Thomas looked, the more he realised that everything was actually quite neatly arranged; it was just unusual.

Unsurprisingly, he almost instantly noticed the record player lying on the floor, just a metre away from Newt's bed. He knelt down in front of it; the colours were mostly the various shades of brown, and it all looked like an old suitcase. His eyes moved to the pile of records behind it; Everybody Else Is Doing It, So Why Can’t We? by The Cranberries on the front. Of course.

“This is so pretty,” Thomas whispered, his finger tracing a gentle pattern along the edge of the player.

Newt just smiled as he handed him an empty box. “Please be careful with it, it's my most treasured possession.”

He chuckled in response, “No problem.” Thomas wouldn't dare break it.

The only thing that looked wrong, as if it shouldn't be there, was dust.

As Thomas looked around he realised that everything was covered in it. Records, books, an old and probably broken camera in the corner. He really wasn't kidding about not coming here. Thomas slowly placed the player in the box before moving to the pile of magazines next to him.

Well, not magazines. These were comics.

Most of them he hadn't seen before; Thomas recognised some of the franchises, but he didn't know much about them. Although there were a few that caught his attention.

Huh.

“Deadpool comics?” He asked, surprised.

Newt turned around, some clothes still in his hand as he put them into the suitcase that was lying on his mattress.

“Have you read them?” The boy asked before returning to the previous task. Thomas studied his wardrobe; it didn't look like there was much in it. It seemed that Newt wasn't the stylish type. Then why does he always look so good? Thomas wondered.

“No, I haven't. But I've seen the films,” he shrugged and closed the box with a piece of tape.

Newt ran a hand through his hair. Standing in the orange-bathed room, the sunlight seemed to frame his curves, making him look almost... ethereal.

“You should definitely read the comics, they're much better than the movies.”

“Well, personally I don't think we should compare them. These are two different types of media.”

Newt hummed and frowned. “Maybe you're right. I guess I'm just old school.”

He couldn't help but roll his eyes before grabbing another box and heading for the desk. “That was pretentious.”

The other boy laughed and Thomas felt the sound of Newt's voice in his bones. It was soft and calming. He wanted to hear it over and over again.

“Leave me alone,” Newt groaned, covering his face with the clothes he was holding.

I'd rather not.

“If you insist.”

Thomas looked at the shelf in front of him. There, he assumed, were all the Star Wars and Jurassic Park films on DVD. Who collects discs anymore?

“Hey,” Newt said, his cheeks flushed with laughter. “Not until we finish this,” he gestured at the boxes around them.

“Nice to know you're only hanging out with me because I'm useful.”

“You're not so bad yourself,” the other boy smiled and grabbed a bag to stuff more clothes into.

“I'm flattered.”

“You should be.”

Thomas chuckled and quickly packed the rest of the things; he took special notice of the chessboard and three small dinosaur figurines. One was a Tyrannosaurus; there was also one with spikes on its back, but he couldn't recall its name.

The more he learnt about Newt, the more curious he became to know him better. The blonde boy's personality was like a bonfire on a late summer evening. Warm, captivating, and impossible to look away from.

It wasn't the first time he'd wondered why Newt didn't have more friends. Newt was caring and understanding, a perfect listener. But it seemed that apart from Minho and now Thomas, he was rather alone.

The loud sound jolted Thomas out of his daze and he turned to look at the source of the noise.

The doors of the wooden wardrobe were now closed. Newt, however, was standing next to it, muttering curses and holding...

...a guitar?

What couldn't he do? Thomas wondered.

“What?” Newt looked up and their eyes locked.

And Thomas could swear that his heart stopped for a second, because, really? Had Thomas actually said that out loud?

“I was just asking myself how it is possible that you have so many talents.” So embarrassing.

He chuckled and shook his head. “It's not a talent. I can play it, but not very well,” Newt adjusted the guitar in his hands, running a finger over the top of the side.

“Play something for me.”

His eyes widened and he shielded himself with the instrument.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I haven't done it in months.”

“I won't judge.”

Newt sighed and rubbed his forehead with an empty hand. “The other time, Thomas, alright?”

“Promise?” He held out his little finger.

“You're such an idiot, you know that?” Newt scoffed, but still intertwined their pinkies.

The shit-eating grin appeared on Thomas' face and the other returned the smile. “What's next?” Thomas said, dropping his hand.

He looked around the room. “I'm going to finish packing very quickly, and you can carry all these boxes out to the car.”

It wasn't a hard task; there weren't many things to carry, so they were both done in less than half an hour. By the time Newt started driving, the sky was already painted in dark shades, even though it was only 6 o'clock. Winter was coming, though at least it wasn’t snowing yet. Being stuck in a traffic jam during a snowstorm didn't sound very appealing.

Thomas had a lot of questions on his mind, but he hadn't had a chance to ask them yet. Now, with all the boxes packed in the back of the car and Newt humming Daffodil Lament, it seemed like the perfect moment.

“Why did you move out?”

The start of the conversation was straightforward, so he wasn't surprised when the other boy's arms tensed and his grip on the wheel tightened.

Newt took a deep breath, clearly considering his words before answering. “Well, it's Minho's parents' place. They said I could stay, but I didn't want to feel like a burden.”

The streetlight turned green again, illuminating his focused face, and Newt turned right. Thomas couldn't stop staring.

“You know I never got my driving licence?”

“Really?” His eyes were still glued to the road as they passed some cars on the other side. “Why?”

He received a brief glance from the boy, and Thomas' heart skipped a beat.

“I don't really know. Teresa and Brenda got it, so I didn't have to. I was kind of lazy too.”

Newt nodded and the comfortable silence enveloped them again. Since they had become friends recently, Thomas found himself quickly learning to trust the other boy. It came naturally, and not only did he feel safe sharing his thoughts and concerns, but he also knew Newt would understand. Sometimes it almost felt as if he had been programmed to find the boy; as if their souls were somehow connected.

After a few more minutes they reached their destination and Newt parked the car in front of the building.

The middle-aged couple were standing by the entrance. They were both wearing long coats, woollen scarves tangled around their necks.

“Are they your landlords?” Thomas asked, pointing at them from the passenger seat.

“Yes, and the acquaintances of Minho's parents as well. They insisted on at least helping me find a nice place to stay, so they put me in touch with these two,” Newt said as he grabbed his phone. “We're just in time, let's go.”

Thomas followed, and after a quick exchange of pleasantries, the woman handed Newt the keys. The conversation that followed was a little awkward as she assumed that the two of them would be renting the flat together as a couple. Thomas froze for a second before politely correcting the lady, telling her that he was only here to help Newt. Not to move in with him. He was suddenly very grateful for the cold breeze as he felt a burning sensation on his cheeks.

By the time they fully entered the flat, they had already moved everything upstairs. It was only when everything was on the floor of the living room that Thomas was able to take a good look around.

The place was surely different from the one he shared with Minho. This flat was much smaller and had only one bedroom. It looked empty at the moment, but it was only a matter of time before they unpacked all of Newt's things and made the place more homely.

The sun had been down for a while now and Thomas was beginning to feel tired. But he ignored it. His mind was on one task, which was to help his friend.

He grabbed a few boxes and went to the kitchen where he began to sort things out. Newt was right by his side and they worked together, occasionally talking about random stuff.

Perhaps half an hour later, they were almost finished and the room still seemed to be empty, but now it was more personal. The blond's Star Wars mugs were on the counter and in some of the drawers he had put his favourite tea. Thomas was also surprised to find a couple of cookbooks, now placed next to the microwave. Newt said he liked cooking and promised to serve Thomas his special dish someday. Thomas' attempt to hide his excitement was of course unsuccessful, his wide grin giving him away.

A yawn escaped Newt's lips and he stretched out his arms.

“I'm definitely keeping you here too long,” he said apologetically, locking eyes with Thomas.

“It's okay. I'm actually enjoying this.”

He looked at him, unimpressed, with a raised eyebrow. “Enjoying unpacking my stuff?”

Thomas bit his lip and shrugged. “I enjoy spending time with you.”

It was the truth, though he was still a bit ashamed to say the words out loud.

There was a pause before Newt touched his arm and smiled softly.

“Let's take a break, shall we? I'll finish tomorrow.”

“But...” He started to protest, but the other boy stopped him.

“No, Thomas. I mean it. I'm tired anyway.”

They left the kitchen, and Thomas paused, standing awkwardly in the living room. Should he leave now? He didn't know. The other boy was going to do the rest the next day, so there wasn't any particular reason for him to stay.

“Come here?” Newt sat on the floor with his back against the wall. He stared at Thomas with an exhausted look on his face.

So Thomas obeyed and moved towards him. When they were both sitting down, their sides touching, Newt sighed and closed his eyes.

“It feels so weird, you know? I've lived with Minho for so long and now... I miss him.”

“I know,” he breathed.

“He was my only family. And now I have no one.”

Thomas wanted to disagree, to say that he still had him, but instead the choked sob escaped Newt's lips and Thomas hugged him, the boy's face buried in his neck.

Maybe they were both crying, tangled in each other's warm embrace. Maybe they both whispered comforting words as they traced gentle patterns across the skin. Maybe their hands sometimes touched as well as their foreheads.

Maybe.

But surely, at some point, Newt fell asleep with his head on the other's shoulder.

And Thomas couldn't bring himself to wake his friend. Not when he was looking so peaceful.

Not even when the screen of Thomas' phone lit up with a notification and he later learnt that the editor-in-chief of one of the magazines had agreed to meet with them.

He would tell him everything tomorrow.