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Thomas’s footsteps felt like the only sound for miles. He trudged through a dense forest before spotting a familiar clearing.
As he walked, he clutched a bouquet of yellow flowers tightly to his chest.
Daffodils and tulips, picked freshly from the haven garden. Freshly tilled dirt was still evident in the ground and Thomas slowly dropped to his knees beside it.
“Hey Newt.”
Thomas’s voice sounded raw and emotionless. He sat and stared at the small wooden plaque that had been planted on the soil.
“I got you these…”
Thomas gently knelt forwards and laid the flowers over the mound. They contrasted vividly with the dull and lifeless soil.
Thomas picked up the withered plants he had left the week before cleaned up the grave.
After a couple of weeks at the haven, Jorge had requested that they went back to the last city to look for survivors, so they had.
The remnants of the once grand civilisation was now an utterly disheartening mess.
Living people were rare and barely any had a will to live or a sane mindset.
They were about to head home when Minho had stopped everyone and requested that they looked for Newt.
Thomas had agreed but sincerely regretted his decision when he laid his eyes on his old friend’s lifeless body.
Newt was in the same place, completely unmoved, and Thomas felt as if he was reliving that terrible night.
He had frozen, unable to get closer but incapable of removing his eyes from Newt’s bleak corpse.
In the end, Minho had ordered that Newt was to receive a proper burial and two volunteers had carried Newt’s body to the Berg they had arrived in.
Thomas was still stuck in place so Minho had to pull him away back to the safety of their ship.
Thomas didn’t bother communicating with anyone the entire journey back, but he watched his comrades closely
Gally had a distant expression, Frypan looked upset, but Minho? Thomas had never seen him cry so much.
For Thomas, Newt’s death had been a gradual change to process, taking him at least a week to understand.
Minho on the other hand was obviously distraught immediately, but hadn’t quite realised the gravity of the situation.
It was only then, sitting in the Berg, Newt’s body wrapped up and packed away, that the impact of his best friend’s death truly got to him.
After a small, melancholy funeral procession, everyone went back to their normal routines- well attempted to.
Thomas had no such luck. Vince had instructed that he took as much time as possible off so he could recover physically from his gunshot wound, but also mentally.
Minho, Gally, Frypan and Brenda had insisted on working so that they could bury their grief underneath their other priorities.
Thomas had instead dedicated all of his time just sitting on the beach, watching the waves lap at the shore, sitting at the communal gravestone or visiting Newt.
It was a weird feeling knowing someone you love so dearly was so close yet out of reach.
Newt was only six feet away in physical form, but mentally?
It was likely that unless there was a clear afterlife, Thomas would never see those gorgeous brown eyes again.
Someone you love but cannot talk to, see-
Someone you love.
Love wasn’t a past tense phrase for Thomas because he still loved Newt, his feelings hadn’t died with the blonde, nor been buried with him.
Heartbreak, yearning and sadness swirled inside of Thomas head.
There was so much that remained unsaid between them, so many things Thomas would never get to admit. It was maddening.
“I’m sorry,”
Thomas blurted out, not knowing if he was apologising to Newt or himself.
A small breeze rustled the leaves around Thomas in a calming motion.
“I only got you flowers after you left, I guess you can’t really appreciate them anymore.”
Thomas laughed softly and peered at the grey sky up above.
“I should’ve got you flowers when you were still here, maybe some marigolds.”
Thomas didn’t mind talking to himself, Newt had always told him to talk more. He had said that Thomas had a nice voice.
Still, Thomas preferred to listen. Newt’s familiar and grounding tone was long gone so Thomas let the wind do the talking.
Leaves rustled gently all around and the melancholy area was briefly lit up as the setting sun peeked through the trees, dappling the grassy floor.
“I hope I’ll get to see you again one day.”
Thomas mumbled and laid on his back, arms crossed under his head. The nature around him felt healing and magical for a little while.
The sun soon vanished from sight and darkness settled over Thomas.
He had never minded sleeping outside but being near trees always felt more safe, he felt more secure instead of being locked up inside.
“Goodnight Newt.”
Thomas yawned and looked up to the fast approaching moon.
Little did he know, Newt was looking up at that same moon.
“Goodnight Tommy.”
Newt’s ghostly voice was lost to the breeze as he laid beside Thomas.
Thomas couldn’t see Newt, he couldn’t talk to him, but he could sense him.
A small glow of comforting warmth.
A bird singing its song proudly.
An overwhelming sense of calm.
All things that pointed towards Newt being present. With a contented sigh, Thomas let sleep take him far away.