Work Text:
The diary, or rather the letters, were found among the things they managed to bring with them to the safe haven from the hideout. While rummaging through the pile of things looking for a warmer shirt, Thomas happened upon a familiar red leather bound notebook. Newt used to carry it around in the Scorch but he would never let Thomas get a peak at what he was writing.
It felt wrong, holding it in his hands. Yet curiosity ran through his veins in a way it had not in the longest time. What Thomas felt for Newt was special. He was different from Brenda and Teressa in a way Thomas couldn’t quite put his finger on. It felt wrong, holding it in his hands. Yet curiosity got the best of him and he shoved it under his arm to bring back to his tent.
After sundown that night, Thomas opted out of the usual campfire that everyone gathered around. Making up some excuse about all that sun earlier in the day tiring him out. No one questioned it, outwardly.
Slipping into his tent, Thomas lit a lantern. Under his pillow was the notebook, a place where it felt safe. He sat down on his bed and reached out for the leatherbound notebook. It weighed heavy in his hands, heavier than it seemed before. Thomas began second guessing himself, was this the right thing to do?
Probably not.
Still Thomas found himself unwrapping the string that kept the book closed. It smelled like the Scorch. A strange wave of nostalgia washed through his body. Hitting him like a tidal wave on a lone pier. Thomas took a deep breath before finally succumbing to his curiosity. “Sorry Newt,” he mumbled under his breath as he opened the notebook.
Dear Tommy,
You won’t read these, but I need to write these. For myself.
Sincerely, Newt
June 3rd, 232
What are we doing here? Why did you bring us here Tommy? Did you even have any idea what you were doing when you did that? Everyone is in danger now and you won’t even tell us why. I feel like I’m losing myself. I feel like I’m bringing all of us down. With my limp and all my weakness. Tommy, why won’t you tell us what’s going on? I can help, we can all help. You just have to let us help you. Please, let us help you.
June 6th, 232
Losing Winston hurt more than I figured it would. If things keep going on like this, we’re going to lose shank after shank until we’re all dead. The heat is getting to me. Sometimes I hear things I’m sure aren’t there. Maybe I’m going crazy, it’s a wonder it took this bugging long. Sorry Tommy, for everything.
June 8th, 232
Maybe I’m jealous. I shouldn’t be. What right do I even have to be jealous when you’re nothing but my friend. But I’m jealous of the way you look at her. I don’t trust her either, or that older guy. What kind of people chain cranks to the walls as a defensive tactic? I guess it works. Maybe I wish you would look at me the same way you look at her. Tommy you shankface, what have you done to me?
June 9th, 232
They took Minho. WCKD took Minho. I don’t know what to do. Alby would know what to do. That’s why he was first in command after all. It’s bloody messed up that they did all that to a bunch of teenagers. Christ Tommy… What are we going to do? Everything feels hopeless. We try something back in the maze and Chuck dies. We try something after escaping that dull facility, Winston dies. Now we’ve lost Minho too and I just I feel like I’m losing my mind Tommy. I want to scream at the top of my lungs. This world is too unkind to us. Maybe that fall should have taken me out instead of giving me this limp. But then I wouldn’t have met you, would I?
June 10th, 232
Gally is alive. I can’t believe that shankface isn’t dead. We got Sonya and Aris back but Minho is still in that bloody WCKD facility. I don’t know what to do anymore. Oh Tommy… I wonder if we had met under better circumstances what we could have been. Oh Tommy, I think I’m losing myself. I don’t know when it happened but the veins in my arm are slowly turning blue. I can almost hear something nagging in the back of my mind. For once I’m sure that it isn’t just my self loathing subconscious. I’m not sure how I know that but I do. I want to tell you. I’ve grown fond of you. Oh Tommy. Why did it all have to go this way?
June 12th, 232
I’m more irritable than I was before. I know people always thought I was kind of a stuck up asshole back in the glade but I think I’ve got worse. I want to yell at you more often, it’s not your fault. I promise Tommy. No matter what I say, it’s not your fault. I’m sorry. When it gets to be too much, I want you to be the one. You have to be the one Tommy. I trust you with my life, so I trust you to take it. Please, don’t let me become one of those things.
June 13th, 232
I told you today that I’m dying. I’m sorry for lashing out at you but I can’t blame all of it on the flare. Sure I don’t think I would have yelled like that but I can’t confidently say that I wouldn’t. I’m jealous of Brenda, and I can’t stand the idea that you even feel any sort of positive feelings towards Teresa. After everything she’s done to us. Hell she’s the bloody reason we have to get Minho back for God's sake. So yes, I’m angry, but I’m also sorry. The flare has me wound up and it’s already tense trying to figure out how to get Minho back. I just, I wish you would get your head out of your ass because she is our only reasonable way in. So forgive me if I want to get our friend back.
June 14th, 232
Dear Tommy. I think this is the last time I’ll be writing you. I can feel it winning, taking over every inch of my body. We’re going to try and get Minho back today. This seems like my last opportunity to write everything out for you. Don’t blame yourself, when I die. You couldn’t do anything, I already outstayed my welcome. Somehow I always knew I was different from the other gladers. Although I was a runner, I was still weaker than everyone else. Now that we’re out of the maze it’s no surprise to me that I’m not immune to this humanity stripping disease. Bloody messed up that they put me in the maze knowing I wasn’t immune, but when has WCKD been known for their moral practices? I hope that when I go, I go fast. Will you do me that favour? It’s all I ask of you Tommy. I have one more thing to tell you though maybe if you did somehow get your hands on this you may have figured it out by now. I think I love you Tommy. Not just as friends. It’s bloody messed up that we were born into this shitty world but I’m glad that I had you with me for some of it. I feel myself losing to the flare every second. I’m sorry for asking, but please Tommy, please it has to be you. When the time comes please. I need you to be the one. Take care Tommy. My Tommy.
Love, Newt.
Thomas stared at the tear stained pages. He struggled to discern his tears from Newt’s. He isn’t sure when he began quietly sobbing to himself but it must have been a while back because as he went to wipe away the tears they had already dried to his cheeks. The notebook slipped out of his hands onto his lap, still open to the last thing Newt ever wrote.
Newt loved him, and he would never be able to hear Thomas say ‘I love you’ back.