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the glade goes quiet before it ever feels safe.
it’s a gradual thinning of sound, like the world is drawing a careful breath. voices taper off, footsteps soften. even the usual background noise fades until thomas becomes aware of his own heartbeat, steady and a little too loud in his ears.
the air feels held, tight in his lungs. the maze stands motionless, its walls dark and unreadable, as if it’s learned the value of stillness. thomas scans the glade without meaning to, counting shapes and shadows, until his eyes land on newt.
he’s sitting on the stone wall near the edge of the grass, legs hanging over, shoulders relaxed in a way that feels deliberate. his gaze is fixed on the dark corridors ahead, sharp and patient, as if he’s waiting for something to flinch.
thomas watches him for a moment before approaching. there’s a familiarity to the sight that settles something in his chest. newt at the edge, newt keeping watch, newt holding the line between what’s known and what’s dangerous.
'couldn’t sleep?' thomas asks, once he’s close enough to be heard.
newt glances back, his expression softening immediately. the half-smile he gives thomas is easy, practiced. 'didn’t feel like it.'
thomas climbs up beside him. the stone is cool even through his jeans, leeching away the warmth of the day. their shoulders brush when he settles.
the contact stays—light, steady, unremarkable if anyone were watching. thomas becomes aware of the quiet weight of another person choosing not to move away.
the maze looms ahead of them, its walls tall enough to blot out the stars. somewhere deep inside, stone grinds against stone with a low groan, the sound traveling through the ground and into thomas’ bones. it feels less like movement and more like the maze adjusting itself, settling deeper into its own patience.
'sometimes i wonder if it knows we’re watching,' thomas says, voice low.
newt exhales through his nose, a breath that almost becomes a laugh. 'wouldn’t surprise me,' he says. 'feels like it knows everything else.'
they sit with their knees nearly touching. thomas can feel the heat of newt’s leg through the thin space between them. he keeps his eyes forward, mirroring newt’s posture, matching the way he leans slightly into the open air.
when newt shifts his weight, his hand lands briefly against thomas’ wrist. the touch is instinctive, meant to steady himself, but it lingers, just long enough for thomas to register the warmth of his palm, the press of fingers against bone. newt pulls back a second later, as if remembering himself, letting the moment pass without naming it.
the quiet stretches, deepening rather than thinning. crickets begin to test the night, tentative at first, then braver. the maze goes still again, dissatisfied, like it hasn’t gotten the reaction it wanted.
'you ever think about before?' newt asks. his eyes stay on the maze, but his voice shifts, careful around the edges.
thomas considers the question. he’s tried digging for memories before, pressed at the blank spaces until they pushed back, until his head ached with the effort of wanting something that refused to surface.
'not much,' he says finally. 'feels like trying to remember a dream after you’re already awake.'
newt nods once. 'maybe that’s a mercy.'
silence settles between them again, comfortable in its weight. thomas lets himself breathe with it.
'if we get out,' he says, the words surprising him as soon as they’re spoken. he swallows, feels the moment balance on a thin edge, but keeps going. 'if there’s something after all this.'
newt turns fully then. the look he gives thomas is measured and steady, the look of someone who has been carrying the question himself and knows exactly how heavy it is. his eyes search thomas’ face for readiness.
'then we’ll figure it out,' newt says. 'same as everything else.'
thomas nods, watches the way newt says we, the word fitting easily in his mouth. he doesn’t ask what figure it out means. the answer feels less important than the certainty behind it.
newt’s gaze lingers on him a beat longer than usual, unreadable, before he looks away again.
when they stand to leave, newt stumbles slightly on the uneven stone. thomas’ hand comes up without thought, fingers closing around newt’s elbow, grounding him. newt steadies, his breath warm against thomas’ shoulder, close enough that thomas feels it through the thin fabric of his shirt.
from across the glade, someone calls newt’s name. he answers, voice clear, then looks back at thomas once more before heading off, needing to confirm something before letting go of the moment.
'thanks,' he says quietly.
thomas nods. he stays where he is, watching until newt disappears into the crowd, the night closing around him again.
the world fractures after that. again and again, until the breaks begin to blur together.
they run until it becomes instinct, until thomas can no longer remember the shape of stillness. they lose ground in inches and miles, lose friends in ways that don’t always announce themselves. sometimes someone is simply gone, their absence registering only when thomas counts and comes up short.
decisions stack on top of one another, each one demanding urgency and certainty, even when neither is possible. they choose routes in seconds, trust information that may already be outdated, move forward because stopping feels worse. sleep becomes something they trade away. bruises bloom and fade. the noise never quite leaves their ears.
through fire and fear and futures that collapse before they can settle, thomas carries newt.
sometimes it’s literal—newt’s arm slung over his shoulder, weight heavy and human as they push through smoke or stumble over uneven ground. other times it’s quieter—thomas shifting to block a blow, stepping half a pace ahead, angling himself between newt and whatever comes next without thinking to ask whether it’s necessary.
somewhere along the way, thomas starts tracking newt the way he once tracked exits.
he begins counting heads without realizing he’s doing it, but the numbers do not settle until his eyes find newt. it happens automatically now, a small tightening in his chest that eases only when he confirms newt is still there, still moving, still upright.
if newt lags, thomas slows, enough to stay within reach. if newt disappears into the shadows, thomas feels it immediately, with the sensation of a missed step on a staircase. his focus fractures, attention snapping outward until he finds him again.
in the middle of shouting and movement, thomas would look up and catch newt watching him. the look is sharp and intent, cutting through the chaos with unsettling clarity. newt’s eyes search thomas’ face, cataloging blood, movement, breath.
the moment thomas meets his gaze and lifts his chin in a small, wordless signal, newt’s shoulders ease. it’s barely noticeable, but it’s there. he turns back to the work at hand without another glance.
thomas doesn’t forget these exchanges.
sometimes, thomas wakes from a nightmare with his heart racing, the dark pressing in too close. he turns his head and finds newt already awake, holding his wrist steady, sitting a short distance away with his knees drawn up.
newt never asks what thomas sees. he simply stays where he is, presence steady and unintrusive, until thomas’ breathing slows and the world settles back into focus. only then does newt shift, stretching out his stiff leg with a quiet exhale.
there’s a night watch where thomas notices newt reposition himself, moving carefully so as not to draw attention. he chooses a vantage point that gives him a clear view of the scorch and of thomas, stationed further along the perimeter.
newt never looks directly at him. still, every few minutes, his gaze flicks over, brief and precise. each glance is a check that lasts less than a second. thomas feels every one of them.
they never talk about it. there’s never space for explanations, never safe enough for questions that might slow them down.
survival always comes first.
and threaded through all of it is the quiet knowledge that someone is watching, counting, adjusting. that someone will notice if you fall out of step.
in a world breaking apart, those matter more than words.
new is slipping away, and the fear it stirs in thomas feels unnameable, instinctive, the sense of losing his grip on the only thing keeping him upright.
there’s no dramatic collapse at first, but there are small things thomas notices because he has learned to notice newt: the way his steps falter, the way he loses the thread of conversations halfway through. the pauses come longer. the smiles take more effort.
newt begins staring too long at nothing.
it’s not the lack of sleep that unsettles thomas. it’s the tension in him, coiled and restless, waiting to snap. his jaw tightens without warning. his hands flex and curl, fingers testing their strength against empty air.
thomas catches him once at the table the evening he first accuses thomas of lying about the truth behind minho’s rescue, knuckles white around the edge of the wood, the grain biting into his palms. newt doesn’t seem to notice the pain.
'you alright?' thomas asks warily, newt barely registering his presence. ‘newt…?’
newt blinks, sharp and disoriented, as though he’s dragged himself up from deep water. for a second, his eyes don’t focus at all.
'yeah,' he says finally. 'yeah, just tired.'
thomas believes him the way you believe a lie you’re not ready to confront.
when the flare takes hold in earnest, it arrives as heat and fury. as sharp edges. after they pull minho out of wckd, half-broken and furious and alive, the virus breaks newt open.
newt turns on thomas without warning, movement fast and feral. thomas barely has time to register the look in his eyes—wild, unfocused, emptied of recognition—before he’s slammed into the ground, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs.
'newt,' thomas gasps, hands coming up instinctively. 'newt, it’s me!'
newt doesn’t hear him. his grip tightens, fingers digging in with frightening strength. rage burns through him, hot and senseless, the virus chewing at whatever part of him still knows restraint. thomas struggles, panic blooming sharp and cold in his chest,
'hey!' thomas gasps, voice breaking. 'look at me, newt. please look at me!'
newt snarls, thrashing, teeth bared. the sound is wrong. inhuman. then, just for a moment, the fury cracks. newt’s eyes clear for a heartbeat. recognition flickers, fragile as glass.
'tommy,' he says, voice thin and wrong. it almost hurts to form the word. his breath stutters, grip loosening, then tightens again. not in anger now, but in desperation. 'tommy, please.'
thomas stills.
'please,' newt says again, the word breaking apart as it leaves him. 'you have to kill me before i—' his jaw clenches hard, fighting something inside his own head. 'please. tommy, please.'
the plea lands like a blade. thomas shakes his head violently, tears blurring his vision. he presses his forehead to newt’s, grounding himself in the reality of him even as his pulse roars in his ears.
'no,' he says. 'no, i won’t.'
newt’s breath comes ragged. 'i can feel it,' he chokes. 'i’m losing it. i don’t want to hurt you.'
'you’re not going to,' thomas pleads, voice fierce despite the tremor in it. 'i’m not letting you go, newt.'
newt’s fingers claw weakly at thomas’ shirt, torn between violence and instinct. the flare pulls him one way. something older, deeper, pulls him back.
when the others finally restrain him, when the cure is brought out with shaking hands and too much urgency, thomas doesn’t hesitate.
he offers his blood without thinking.
he holds newt down as it’s administered, murmuring apologies into his hair, voice raw and steady all at once. he begs him to stay. he reassures him over and over that he’s here. he tells him everything he refuses to leave unsaid. i love you and please and i’m not going anywhere.
for a long, terrible moment, nothing happens.
then newt gasps, tommy, body jerking beneath him. the rage drains away like a receding tide, leaving exhaustion and heat and something achingly human behind.
thomas sags forward as the fight drains out of him, the strength he’s been borrowing from panic finally giving way. his forehead presses into newt’s shoulder as he sobs, the fabric damp and warm beneath his cheek. for a moment, he can’t tell if the shaking is newt’s or his own.
his hands fist in the back of newt’s shirt, fingers locking tight as if letting go might undo everything. his breath stutters, catches, comes apart entirely. he drags in air in uneven gulps, counting each one against newt’s chest, against the steady rise and fall that proves this is real.
alive. here. still here. newt, newt, newt.
his body is limp with exhaustion now, heavy and human beneath thomas’ weight. his heartbeat thrums against thomas’ ear, fast but solid, no longer frantic. each beat feels like a reprieve granted one second at a time.
thomas closes his eyes, pressing closer, anchoring himself in the warmth of him. the smell of sweat and ash and something unmistakably newt floods his senses. he exhales a sound that might be relief, might be a laugh, might be something in between.
he stays there longer than necessary, longer than anyone asks him to move.
newt is alive.
the words echo in thomas’ head, over and over, until they stop feeling like a miracle and start feeling like a truth he can stand on.
newt is alive.
and thomas stays right where he is, forehead pressed to newt’s shoulder, counting heartbeats until the world feels safe enough to exist in again.
then, somehow, there is an after.
the sky from the safe haven feels too wide at first. thomas keeps expecting walls to rise up and tell him where to stand. the openness presses at his ribs, unfamiliar and uncontained.
newt stands beside him, hands on his hips, eyes narrowed against the light. 'well,' he says, barely above a murmur. 'that’s different.'
they build a small place nearest to the shore. where the sky touches the sea, thomas says it half-broken, afraid the words will vanish once spoken. the hut they claim leans slightly, boards weathered and stubborn
it’s enough, and newt likes it immediately. he taps the makeshift doorframe with his knuckles, testing its solidity. 'feels steady,' he says.
thomas laughs quietly. for the first time in a long while, steady sounds like something they’re allowed to keep.
days slow and mornings stretch, the urgency that once governed everything easing its grip. the light comes in differently here, unhurried, slipping through the cracks in the boards and warming the floor before either of them is fully awake. they learn the shape of the days by repetition instead of alarm.
the rhythm of survival loosens, then fades. meals stop being counted and start being shared. silence stops meaning danger.
newt’s limp eases with time. some days it’s barely there, just a hitch when he’s tired or the ground is uneven. thomas still shortens his stride without realizing it, still adjusts his pace before newt ever has to ask. it’s habit now, woven too deeply to undo.
when they sit together, the space between them grows smaller by degrees—coincidence giving way to comfort, then to something that feels chosen. knees brush, shoulders touch, and neither of them moves away. when one reaches, the other shifts automatically, making room before the movement is finished; hands knock together and linger until even the brush of fingers becomes unremarkable.
they learn the sounds of the place. home becomes waves at night, wind through warped boards, and the quiet creak of the hut settling as the temperature changes.
sometimes at night, when the breeze works its way through the walls, thomas wakes to find newt already awake, staring at the ceiling. it’s in these quiet moments when thomas reaches over and rests his hand near newt’s, close enough to be felt as an invitation. newt always shifts closer on his own, their fingers brushing, lingering, then settling like an anchor before sleep claims him.
one afternoon, thomas pauses in the doorway, watching newt work at the table. sunlight catches in his hair, on the curves of his face, softening the sharp lines thomas remembers from worse days.
'you’re staring,' newt says, without looking up.
'just checking,' thomas replies, honest. if you’re still here—if you’re really here.
newt glances up then and their eyes meet. something unspoken passes between them, easy and familiar, no longer edged with fear. newt looks back down, smiling to himself. the tips of his ears are as pink as the beach roses lining the shore.
later at the campfire, newt stretches his leg out and lets it rest against thomas’. thomas stays still, letting the contact anchor him. the warmth seeps in slowly, steady and grounding.
'd’you ever miss it?' newt asks. the flicker of the flame paints his eyes golden, and thomas is momentarily undone by the quiet fact of him—alive, here, his.
'the maze?' thomas asks.
'no,' newt responds. 'the certainty.'
thomas considers it. the rules. the walls. the terrible clarity of danger. 'i like this better,' he says, slipping his fingers between newt’s. 'even when i don’t know what comes next.'
newt hums, thoughtful, looking at their hands in complete surrender. 'me, too.'
as the night settles, newt leans into thomas, resting his head on a steady and familiar shoulder. thomas traces over newt’s knuckles in a slow rhythm with a thumb, pausing over a pulse that beats for him.
'you know,' newt says quietly after a while. ‘back there, i watched you more than the maze.'
thomas swallows, the admission landing heavy and tender all at once. 'i know. i did, too.’
newt’s tightens his grip around thomas’ hand, fingers curling slowly, somehow always having known where it belongs.
they sit like that as the dark deepens, as the fire slowly burns out, the steady comfort of knowing exactly where the other is. they survived long enough to stop watching for danger. they watch each other, instead, sitting until the last of the light fades.
newt’s breathing evens out. 'when you talked about what came after, i didn’t think we’d get the chance to find out.'
‘i didn’t, either.’ thomas is whispering at this point. 'but i’m glad you’re still here.’
newt turns then, and really looks at him. there’s no fear in his expression now, only resolve and something so much more, only for thomas to see. 'i don’t want to waste it.'
thomas closes what little distance remains between them, a kiss lingering in the quiet as their knees touch. 'i’m right here, newt.’
newt’s hand tightens around his as he pulls thomas closer, a question already answered.