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Another night in the Safe Haven.
Another night spent with Newt.
Newt, the slender, cinnamon blond boy who he’d fallen for the moment he’d laid eyes on him and heard his ridiculous British accent way back in the Glade. The boy who had gone through the Scorch with him. The boy who’d rescued Minho with him, jumped out of a window with him, and then almost died from the Flare virus that had infected him and marred his beautiful, gorgeous pale skin.
The boy who lived.
As Thomas had fought with Newt, the boy who was losing his sanity to the virus and pleading for Thomas to kill him, he’d realized that if Newt died, then he would die too. He couldn’t live without Newt, and in a desperate act he’d struck the knife from Crank-Newt’s hand and grasped his wrists tightly, putting all his strength into wrestling Newt to the ground underneath him.
The horrible screeches and groans that crank-Newt had made pierced his heart, making him want to let go, but he could not, and then Brenda arrived with the serum. To Thomas, she’d looked like an angel, in the fiery hell-hole of a city. When the serum was finally injected into Newt’s veins, the boy had screamed and screamed, each one threatening to bring tears to Thomas’s eyes but he held them back. And finally, when Newt passed out and the others had arrived, Thomas went off to the W.C.K.D base to find Theresa.
Those memories, he wasn’t sure he wanted to think about, narrowly missing getting shot by Janson and then almost losing Theresa. But they’d both survived, in one piece, although their hair and clothes were singed in places and they had multiple scratches and bruises. Thomas had instantly rushed to Newt’s side in the berg, the crank-boy was still unconscious, and he gave him the Cure - and the look of pain on Newt’s face smoothed out and he fell into an even deeper sleep. By the time they got to the Safe Haven, his veins were less swollen and more normal, his eyes had returned to their beautiful shade of brown and his skin was once again fair and pale.
And now, as the sun rose over the ocean and Thomas looked down at the boy sleeping quietly in his arms, arms curled around himself, Thomas realized that he was utterly and completely in love. He was in love with Newt.
He loved his accent. His hair, that waved about in the wind and despite much combing never stayed in place, and was soft. He loved the way that Newt’s body just seamlessly fit into his, like it was always meant to be. He loved the little scar on his left cheek, just under his eye, that was there from when they had escaped the Maze Trials. He loved the thin pink lips which turned up softly in a smile. He loved Newt’s slender wrists that he could easily encircle with his own hand. He loved every part of Newt.
Thomas loved the way he walked. His limp was more pronounced since becoming a crank, and would probably be so for the rest of his life. The Flare had taken a toll on his body, and he was still healing. Thomas would be there for him. For everything. To hold his plate, or his coat, or to help him over some rough ground – Newt was a little unstable when walking sometimes – and to bring him water after working hard in the gardens, and to soothe away any nightmares.
He loved just being in his presence. He would worship the very ground that Newt walked on, but he would probably look like an idiot. Thomas would build a house for Newt, he decided. He deserved it, after all that he’d been through, in the Maze and the Scorch and now the last seven months. Thomas would build it with his own two bare hands. Or at the very least, help to build it – he would have to enlist the help of others. Perhaps he could get Gally to help him, although he half-doubted the tall boy would want to do anything for him. After what happened in the Maze.
A sea breeze hurried past them underneath the tent, making Newt shiver. Thomas pulled the soft blanket further up over his shoulders and Newt snuggled down into it, still sleeping soundly. Newt got cold easily. Thomas however, was always quite warm. He wrapped his arms around Newt, wanting to keep him warm and safe. Perhaps, when the house was done, he could propose to Newt. The unexpected thought made him jolt. He’d never really thought about having a partner before, a boyfriend or girlfriend, except maybe with Theresa. But now she was constantly avoiding him, always talking with Aris or Harriet, and making friends with others that he didn’t know. Despite everything she’d done, she was doing her best to make it up to them by throwing herself into the community work. But enough of her. Newt was the one he truly loved.
Of course, the house would be his engagement present to Newt, and then an engagement would lead to marriage, and - What if he said no? What if Newt didn’t want to be with him? What if Thomas was imagining everything and it was all one-sided?
He thought back to their time in the Glade. The way Newt had looked at him just before they rushed towards the Grievers guarding the way out of the Maze. When he’d caught Newt staring at him too many times to count, before the boy quickly looked away, cheeks sometimes flushing a light pink. All the times when they were in danger, Newt had reached out for him, or pushed himself closer. When he’d followed him out of the Maze into the Scorch, and gone with him on his journey to rescue Minho. He remembered a certain part of Newt’s letter.
"But from the moment you ran into the Maze, I knew I would follow you anywhere. And I have.”
Newt stirred a little, slowly waking up. He was a heavy sleeper, but for the nightmares that had started coming in the night. His fingers tightened around the blanket, and slowly he stretched, groaning a little, eyes still shut. Then they fluttered open, revealing sleepy dark brown eyes.
“Morning, Newt,” Thomas said in a low voice, trailing a light hand over the boy’s hair. Everyone else was still asleep. Newt smiled up at him, and Thomas felt his heart leap.
“Morning,” the boy replied quietly, and the way he looked at him made Thomas feel almost certain that the feelings were mutual.
“May I kiss you?” he asked, deliberately, withdrawing his hand from Newt’s hair. He wanted the boy to feel like he had an out, and he didn’t want to force him into anything. He just couldn’t wait any longer to ask.
Newt’s mouth dropped open in shock, and his cheeks turned red. Finally he muttered something incomprehensible, and Thomas had to lean in.
“Say it again,” Thomas whispered, “I didn’t hear you.”
“Yes, please,” Newt said again, turning his eyes up to Thomas’s. The dark haired boy leaned in slowly, smiling as Newt’s eyes fell shut and he tilted his head to the side a little.
Then Newt felt Thomas’s lips on his, and he gasped and pressed his lips forward. Their first kiss didn’t feel like fireworks going off. It was a little messy, a little unsure on Newt’s part, but Thomas gently guided him on what to do, putting two careful fingers under his chin and tilting his head up slightly. Then Thomas broke away.
“Was that alright?” he asked Newt softly, whose face was quite pink. Newt bit his lip and nodded shyly. “Wonderful.”
Thomas let out a quiet laugh. He gave Newt another slow, soft kiss, and then pulled him close to his chest, letting Newt snuggle down into him, and they watched the sun finish rising together.