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"I'll go out there again tomorrow. Minho's asked me," Thomas stated to Newt, for no reason in particular. Still, Newt frowns.
"Shouldn't you let the runners handle that? I'm sure Minho hasn't asked you. You just want my confirmation to tell him I gave in. I won't. Just don't go." Newt looks at Thomas as he says this, but the other is averting his eyes, staring into the fireplace until his eyes hurt.
"We won't get out, you know. Do you want that?" Thomas looks at Newt. He looks rather calm even though he's been stressed out before.
Newt sighs. Scoots closer. "I want you to stay safe, Thomas. That's more important than anything. Even getting out, I don't care, I care that you're safe. The runners have been training, I just don't think you're used to it yet. You will be. Minho will help you."
Thomas only sighs in frustration and gets up. "Thanks, but I'll talk to Minho again, and Alby."
"They won't tell you anything different, you know that. Thomas, this is for your best. I'm only having your best interests at heart," he says with a smile as Thomas departs.
After Thomas walks over to Minho where Newt can't hear him anymore, he looks at the fire of the fireplace. It's weird, everything that's been happening around here. Even Thomas... he's already made Newt care so much. He cared about everybody a lot and he knows Thomas does too, but there was something about Thomas, who cared too much about everybody else.
He can't help but feel this way. He doesn't know what it is, doesn't even want to name it, but he knows it's there and it terrifies him. He can't remember ever having felt like this and that's the worst. He tries to stop it. It won't go anywhere, and that, he knows for sure. There would be nobody who'd feel that way for him. Not even Thomas, who might care about him but not the way Newt about him.
Thomas is the reason Newt lives on. He couldn't tell him that ever, or let him know in any way, because it would only put pressure on him. To be one's reason to live. He's already got too much of that anyway. Even though he lets nobody show. He's way too courageous, that boy. Or silly. There was hardly a difference. Stupid boy.
"Every little thing will be okay."
Thomas has told him that once. He still doesn't know how much of that is true. He hopes at least for Tommy it will be. Newt doesn't need a happy ending. Thomas's would be enough for him to hope for. He would hope for as much.
Newt never thought he'd be the sort of person who'd get a happy ending. Thomas is, though. It's in all of that courageous blood spilled all over, like an oath. The eventual good life had to be promised to him. Because of all the good he's done.
He couldn't dare to lose Thomas to the maze. He just couldn't. He wouldn't be able to survive that. Would probably never recover.
Everything about Thomas felt good and right to him. It's a weird feeling when you've only ever felt wrong about yourself.
Suddenly he hears Thomas's laugh because he probably would recognize it in any crowded room, if he'd ever get to be in one. But it's a foreign feeling building up in his heart, seeing Thomas laugh with somebody else. At ease and funny in a way he's been with Newt quite rarely. Though Newt found he loved the sound of it. It might have been the best thing he's ever heard.
Newt desperately wants to know what he's laughing about; what's got him to be so happy all of a sudden, but he can't find a reason except his beating heart. Not anything he could mention to Thomas anyway. This would have to be it. Them working together against the maze. Maybe friends. That would have to be it. Newt could live with that. He doesn't have a choice. That ought to be enough for him.
He finds it isn't. Not really. Not at all. A couple weeks later and he still finds himself drawing in breaths whenever Thomas is around. He finds himself not being able what to do with his hands because he kind of just wants to put them all over his body. He also doesn't know what to do in general because he might be dying in this. Because of his dying heart but also because of the maze. Also because now he has to worry about Thomas maybe not coming back. He's working on the field when he's gone and stares into the void. He just counts the seconds until the doors close and just prays for Thomas to come back safely.
Of course Minho's soon easily agreed to Thomas becoming a runner. No one is as brave and stupid as that boy. Newt should have known. But he's good; he seems to be making some progress with the runners. Newt had obviously agreed as well after some time. He had to. For the benefit of the team. Still, that didn't mean he couldn't anticipate Thomas coming back safely like a child waiting for the sun to come back during a storm. He used to be afraid of the thunder. Maybe that's got something to do with it.
Still, that didn't mean he couldn't hug Thomas every time he came back as if it could be the last time they'd see each other. He could hold onto him for as long as he could, and he would.
He thought about how Tommy reminded him of sunshine. The very first rays in spring. The first swim in the summer. Birds chirping, waves crashing. Pink clouds and magnolias. Collecting seashells. Stepping on warm sand. Smiling through the sun. Laughing until it hurts. He's like fresh air. A mint tea. Slow dance music. Long dreams. Early mornings. Nights to remember. He reminded him of sunshine.
With Thomas on the team he got the impression everybody around felt safer. It's like they were all kept in his armor and the bond grew stronger every day. They trusted him because they all knew they could. So they did.
Maybe they are all doing it for these little moments where they get to discover something beautiful. For Newt, one day that was Thomas. He knows he doesn't have a lot of his memories, but he still knows he'll never cherish any memories more than the ones where Tommy is with him. He's thought about that for a while now and it became more true every time he thinks about it.
He thinks of Thomas as the precious and wild boy, that's almost never his. There is no time for Newt when he's anywhere at all when he doesn't know where exactly Thomas stands. He has never been this aware of a person in his life. He finds himself smiling at his every sentence. He smiles because of solely his presence.
Sometimes he wishes he was a poet just so he could actually write down all the things he's feeling. Maybe Thomas could understand then, how much he really meant to Newt. He's a golden boy. He's so beautiful in this raw but captivating way. How could he overcome all these feelings still raging like a storm inside of him? He doesn't have to move on for his life to go on, right?
His eyes; they're full of stars. Sometimes Newt thinks he's only imagining it, like he imagines his stares to be longing or his touches to be on purpose. He thinks it's his mind playing tricks on him, but he really is starry-eyed, or so he believes. Newt wants to cry, looking at the midnight sky whenever he catches Tommy's eyes across the field and he can't breathe for a second. He's afraid anybody's catching on. But then again, he's so obvious with his loving.
Thomas had his hand on his back once and he was afraid he'd choke and shivered at his touch. Too intimate and delicate that he'd cry. He would feel like this as long as the birds sing. Tommy kind of looked like that. Like the birds sing.
Newt is feeling pathetic. He is at the fireplace a couple days later and he sees Thomas. He's just waiting for Thomas to go sit next to him but he's busy. He wonders if he'll ever stop crumbling at the sight of him. Whether he'll always check his pulse when he laughs. The rapid beating against his chest that hurts more the longer he looks at him. And to see his foolish beautiful smile. He thinks what a fool Thomas is for never having noticed Newt staring at him for so long. He's glad on one hand but on the other, maybe he'd finally realize.
Thomas is everywhere and Newt can't stop it from happening. Of course not. But he can't even stop his heart now. It's heavy in his body and he just feels like it's dragging him down. Soon he's only sulking and dragging himself on the floor. He doesn't want to see Tommy in everything he sees but he does and he hates it. He can't talk, he can only think of every look Thomas has ever cast in his direction. Though he knows Thomas could never count the ones Newt gave him. There would be a million. Longing glances. Stolen stares. Never his. Never mind.