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His smile had enveloped Thomas in a wave of reassurance.
Thomas had been suffocating, the swarm of sweaty, jeering bodies had closed in and panic had filled his lungs like smoke.
Seeing a lanky boy, with kind eyes and an understanding smile was like a fresh air, and Thomas could breathe again.
The leader, Alby he had called himself, had spoken in harsh tongues and heavy words. Barking at Thomas and causing anxiety to swell in his chest again. The boy with the funny accent had been warmer, easier, joking and saying words of comfort, covering him in a blanket of sanctuary.
"Name's Newt, Greenie, and we'd be right cheery if ya'd forgive our klunk-for-brains new leader here"
Newt
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His leg, that damned leg. That damned, blessed leg.
He would have got there in time; his arms could have wrapped around Thomas with a vice grip; words of lecture spilling from his lips.
But he didn't get there on time, of course he didn't. Not with that leg.
The right wall was closing fast, seeming to quicken it's pace the more he willed it to slow down. There were only seconds left until it shut completely.
Thomas turned to look at Newt: limping along as well he could, he'd only made it halfway to Thomas. The desperation on Newt's face made Thomas' spine crawl with guilt, his leg working pathetically to no avail, an emulation of Thomas' thoughts.
"Don't do it, Tommy! Don't you bloody do it!"
Sorry, Newt
Thomas could hardly hear the doors slam behind him over his own beating heart.
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His eyebrows were furrowed with concentration, the mental battle he was having painted on his face in bright colours.
"Fine" Newt responded, after Minho had relentlessly argued his case, "Give it a month and see if he proves himself".
Thomas felt a shiver of excitement, the air suddenly felt lighter, the room seemed brighter, Newt looked prettier.
"Thanks, Newt" It came out breathless. It was if Newt was different. Thomas' overwhelming gratitude towards Newt had caused Newt to suddenly merge, his hair changed golden and his skin began to glow.
Thomas was going to be a runner, Thanks to Newt.
Thomas could kiss him.
Thomas wanted to kiss him.
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His hand gripped tightly round Thomas'.
They laughed lightly, looking into each other's eyes with their cheeks dusted in pink. The night was chill but the two boys burned with new found passion.
Thomas' stomach had been dancing with butterflies and a cold sweat had covered his skin. Trembling hands had climbed the ladder, grasping for the boy at the top who had greeted him with a smile. That smile. His smile.
The stars had twinkled for Thomas, motivating him through his stuttering, spluttering speech that wasn't anything like he'd rehearsed yet it was everything it should had been.
They were nervous, god were they nervous. But they were excited, the touch of their hands had surrounded them with sparks and a flame was lit, one that would surely never die out, one so strong and young and so, so right.
"Good that"
Yes, yes it was.
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His hair was plastered to his forehead, sweat dripping down the golden strands.
They were nearly out, they were so close.
But the grievers were relentless. The screech of their oncoming claws penetrated Thomas' brain. His head was going to burst, figure out the code, fight the grievers, where's Newt? Where's Newt! Get out, get out, get out.
Minho shouted the numbers to the code as they all fought with little precision and extreme desperation. Thomas' eyes landed on Newt, he was pinned beneath the arms of a griever, his hair falling into his wide, fearful eyes.
Thomas’ heart plummeted
No, not him.
Thomas clamoured his way over to Newt, his legs slipping out under him. Newt was getting further away the closer Thomas got, the griever closed in on him the more tears slipped onto Thomas' cheeks.
The scream of the griever fell deaf onto Thomas' ears as all he could think about was Newt. His hands frantically ran over Newt's body checking for injuries, finding only the fear clouding his deep eyes.
The door opened.
Thomas grabbed Newt's hand, and they ran.
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His lips were parted, letting out deep breaths and broken moans.
Thomas' thumb reached up to trace over his bottom lip, swollen from their passion filled kisses. He pushed his thumb forward, allowing Newt to close his lips over, another moan leaving deep in his throat.
"T...Tommy- fuck"
Thomas' lips traced down Newt's neck, sucking, biting, kissing, trying to get closer, closer; his thrusts increased in pace as Newt's moans got higher and louder.
Thoughts of WCKD and cranks and the scorch evaporated when they did this, it was the only time they could be them. It could be just Thomas and Newt.
"I love you"
Newt's fingernails dug deep into Thomas' back, and his back arched, as he came with a loud gasp.
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His cheeks glistened with tears.
It had been the wrong one, the wrong carriage, Minho wasn't there.
Thomas had found him that evening, curled in on himself, quietly crying. Thomas was quick to wrap his arms around his lover, around his friend.
His thumb had run over his cheek, and he had whispered sweet lies into his ear as he had kissed him over the tear streaks.
The walls had broken, and Newt had sobbed to Thomas. Everything. Everything that had built up inside him. He talked and talked until his throat was raw and his breathing had become uncontrollable.
Thomas had wrapped his arms around Newt later that night, and he grew reminiscent of their first meeting.
He let out a chuckle at the memory.
Now, Newt was the one being comforted by Thomas, old Newt would have laughed.
They were going to be okay.
But they weren't.
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His chest rose and fell lightly.
An angelic glow of peace and life surrounded Newt as Thomas watched his long eyelashes splayed out on his cheek and his lips were slightly parted.
This was the only time Thomas could see Newt like this. His face relaxed and what could almost be considered a smile upon his lips. Other times his eyebrows were furrowed, frown lines creased into his forehead, and his mouth had a permanent frown.
The warmth that had blossomed in Thomas' chest turned hollow and cold as Newt began to stir awake.
And God did Thomas wish he could've stay asleep a little longer.
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His tongue spat venom.
They were stood on either side of the room, battling with words to hurt each other. Newt had been getting more and more angry and Thomas had been getting more and more frustrated.
Eventually a small clash exploded into sharp words and red heat, burning deeper, deeper.
Fighting would get them nowhere, Thomas knew this. And he knew he shouldn't be fighting back. But he had been lonely. Newt wouldn't touch him anymore, wouldn't tease and flirt with him, would make love to him. And he was angry.
"I hate you, I bloody hate you"
And then the anger was gone.
Thomas had left the room without another word, leaving Newt to scream and beg behind him to forgive him.
I didn't mean it, I'm sorry Tommy
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His body trembled.
“Just come with me,” Thomas begged. “I’ll tie you up if it makes you feel better."
His veins turned black.
“Just shut up, you shuck
traitor! Didn’t you read my note? You can’t do one last, lousy thing for me? Gotta be the hero, like
always? I hate you! I always hated you!”
His muscles spasmed.
"After all I did for you, after all the freaking klunk I
went through in the bloody Maze, you can’t do the one and only thing I’ve ever asked you to do! I can’t
even look at your ugly shuck face!”
His teeth bared.
"KILL ME!"
His eyes cleared,
As if he'd gained one last trembling gasp of sanity, and his voice softened,
"Please, Tommy. Please"