Work Text:
Thomas had never anticipated the level of pure, primeval, panic that was having one of your senses snatched away. Confusion quickly turned into terror. For the rain made no noise as the storm wept with guilt, the boy had no footfalls and all Thomas had left of his whole universe's beautiful voice was the echo traced back to his lips.
Thomas had panicked. Mourned the loss of something so basic that he thought he'd have forever. After the initial, terrible shock Thomas descended into a state of numb disbelief.
I can't hear anything Newt!
He re-lived watching the lighting arch towards Minho, how he had screamed a warning a little too late, the cacophony of the impact, the feeling of being weightless then slammed back down to earth and the horrible relentless ringing that cancelled out everything over and over again. The worst part of it all was that Thomas knew deep down no matter what Newt swore that he was now a liability. He was a weak link, dead weight. They couldn't afford that out here. How could he lead them now?
The confrontation with Jorge and Brenda was a blur to him.
I can't hear anything, why can't I hear?
He remembered Newt's hand rubbing small circles on his hip bone as he tried to make out what Brenda was saying when she was facing him. He remembered the weird look she gave him and how Newt snapped at her. Or he thought he did judging on Brenda's expression and how Newt's hand around his waist tightened almost protectively. It made him feel even worse.
When they were settling in for the night Thomas finally managed to really process the fact that he'd most likely never be able to hear again. He'd never be able to listen to sand shift and the wind whistle over the dunes. He'd never be able to hear the mumble of creeks and the crackle of fire. He'd never be able to hear Minho's sassy remarks, Frypans comments and Teresa's quiet whispers. He'd never be able to hear Newt's comforting, smooth voice ever again. Newt's accent fell on ears, robbed of the joy of hearing his laughter. Their voices were already fading. Why hadn’t he paid more attention?
A quiet so great it felt like it was screaming had its hands wrapped around his head and it would never let go. Thomas wanted to yell, cry, scream. But he knew no sound could be heard. He'd cried as quietly as he could. Meaning he clamped his jaw shut and covered his mouth and hoped he was quiet.
He felt a gentle tug on his jacket and started slightly. Turning he saw Newt kneeling beside him, sadness engulfing his eyes. Thomas was either being louder than he'd thought or Newt had some kind of 5th sense. Thomas wouldn't be surprised by either. He turned his head to the side, away from Newt. He didn't want to be seen like this.
Newt's body heat inched nearer and he rested a hand on his shoulder. When Thomas didn't react Newt laid down beside him. His right side pressed up against Thomas's left. His hand traced his way up to Thomas's shoulder then neck to rest gently on his jawline. It sent a shiver through him that he'd usually pay more attention too. Reluctantly, Thomas turned on his side to face Newt. He knew he wouldn't be left alone otherwise.
Newt reached up and cupped his face with both hands, using his thumbs to gently wipe away tears still falling. Thomas blinked slowly, exhaustion taking hold. 'Oh, Tommy,’ Newt mouthed, he looked sad, sad on his part. Thomas closed his eyes. He didn't want whatever condolences Newt had. His shoulders shook slightly and Newt shifted against him, probably turning onto his side, and pulled him into a hug. Thomas buried his face in Newts neck and let sleep consume him as Newt traced his spine.
Newt and Thomas, Thomas and Newt.
Why can't I hear you Newt?
-
"We need to find shelter, water and food."
“We need to find shelter, water and food.”
"Minho is walking with Brenda, and I am walking with Newt. Frypan and Jorge are arguing about pasta up at the front."
"Say that one again."
Newt trudged along on the sand, Thomas beside him. It had been almost a week since the storm and Thomas was bouncing back quickly. Newt felt a swell of pride at the sight of him so eager to learn to read lips. He still looked pale and bleary-eyed however and there was a tightness around his mouth that hinted his carefree attitude was somewhat forced. Most of all, Newt knew that Thomas thought of himself as lesser now and Newt was prepared to convince him otherwise using whatever means necessary.
"Minho is walking with Brenda, I am walking with Newt. Frypan and Jorge are arguing about pasta up at the front," Newt repeated as Thomas stared intently at his lips. They'd quite quickly mastered single words and simple sentences and had moved onto more complex sentences. Thomas was making progress extremely fast and was barely paying attention to where he was walking. Newt had saved him from nearly tripping multiple times. Thomas repeated the sentence perfectly. Newt smiled and nodded. Thomas lit up like the sun. Newt hated how something so bad had happened to someone so undeserving.
At first, Thomas had refused to talk. He knew that his voice would sound off slightly because he couldn't hear himself and seemed embarrassed about it. Newt had snapped him out of it by refusing to take any answer that wasn't vocal. It had led to a lot of frustrated hand gestures and death glares. Newt, for once, had come out on top of the silent, stubborn war. Newt would often sneak over to sleep with Thomas when he knew he was having a harder time. Night was when Thomas's walls went down and he stopped pretending he was fine. Newt hoped he was helping.
As they walked Newt got increasingly aware of the fact that Thomas was staring at his lips. At first, Thomas would make eye contact and would only flick down to his lips when Newt was talking. Now his gaze rested firmly on them. That doesn't mean anything he chastised himself. Newts gaze flickered down to Thomas's lips. Thomas had a nice mouth. Newt stuttered in the middle of a sentence. Thomas glanced up in confusion. Thomas had really nice eyes too.
"Hey, guys!" Frypan yelled.
Newt looked up, Thomas followed the motion. Frypan was waving an arm at them while Minho stood next to him with crossed arms.
"You might want to see this."
"Coming," Newt yelled back then explained to Thomas what was going on. Together they jogged forward. The moment passed but not forgotten.
-
Minho was tired of Newt and Thomas' shit. He'd always noticed their not so platonic undertones, probably a lot more than they did themselves. But after the storm, the tension was off the charts. It was absolutely ridiculous. Minho could remember through a haze of pain how Newt had cradled Thomas as he yelled over and over again that he couldn't hear. A dark liquid trickled down his earlobes.
Everyone had stared, unsure and scared. Newt had muttered words too quiet for him to hear and slowly Thomas calmed down. But Minho could see the all-consuming fear bubbling under the surface. Thomas looked far away and dazed. Newt had clung to him like an octopus for the rest of the night. Minho had felt so damn helpless. He had no idea what to do, no one did. Minho was scared the broken expression Thomas wore wasn't skin deep.
He'd clung to the idea that this was temporary. Thomas would get better, his hearing would return and Minho wouldn't have to worry if that far away look in his eyes would never leave. He wouldn't have to think about how it was his fault.
Newt was missing from his usual sleeping spot between him and Frypan. Minho felt even more helpless. The day after he had followed Newt's lead, quickly joining in on the trend of only accepting verbal responses and never letting Thomas walk off on his own. While they had tried to hide it everyone knew Thomas was vulnerable to crank attacks now.
Minho could tell he hated it, hated their mothering, their constant checkups, their pity. He'd seen it with Newt after the accident. So, to compensate, Minho had thrown tasteless joke after tasteless joke at him until Brenda judged him, Frypan cringed and Newt bristled.
Thomas never told him to back off. Minho was pretty sure he told Newt not to fight him because the death glares eventually stopped. He was relieved, that meant that Thomas knew he was trying to normalize it and was okay with his methods. Knowing that he was helping Thomas, even if it was small, overcome the mountain that had been thrown at him was worth judgment.
Most times Minho, in between tormenting Thomas over it, forgot he was deaf. Until he yelled for his attention and got no answer, talked while not facing him or caught Thomas starting at someone lips did it come crashing back. Thomas was making progress though. He was getting less obvious about reading lips and had started smiling again even laughing.
The spark had started shining in his eyes again and Thomas's episodes of wistful sadness were becoming less frequent. All around, things were looking up. Except Thomas and Newt's pining had reached new heights and Minho made a deal with himself. If they didn't resolve it soon he'd do it for them.
-
Newt didn't really know what his relationship with Thomas was anymore. He wasn't an idiot, he'd noticed the looks Thomas threw at him, He noticed the softness that crept into Thomas's voice and eased the corners of his eyes when he made Newt smile. He remembered all the charged eye contact and sleepless nights of the glade.
Newt had picked up on the signs alright but part of him held back. Sure, Newt felt his heart stop for a beat when Thomas laughed or how something as simple as Thomas smiling at him would make his day so much brighter. He felt the creep of jealousy when Thomas gravitated towards Teresa. He had met those gazes with equal force. Newt was well aware that he'd follow his Tommy down into the pits of hell itself. Newt wondered dryly how much worse that could be or if they were already at rock bottom.
And yet something held him back. Did he want to change their relationship? The bond Newt had with the people around him was the only thing keeping him going at this point. Changing what he and Thomas were could lead to happiness beyond his imagination or, it could fall apart and Newt knew his world would be shattered. Newt didn't think he could be just friends with Thomas if they didn't work and that would fracture the team dynamic and put everyone at risk. Thomas and Newt were a pair, they balanced each other out. One couldn't lead without the other.
Another part of him, a darker side, dragged its way up from its corner in his mind whispering horrors as it sat, leering and hunched over on his shoulder.
Look around Newt. it crooned, look how many are left. Almost all of the people you loved are dead. And the ugly little creature dragged up memories of boys long gone, boys Newt used to think he'd give the world too and boys he’d laughed with by a blazing bonfire in another life.
Maybe you're cursed. You wouldn't want that for dear old Tommy now would you? The closer you get to him the more both of you are going to get hurt. Distance yourself while you can.
And Newt would bite his lip.
Like magic something as small as a brief tap on his wrist from a finger he could somehow recognize would end up just as effective as if Thomas had chased the creature away while beating it with a broom. It was never gone, not really. It would always find a way to crawl onto his shoulder again and tug on his earlobe with scaly fingers, but he allowed a brief sigh of relief. Thomas would smile that beautiful, heart-stopping smile that told Newt the world just might be okay again. And still, Newt hesitated.
-
Thomas was starting to get impatient.
Contrary to popular belief he wasn't an idiot, well not a total one anyway. The night of the storm had gotten him to re-evaluate his relationship with Newt. It had sown a seed of hope that after all, it wasn't one-sided. Thomas could feel the tension between them, snapping, snarling and charged. Yet they remained frustratingly separate.
Thomas was starting to get impatient.
He'd picked up on the signs. He knew him and Newt were on the edge of becoming more, could very easily be more. Yet Newt, just as they were about to hurdle over the barrier would pull back.
Thomas was getting impatient.
Several times during the long days of walking and even longer nights he'd envisioned throwing Newt over that line. He'd dreamed of running up to him and settling all of this weirdness between them, preferably with the use of his mouth somewhere his mouth had wanted to be the moment he'd laid eyes on Newt back in the glade.
The maze felt like such a lifetime ago, it probably was one. They'd all changed so much from the people they were those days. They'd hardened, closed off, grew, shrank. Thomas wondered if he met a version of Newt that wasn't, well, wasn't tainted, would that Newt even like the person Thomas had become?
Sensing he was being watched Thomas looked up to meet Newt's eye. Something boiled under his intense gaze. Thomas didn't break eye contact. Newt looked away.
Thomas was impatient.
-
Newt and Thomas were on a supply run together. The group had stopped in a seemingly deserted town and had taken the opportunity to gather resources. The others had been hesitant to let the two go alone. That was what they said aloud anyway. Everyone knew that Thomas would have trouble fighting if he couldn't hear it coming. Minho, surprisingly, had backed their attempts to convince the others it would be fine.
"It makes more sense." He had argued. "We cover more ground this way."
Teresa looked unsure, she opened her mouth hesitantly. Minho glowered at her. Teresa closed her mouth. Newt glanced over at Thomas who had been silently following the exchange. He looked touched. As they were leaving Minho cast a meaningful look at Newt then at Thomas then back to Newt. Newt performed a gesture he vaguely remembered was rude.
That was how they found themselves walking the lonely streets that might have been downtown of a place that once had a name. Despite the tension of the last few weeks, the two fell into easy conversation. Thomas was almost perfect at reading lips now, Newt only had to repeat or exaggerate mouth movements once or twice.
He was on edge, he ran a finger along the cool metal of his gun's handle tucked in his back pocket. If Thomas noticed - he probably did - he didn't let on. Newt wasn't worried about Thomas in a fight, he was just as strong as ever. Something about the seemingly quiet town got to him. He felt the hairs on his neck shiver to attention.
They stopped at a likely place. The building's architecture was different from the buildings around it. Newt squinted up at giant signs perched atop the building proclaiming it a 1950’s style diner. Newt peered into the dust tinted windows. Thomas looked over his shoulder. He suddenly felt too close. Newt's skin burned. Thomas leaned in a little closer and Newt could feel his gaze burning into the side of his head. Newt refused to meet it, his palms starting to sweat.
After a few more seconds of Newt peering into the window and eternally panicking he steeled himself and met Thomas's gaze. They were so close, too close, mere inches apart.
"Looks like it might be worth it yeah Tommy?" Newt really hoped his voice was steadier than it sounded to his ears.
Thomas's face was unreadable. His gaze was intense. Newt felt the urge to look away or take a step back. A million different expressions seemed to flash across Thomas's face, all too fast for Newt to grasp. Thomas was still too close, not close enough. Newt was at war with himself. Thomas wet his lips. Newt followed the motion. Like a slot machine hitting a jackpot Thomas' face stilled in an expression of careful indifference.
"It looks like it might be. Diner normally goes hand in hand with food right? And it doesn't look like it's been picked clean." Thomas spoke surprisingly easy. The moment passed but not forgotten. The only reminder that it had happened was how his expression seemed just slightly off. A tightness around his eyes maybe? Then Thomas turned and walked inside, pushing the door open. Newt had no idea what just happened and he didn't think he would for a long time.
The inside of the diner was candy coloured and dusty. White and neon blue booths lined the walls and a bar surrounded by cherry and steel stools led to the kitchen. Light filtered through the tinted windows, bathing everything in a warm glow. It took a few moments of blinking before Newt's eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness. The place smelt weird, neither bad nor good.
Thomas was already observing the checkered floor and cracked vinyl booths. Newt decided to stop staring and follow his example. He picked up a faintly sticky menu, paged through its contents and examined a plastic statue of some guy Newt assumed was Elvis Presley if the label on the bottom was telling the truth.
The two boys stopped caring about food and water for a moment, too caught up in guessing what a world they were never part of looked like from the sad scraps it had left behind. Thomas found a pair of pineapple sunglasses. He put them on, peered into a piece of reflective metal and laughed softly. Newt looked up from where he was prodding illustrations covering the walls while ignoring a suspicious stain and snorted.
Thomas shot him finger guns and bloody hell how can someone look so ridiculous and beautiful at the same time. It seemed in that quiet relic of an age long dead Newt and Thomas found parts of themselves they might have been in another life, in another reality. Newt geeked out over a comic book and started to get creeped out by Elvis's constant watching.
Thomas had rummaged under the counter and pulled out a pair of roller skates, he stared at them for a moment then kicked off his boots. Newt watched him flail around for a bit before he found his footing. Muscle memory maybe?<\i>He turned to smile triumphantly at Newt, forgot to look where he was going and crashed into a table. Newt howled with laughter as Thomas mourned the now broken sunglasses.
At that moment they were Newt and Thomas, Thomas and Newt, and he knew he wouldn't take anything in exchange for this.
Newt’s worries vanished. How could anything go wrong between them? Because no matter what they did and how they evolved together they would always be Thomas and Newt, Newt and Thomas. Together in that room as they laughed, they were unstoppable.
Newt had started rummaging around for food in the kitchen, still drunk on happiness. Thomas was off raiding the bathrooms. Newt had found several canned goods. He was feeling quite pleased. He stepped over a rat skittering across the floor to the serving window. He placed the cans on the counter and hit the bell, calling out,
"Order up!" Because he could.
Newt stuck his head out of the window and felt his lopsided grin fade. Thomas was standing in front of a large box. It was made of wood and was as lavishly decorated as the rest of the diner. Near the top, it rounded off in a semicircle fronted by glass. Thomas looked forlorn, cradling a mason jar filled with coins. The sunlight illuminated one side of him, turning his hair into a mix of dark brown and coconut fuzz. Newt jumped over the counter and slowly approached him. He reached out and put a hand on Thomas' shoulder. His eyes flickered over to meet Newt's than back again. After a moment of quiet Thomas spoke.
"It's a jukebox," He said, voice barely a whisper. Newt could tell this was important.
"It's an old way to play music." Thomas's voice was emotionless and metallic. Newt's hand tightened. Thomas reached out and tapped the glass.
"And that's a record player, also called a turntable. My parents owned one. I was about to," Thomas broke off, holding the jar aloft for Newt to see.
"Then I remembered."
Newt gently took the jar and fished out a handful of change. He stuffed it into the slot and begged the thing was battery operated. The face of the jukebox lit up dimly. Thomas blinked and stared at Newt in confusion.
"In case you've forgotten I just so happen to be deaf now," Thomas drawled. Newt shook his head and scanned the songs.
"Do you recognise any of these?" Newt asked. Thomas just shrugged helplessly. Newt glanced back at the jukebox then back to Thomas who was staring at him like he was waiting for the punchline.
"Well I don't either," Newt admitted and selected a random song. A large disk was lowered onto the record player's table and the needle settled itself into the carved grooves. A soft static filled the room. As the drum started to kick and a guitar started to sing of heartbreak Newt described what he heard.
He found the terms and names for instruments came easily. Thomas seemed to be following along just fine. Newt had a moment to wonder if either of them ever knew how to play an instrument. Would they still know if they came across one?
Words flowed from his mouth in time with the warbling music. He tapped out the beat. As the song went on Thomas relaxed into it. His face softened. They found themselves closer and closer until Newt was tapping out the beat on Thomas's hands. They swayed gently on the spot. Newt knew it was all slightly ridiculous. Thomas couldn't hear the music and Newt's descriptions could only do so much.
But they could pretend for a moment that they were normal teens, skipping school to eat lunch at a diner themed on a time period that couldn't be farther away. They might share a milkshake and laugh about the wild things their friends had done this week, talk about their ambitions and a future they could share. They'd dance to music they didn't listen to while the waiters rolled their eyes fondly.
It was so close, Newt could see it in his mind's eye.
It was so far, Thomas and Newt, Newt and Thomas.
The song ended, they stilled.
Newt remembered that could never be them, Thomas broke the eye contact he hadn't realised they had been keeping. Thomas's eyes darted around for a second, then he seemed to make up his mind.
"The thing," he started. Newt waited.
"The thing I was the saddest about losing wasn't music," Thomas spoke ever so quietly like he didn't want to disturb the bubble of peace they had made for themselves.
"Yeah?" Newt encouraged.
Thomas's eyes met his, they were still so close.
"It was your voice."
They hung in the balance for a moment. They stood on that line and Thomas was pushing, pushing, pushing. Newt wasn't sure if he wanted to yank himself backwards or allow himself to go tumbling forward.
Thomas was so close, he shouldn't be this close, he shouldn't be this far away. Thomas swallowed and continued.
"Your accent. I miss it so much. It's kind of a miracle you've kept it all these years. I guess you were just as stubborn about it like everything else." Thomas laughed breathlessly. Newt noticed his mouth felt dry.
"I miss your laugh Newt." Thomas was pushing, pushing, pushing. Walk away. Tumble forward.
"Your laugh is my freaking universe Newt." Thomas had pushed him over the edge. He was falling. He realized he didn't mind. Newt reached out and grabbed Thomas's face with both hands.
"If we're gonna be cheesy about it." Newt's voice cracked. Tumbling. falling. push. Newt lurched forward and finally, finally, kissed the boy before him. It was everything he had envisioned it to be. It was coming home. It was realising that while you've been desperately searching for it you've been home all along. Because your home isn't a place, not really.
They broke apart reluctantly.
"Then I guess I'll say yours is mine too," Newt finished breathlessly. Thomas blinked at him, then he grinned and Newt realized he had never seen Thomas this happy before. It was a real shame, Thomas had the perfect face for it.
"Took you long enough," Thomas accused. Newt just smiled sheepishly.
"Though honestly, I'd have done it if you hadn't," Thomas continued.
"Minho's gonna be happy," Newt muttered darkly.
"Happy is an understatement. He's gonna cry tears of joy. We were infuriating him," Thomas laughed. And just like that, they slipped back into their rhythm. It was easy. So, so easy. Things weren't perfect of course, things would never be perfect. They were both battered and fractured, on the edge of shattering completely, Newt hoped they might be able to put each other back together.
Newt and Tommy, Tommy and Newt.
As they walked hand in hand Newt threw aside worries of pain on the horizon.
Tommy and Newt, Newt and Tommy.
It was easy.
They were unstoppable.