Archive of Our Own

Age 6

The concrete walls are boring, he deduces, but not very welcoming. He decides that he doesn’t like it here, for he’s been here for more than three days but they haven’t let him out yet. The people in the white coats keep on calling him Thomas, but that’s not his name, despite everything he tells them.

He lets them call him Thomas now, and he’s slowly forgetting his actual name. The nagging feeling in the back of his brain telling him that this is all so, so wrong is too faint for him to realize. The rest of him knows that these people would never lie to him. That’s what they said.

Thomas. My name is Thomas.

Age 7

They’ve decided to let him learn. Alone. Despite all of his pleas and temper tantrums, they wouldn’t let him learn with other kids. He doesn’t even get to eat lunch with them, but he hears the screams and shouts of laughter from his “cell”. While they get to eat at the cafeteria, poor Thomas gets to eat in his “cell”.

It’s been over a year since he’s seen his parents. He wonders if they’re okay.

The doctors reassure him that he will eat with the other kids soon, but he’s not sure whether he should believe them. He’s learned now that even adults will lie sometimes, even though he knows it’s wrong. That’s what his mama always told him.

It’s taken him months to find out who these people are, who they are, and where he is. He’s learned the name of the organization of the group. WICKED. They call themselves WICKED, and he has no idea what the word even means. Well, yes, he does.

WICKED means good.

Chancellor Anderson constantly gives him a small smile behind Thomas’ back and ruffles his hair when the boy notices, despite his protests.

“You’re smart,” he says, and there’s something about his voice that sounds like he’s holding back a laugh. Thomas glares at him fiercely before running away to fix his hair, like usual.

He doesn’t want to admit it, but he feels great each time after Chancellor Anderson gives him compliments like that, although he’d never tell anyone. The man’s hand on his head is one of the only connections he’s had that reminds him of his parents in his year here.

He’s afraid to accept the trust that he can’t remember his mother’s face anymore. He’s not even sure if he even had a dad. Still, he goes to “school” alone every single morning.

Age 8
This is the year he meets Teresa Agnes. A thin, wild girl who is roughly half a head taller than him and only a few months older, although she seems much more mature. Minus the teasing and all the (annoying) commands Teresa gives.

He’s been hearing so much about this girl for the past year now; about how much he’s going to like her, and was told that a magical being has answered his wish. He wished to not be lonely anymore, and is granted exactly that.

The week leading up to his meeting with Teresa has been hectic. He’s not sure whether he should feel nervous or excited. To be honest, he might just be feeling a little of both.

Every day he’s allowed to ask one question about Teresa. He knows that this person is a girl, and her name is (obviously) Teresa. She’s been here for around the same time as Thomas, and had been the first child that WICKED found. Thomas was the second. She’s equally as smart as Thomas, but he doesn’t believe this, and is fairly certain that he’s smarter than her, even though they’re both learning the same things at the same pace. He learns that her favourite colour is blue and her favourite food is pasta. He learns that Teresa doesn’t want to be alone, either.

When he does finally meet Teresa, he doesn’t know what to say, being the awkward child that had little to no experience talking with other kids for so long. He stumbles over his words, and honestly just wants to his behind the Chancellor, who is introducing them to each other. His face turns bright red as he sees the pretty girl, and he looks away, puffing out his cheeks and holding his slightly chubby hands behind his back.

Luckily for him, Teresa makes the first move.

“Hi. I’m Teresa Agnes. Do you wanna be friends?” she asks, giving Thomas a massive grin and sticking out a hand for him to shake, showing off the empty spots where two front teeth should be. Thomas only lost one front tooth so far, and he’s jealous that she’s lost both of them.

Thomas hesitates before nodding his head violently, scared to even talk due to the shock, nerves, and just the inability to socialize for dear life. He grabs Teresa’s hand tightly and shakes it stiffly.

Despite the awkward introduction, the two quickly become best friends. Being the only two kids they personally know, they kind of have to be able to get along to be able to work well together.

In the next month, they’ve shared secrets to each other that they’ve never told anyone before. They play pretend and become superheroes together. They’re talking to each other from their “cells” telepathically, still trying to figure out how it works. The doctors tell them that it’s only supposed to be for work, but they neglect their instructions and use it anyway. They stay up late at night only to talk to each other, until one of them falls asleep, leaving the other wondering what they should do.

However, they are still taught separately. The people of WICKED have tried to conjoin their classes, however, they learned, the two do not work well if they are together, constantly fooling around, telling the other what the answer is to Question 4 (both aloud and telepathically), and losing focus on the task on front of them.

The teachers have decided to try again when they’ve matured more and are willing to learn without distractions, however they doubt that will ever happen.

The only times Thomas and Teresa are allowed to see each other are before and after school and the weekends. However, even that isn’t enough for the two. They’re not allowed to eat lunch together, however, they still talk through the strange connection between their minds, and when they do that during lunch, it feels like they’re eating together. They eat silently in their cells, only with the company of the other.

Age 10

He didn’t consciously realize that there are more children until he is 10. Of course, he’d heard mentionings of them, but he hadn’t thought much about it. It takes him a week to even begin to fathom that there are other children out there. After the shock dies down, he is ecstatic.

He, Teresa, Aris, and Rachel are allowed to observe them. Group A are all boys. Group B are all girls. He’s required to learn all their names, so he does. Subject A7 is Minho Park; Subject A5 is Isaac Newton; Subject A9 is Galileo Galilei, so on, so forth. Eventually, he’s able to identify the face to the name and vice versa.

There’s not much to observe, admittedly, because a majority of it bores him to tears. The group tends to get distracted a lot, but do eventually get work done. Just a little later than everyone expects because of their extremely short attention span (but that’s not exactly very surprising).

Thomas and Teresa are just as intrigued (if not more) than Aris and Rachel, and hungrily eat up all the information they can get about Group A. They write and copy notes about them, that aren’t exactly the best, but do include most of the important ideas. These boys play and fight and talk as naturally as if they’ve been friends for years (which they probably have been); they hold relays and races; they carry each other and fall down together from the weight of the person on their back.

When he looks at Teresa, he knows it’s only him that feels this sense of longing to join, the urge the jump in and play with them.

And so, his wish comes true. (Again.)

He gives his friends one last hug before packing up his few articles of clothing and necessities and shoving it in a drawstring bag too big for him.

“I’ll talk to you in here,” he says to Teresa, poking his noggin a few times to make sure that she understands. “I’ll tell you what’s going on, I promise!” With one last look, he follows the Chancellor into his new home.

He’s sent into the world of Group A. Chancellor Anderson introduces them to each other once again. Actually, he only introduces Thomas to everyone, then leaves. Even if the small boy regrets his decision, it’s too late to back out now because the Chancellor is already gone. Being surrounded by around at least forty different boys is a little overwhelming, with every single one of them different and just as unique as the people around them. Every boy there seems familiar, and yet they aren’t.

He returns all of the curious stares and holds his head high, even though his legs were trembling and he is so sure that he was going to collapse soon, if not faint. Thomas grips the black strings of his drawstring bag until his thin hands turn numb and sore.

The first boy who breaks the silence is thin and almost the same height as him. He must be only a centimeter shorter than the already short Thomas. He has a wild mess of blond hair and large, brown eyes. Thomas immediately recognizes him as Isaac Newton, but doesn’t say anything, afraid that he’d say something wrong and come off as strange, maybe even creepy.

“Hello, I’m Newt,” the boy says, sticking out his hand, and it comes off high pitched and not at all American. His English accent is incredibly interesting. The only thing that came close to this was Teresa and her slight lisp when she was seven from losing both her front teeth at the same time. Thomas hesitates, not just because of his accent. He’s called Isaac Newton on the official documents, but how come he says his name is Newt? Is this a mistake?

“Well technically you’re Isaac,” corrects a coloured boy, sounding nothing but affectionate. Thomas recognizes him as ―

“Well technically you’re Albert,” the blond boy shoots back, which confirms what Thomas already knows. After a short moment of silence, he continues, “Yes, well technically my name is Isaac. But call me Newt. Please.” He looked back at Thomas, with a kind of hopeful raised-eyebrows-and-big-eyes look that’s quickly masked with a more serious expression, but the look of hope was hidden slow enough for Thomas to catch.

Newt gestures to his outstretched hand with his head, raising a single eyebrow in a way that Thomas can’t do. “Are you gonna shake my hand or not, mate, ‘cos I’d rather not wait all day.”

Shakily but surely, Thomas reaches out to clasp Newt’s hand with his own clammy hand. He pulls away quickly, worried that his hand is too sweaty and embarrassed because it probably is.

Instead of letting him sit by himself and get used to his new surroundings alone, Newt gets everyone to introduce themselves to Thomas. Even the people who are quite reluctant about everything and anything involving the brown-haired boy. Even Gally, who is convinced that WICKED is actually evil and doing the wrong things. He’s letting himself be pulled around by the blond, who has a strong grip on his wrist. He assumes Newt is being so kind because he’s just trying to be his friend. But whatever Newt’s actually doing, Thomas lets him.

Thomas tries to tell Newt that he already knows everyone’s names, but the other boy wouldn’t listen.

“Newt, for the tenth time, I know everyone’s ―”

“Tommy, you haven’t even met all of us yet. Hell, you haven’t even been here for a day yet, how are you supposed to know everyone’s names?”

“I just do, but you won’t ― Tommy?”

Newt slows down by just a little bit and flashes him the largest grin in the world. He doesn’t have to say anything for Thomas to know what he means, and he stays silent for the rest of the time, not complaining anymore as he willingly gets dragged here and there.

Thomas has never enjoyed another person’s grip on his arm this much before.

His new life is hard to get used to. Instead of it being only him and Teresa, there are now approximately fifty other boys living here… and no Teresa. He doesn’t feel ashamed when he’s talking to Teresa in his mind, blocking out everything around him and sometimes just sitting up in the old, weathering treehouse by himself. Although he’s certainly warming up to these people, he’s decided that he isn’t going to tell them about his telepathy just yet.

Maybe later, he thinks.

He’s in the same cabin as Minho, Alby, and Newt, and he breathes a sigh of relief that the Chancellor chose this exact cabin as he makes a beeline towards the only bunk bed with an empty space; a top bunk of someone else’s extremely disordered bottom bunk. The beds are pushed against the walls, on opposite sides of the cabin. There is a small, tiled area, different from the wooden floors of the rest of the abode, where he assumes is the bathroom. It’s actually quite neat for three boys.

The only lights available are on the ceiling, two of them are hanging from the wooden beams that support the roof, and the other is attached to the main beam, which runs directly across the ceiling. There’s a light in front of the cabin, on the porch, right above the door, and another, in the same place, just on the other side of the door, inside. The bathroom is also quite nicely lit, giving off quite the homey feeling.

He dumps his drawstring bag at the bottom of the wooden ladder before heaving himself up, scaling up the ladder as if he’d done this plenty of times before, and finally lands on the already made bed waiting for him at the top.

Later, he learns that the bunk underneath him belongs to Newt, the blond, English guy he met earlier, and he’s thoroughly pleased that it is. After all, Minho snores as loud as a motor engine, and Alby, although very nice, is someone he’d rather not bunk with at the moment. The other two share a bunk, Minho taking the top, and Alby taking the bottom. This arrangement, in Thomas’ opinion, is quite reasonable, since Minho is quite the heavy sleeper, and Alby’s more of a restless, light sleeper, and reacts to the smallest of movements. This he realizes quickly.

Maybe one day they’ll change bunkmates, but for now, he’s content with who he has.

It’s become a habit for Thomas to wake up early in the morning. So early, in fact, that he’s always the first to wake up, and on his second official day with Group A and his first official night spent in Cabin 5, he’s not exactly sure what he should do. He lays in bed for at least another hour doing absolutely nothing before getting up to brush his teeth, get ready, and put on a loose t-shirt, keeping on his pajama bottoms. He wonders what else he can do before anyone else gets up.

That’s when Newt wakes, and Thomas is so excited to have someone to talk to now instead of just being alone.

“Tommy, you could’ve just woken me up, you know,” Newt says sleepily, rubbing his eyes as he props himself on one arm and looks up at the boy..

“I didn’t know if I was allowed to,” Thomas replies sheepishly, giving Newt a small grin, his head hanging over the ledge to talk.

“Of course you’re allowed to, you twat. We’re friends, remember?”

Twice a week he’s forced go to school with the rest of Group A. He can already imagine the Chancellor threatening him, saying that if he doesn’t do well in a group environment, then he’d have to go back to working alone again. This thought frightens Thomas so much, he completely tunes out the outer world for approximately two weeks, taking notes frantically, and ignoring the paper balls being thrown at his head.

He doesn’t want to leave this place. He doesn’t want to leave Minho and Newt. Not even Gally and Alby. He just lowers his head and scribbles away fiercely on the lined paper.

Newt is the one who finally distracts him in class. Well, technically it was a combined effort between Minho and Newt. Minho, who sits behind Thomas, grabs his shoulders roughly, making Thomas jump a little, and turning him to face Newt. Newt, who sits across from Thomas, tosses him a paper ball for the brunette to catch in midair behind the teacher’s back.

Thomas sets down his pen and unravels the wad of paper noisily, earning a few curious glances from guys who are probably wondering why the new kid, who is always obedient enough to actually take notes all the time, is fooling around. However, none of them question it, and turn back to whisper to their friends and jot down notes. He spreads the crumpled up piece of paper out against his thigh as an attempt to flatten out the creases, only to find a sketch of who knows what.

He glances at Minho, who is craning his head to see exactly what it is. Once he figures it out, which doesn’t take long, the Asian boy hides a large smile behind a hand, sneaking glances back at the paper and at Newt. It doesn’t take long for Minho to start bursting out into laughter after taking multiple long looks at the drawing. The teacher glares at him through her small-framed glasses before he can quiet himself, and Minho actually has the decency to look ashamed. Just for the moment, though, because once the instructor turns her back, Minho’s smile is just as large as before.

“Newt, you sneaky boy,” Minho mutters just barely audible to Thomas’ ears, but he catches every single word anyway.

He looks back at Newt, even more confused, and even more curious than he was before.

“What is it?” he mouths.

Newt’s lips curve up in a lopsided, sly grin. He slides down in his seat, glancing at the boys in front and behind them as if to make sure no one sees what he’s about to do, then at the teacher, who is still scribbling some lousy math equations on the whiteboard. His legs spread apart in a casual way.

His tongue swipes over his bottom lip playfully, and Thomas’ eyes follow before he could even stop it. Face burning, he returns his gaze to Newt’s hands, which were running down his own thigh before landing on his crotch. He taps his crotch through his pants twice before giving Thomas a sly wink and a cheeky grin, who had gone bright red.
Newt goes back to his own notes, as if nothing had happened, leaving Thomas dumbfounded and extremely flustered, and Minho laughing silently at the whole scene that had played out in front of his eyes. Thomas hurriedly returns to copy what’s on the whiteboard, his cheeks bright pink.

He can’t stop thinking about it for the rest of his day.

Age 11

The boys and Thomas celebrate his eleventh birthday together. They start off screaming “Happy birthday” from the top of their lungs during breakfast, leaving Thomas embarrassed but elated. His closest friends tackle him in a group hug and he lets them, letting out a breathy laugh.

Even Teresa is allowed to come in the cafeteria on his birthday, and in her hands is a large birthday cake. Everyone makes way for Teresa, who has changed so much since they last met, even though it’s only been a year. She’s still taller than him, and her black hair comes down in a long, wavy mess, her eyes still strikingly blue. She’s pretty, Thomas will admit, but he’s known her as only a friend for so long that Teresa is practically the sister he never wanted. But to everyone else, they must see her as Aphrodite.

She grins and sets down the cake in front of Thomas, giving him a tight hug, which he returns back immediately. “Happy birthday, you bozo,” she says fondly, “The Chancellor let me in only for today, so don’t expect me back tomorrow. Aris and Rachel send you their regards. Well, not exactly, but you know how they are.”

“Tell them I say thank you, then. But first, Teresa, eat with us,” Thomas begged, motioning for her to sit down. Everyone seemed to take a step back to make room for the girl to sit.

She shakes her head sadly. “Sorry, Tom, they still won’t let me eat.”

“Just one bite of the cake, then. No one will know!”

Teresa hesitates before saying, “Just one bite.”

She sits down between to Thomas and Alby, giving the coloured boy a curt nod, as Thomas cut the cake into different pieces. Thank god it was layered. That made it so much easier than cutting it in forty-something equal slices.

It must’ve taken at least twenty minutes for everyone to get a slice of cake due to all the pushing and shoving, the crowd of people trying to see who Teresa is, and wishing Thomas a happy birthday. But it was mostly just the former two, and then a casual “Happy birthday” as the boys got their cake.

Finally alone with his friends in the empty table in the back, he takes a deep breath in and out. “Um… alright, I guess I should introduce you guys to Teresa. Everyone, this is Teresa. Teresa, this is Alby―” he points to the guy next to her, who gives the girl a wave― “That’s Minho over there, across from you―” Minho gives the girl another wave―

“And that’s Newt.” He points to the blond boy across from him, who gives Teresa a little grin before taking his first bite of the chocolate cake.

The blond moans in delight before saying, “Teresa, did you make this cake yourself?”

“Yeah, thanks," Teresa responds casually, but straightens up a little bit, holding herself higher before directing her attention to Thomas. "I sneaked into the kitchen and got the cooks to turn a blind eye. They really like you, Tom, I hope you know that.” 

Thomas looks down at his cake, stabbing it awkwardly with a plastic fork. “Er, yeah, I did. They always serve me extra at the cafeteria line,” he admits, “I’m not sure what I did, though, that made them like me so much.”

“Hey, if you don’t want your extras, I can always have them,” Minho suggests hopefully.

“Minho, you already have enough on your plate,” Alby scolds lightly, giving him a little kick under the table.

“I’m a growing boy!” he protests, and Thomas catches Newt rolling his eyes from the edge of his gaze. He stares just a little longer, accidentally of course, before looking back at Minho and Alby.

Teresa, if you want, we can always go to a different area. You don’t have to stay here with my friends, they’re kinda… strange… well, some of them are, at least, Thomas suggests.

Tom, they’re your friends. I’d like to get to know who you’ve been hanging around with.

But can’t you tell from the security cams?

They can only show us so much, Tom, you know that. I can’t watch you―

“Hey, you guys with us?” interrupts Newt, waving his hand in front of Thomas’ eyes.

“Y-yeah, sorry, just spaced out a little there. Sorry,” Thomas quickly apologizes.

Shaking her hair out of her face, Teresa stands up, pushing her now empty plate into the center of the table. “Thanks for the cake, Tom. I’ll see you later.”

“Bye, Teresa. We’ll talk soon, I hope.” He gives her a little hug before she goes, leaving the seat next to him empty. Once she’s out of sight, Alby scoots into the seat next to him.

“Teresa, huh?” Alby asks, “She’s pretty.”

“Yeah… I guess,” Thomas shrugs, going back to stabbing his cake with his fork.

Later that day he finds a salamander in the creek running through the forest close by their home. He picks it up with his pointer finger and thumb and drops it into his other hand, cupping both of his palms to make sure the salamander doesn’t escape on the way back to the camp. The first person he tries to find is Newt. The first person he finds, however, is Gally.

When he does see Newt, he finds him sitting against the log benches by the campfire with Winston, Siggy, and Alby, doubling over with laughter over a joke or something. He feels a twinge of disappointment inside as he thinks, I’ll tell Newt later, so I guess I’ll tell Minho first.

But he doesn’t find it in him to go tell anyone else. It’s like an empty pit inside him, and it hurts. It hurts a lot. His chest aches from an indistinguishable cause, and he’s warring against his emotions in his brain. His fingers loosen and the slippery salamander slips between them, falling through the gap and into the grass, where Thomas can’t find the energy to pick it up again.

Alone, he trudges to the treehouse, the ache in his chest growing almost unbearable. When he finally collapses onto the dirty floor of the treehouse, grasps at his chest. What did I do to make this happen? he wonders, trying to force the tears out, because maybe that will help with the pain.

He doesn’t know why it hurts so much. He just feels so alone. So utterly alone, like how he did five years ago.

I should’ve realized. I should’ve realized that Newt’s not only mine. I’m so stupid. Newt doesn’t belong to me. I’m so stupid, just let this pain go away.

“Happy birthday to me,” he whispers, crawled into a ball on the floor.

He wakes up with his eyelids sticky and sort of crusty. He must’ve cried before or during his sleep, but he cannot remember when. The first thing he sees when his eyes adjust to the dark is a tousle of light hair, the colour he cannot distinguish in the night. There’s something heavy that keeps his legs pinned to the floor. On a closer inspection, it’s someone’s leg. He lays back down on his side, facing the boy and getting as close as possible without feeling too uncomfortable with the lack personal space, trying to figure out who exactly is on top of him.

All he can see is the soft mess of light hair; the thin, pale hands that peek through the sleeping boy’s shirt that is too big on him; the innocence of his resting expression; the lips that are parted slightly that are so familiar, but he can’t pinpoint exactly to whom they belong to; the eyebrows, furrowed ever so slightly.

On a closer inspection, it turns out to be Newt, breathing through his mouth and positioned so that he is facing Thomas.

“Of course. I should’ve known,” Thomas breathes.

For the first time ever, he realizes how thin and small the boy actually is.

Thomas pulls Newt closer to him, relishing in the only warmth he could get in the cold fall evening, and falls asleep with the smaller boy in his arms.

There is a point in this time where Thomas would only hang out with Newt and whomever Newt would hang out with. It isn’t like Newt minds, either. In fact, he seems to really enjoy Thomas’ company. Thomas and Newt. Newt and Thomas. They never leave each other’s side. It’s as if they’re joint at the hip.

During one of their relays, Thomas breaks his arm. It was a stupid way to break his arm, falling and landing on his right hand, which ultimately bent his arm backwards. He was so confused why it broke this time, for he constantly falls on his hands and arms.

The confusion doesn’t last long, though, as he tries to move it, and instead is rewarded by a sharp pain shooting up his arm, and doesn’t end until past his shoulder. The pain doesn’t hurt as bad as it probably should, because of the shock that numbs some of the pain.

He does not, however, shed a single tear as he’s carried away in a stretch by WICKED doctors, a makeshift splint around his arm, which is throbbing and burning and feels like someone is stabbing it all at the same time. They promise that Thomas will be back in two days. Newt is furious that they won’t let him see Thomas before then, and goes out of his way to trip, prank, and hurt a few the doctors who aren’t touching the brunette, and even some Gladers who got in his way.

“What do you mean I can’t see him? Just let me stay by his bed when he sleeps. I’M HIS FUCKING BEST FRIEND, YOU BLOODY LUNATIC DOCTORS CAN’T STOP ME,” Newt is screaming now, following them until they reach the hovercraft, where five boys have to hold Newt back as Thomas and the doctors board the vehicle. Thomas’ eyes flutter shut as they drug him with some sleeping meds, and all he dreams of nothing but darkness.

It’s only been two days but Newt hugs Thomas like they haven’t seen each other in years. He’s the first one to spot him, and the first one to sign his light blue cast with the black permanent marker he stole from the classroom a long time ago. The rest of the gladers complain that Newt took up all the space (even Gally, surprisingly), and Thomas just laughs sheepishly, because he knows that it’s true.

Newt looks like he hasn’t slept since Thomas left. His hair’s a mess, he has bags and dark circles under his eyes, and he’s constantly dozing off, only to be awakened by Minho and Alby, occasionally Winston as well.

Now it’s Newt who follows Thomas around. He even helps him take notes in class, carry items, and sometimes even changing. Thomas must, however, bathe alone, which is a real pain in the ass. Is it wrong that Thomas might just want Newt to help him bathe as well?

Chancellor Anderson tells him to be careful.

“We don’t want the future saviour of the world to get hurt, do we?”

Thomas stares back, surprised, for he had no idea this is the reason why he is at WICKED until now. He looks around at the empty seats around him, for Minho had gone to join Newt in finding some food (and hopefully bringing back Thomas some food), until finally he says, “N-no sir, we don’t. This won’t happen again, Chancellor.”

“I hope it doesn’t, Thomas.”

Newt and Minho come back shortly after, and Thomas blurts out everything the Chancellor said to him before they can even sit down. Newt helps Thomas unwrap his sandwich, even though the brunette is grumbling that he can get the foil off himself, even with one hand, but he doesn’t try to stop Newt anyway.

Age 12

It’s late at night, but Thomas’ cabin is still awake. He and Newt share a bed, even though there is a perfectly fine bed about. Thomas just doesn’t like sleeping in bunk beds, and Newt doesn’t mind sharing. Whenever Thomas wakes up early, he shakes Newt till the boy opens his eyes, and they get up together, without any complaint. Most of the time. Sometimes, however, the blond boy will shut his eyes once again and wrap his arms around him, falling asleep with Thomas under his arm. Thomas doesn’t mind, except for the fact that his heart rate seems to triple every time this happens. However, most days now, Thomas wakes up around the same time as everyone else, greeted by a half-awake Newt.

Alby, Minho, Newt, and Thomas gather in the center of their cabin sharing stories of their past lives, each wrapped in a different colour blanket.

Thomas talks about his mother, someone who he barely even remembers anymore. He confesses that he doesn’t remember his mother’s face, only her brown hair that came down to the middle of her back, and his father, who is practically nonexistent in his memories. Alby shares stories about him and his three younger sisters. It apparently is quite the struggle when you’re the only boy in the family. Minho talks about his adventures inside the WICKED building, and how Chancellor Anderson got so mad at him for talking back and sassing him.

It gets really quiet, then Newt says, almost indistinguishable over the crickets chirping and the wind howling outside, “I don’t remember my family.” He’s got his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs, his chin resting on top of his knees. “They all were bloody Cranks, apparently. I was taken to another facility before this. Got transferred here when I was around eight or nine years old. Alby and Minho were already here.”

Thomas summons up his courage to wrap his arms around Newt, trying to make things less awkward, pulling the smaller boy in for a tight hug. He inhales deeply, burying himself in the crook of his neck, taking in as much of his scent as possible, and makes the blond involuntarily shiver underneath him. Thomas didn’t know it was possible for someone to smell this good until now. Newt lets out of a small puff of breath, his body paralyzed with surprise. One more pair of arms wrap around them, then another wrapping around the three of them,

They’re keeping Thomas warm, and all of this makes him feel pleasant inside. Newt’s shoulders start to shake and he buries his head in Thomas’ shoulder, his back rising and falling with every trembling, staggered breath he takes. The only thing Thomas knows to do is hold him tighter and keep him safe.

We're all broken inside, he realizes. Just some of us are more damaged than others.

But everything will be okay, because this is the only family he needs.

He wakes up one morning to find all his clothes gone. Luckily, he doesn’t sleep “in the nude”, as Minho likes to call it, and had fallen asleep in just his boxers that night. He’s not sure which is worse: being completely naked or being almost completely naked and having to go out of his cabin in just his boxers, shouting, “Hey! Anybody got my clothes?”

The only thing he gets back are his plaid pajama bottoms, which he hastily puts on. He wanders around the camp barefoot with his arms crossed over his thin torso, because it’s still relatively cold at home, even with the temperature always set at “room temperature”, whatever that means.

Eventually, he finds the rest of his clothes hidden in a clump of bushes by the edge of the forest with a note attached to one of his shirts.

“Yours truly,
The boys in Cabin 8.❤”

He gets his revenge the next day, replacing their toothpaste with some liquid glue from the classroom with the help of Newt.

He knows what comes next after the maze. He had Teresa have been communicating telepathically for a while now.

Phase Two will happen immediately after Phase One has ended, and will happen sooner than expected. Phase One has been shortened to two and a half years, thank god.
It’s all thanks to Thomas, Teresa always tells him, but he’s not sure if that’s necessarily true. He’s been only in the camp for the past few years now, and never with Teresa, Aris, or Rachel in the rooms training and observing.

Maybe it’s because I’m also going to be a test subject, he wonders.

“Why?” he had asked Teresa instead.

“Chancellor’s orders,” she said back. It was short but concise.

“We don’t have enough time to get all the information we need,” Thomas pointed out, confused, “How are we going to get a cure if we don’t have enough time?”

“I know, Thomas, we all know, but we can't do anything about it.  And I don’t know. At least now, your friends only have to stay there for two years instead of four,” Teresa pointed out, squeezing Thomas’ hand lightly.

“They’ll be safe there for two years. After that, they’re going to be out there. In the real world, without any knowledge of the outside and no way of dealing with the Cranks,”

Thomas stressed. “Two years is too short. We need the information, and I need to keep my friends safe.”

“I know, Tom, I know.” she sighed and shook her head sadly, giving him a tight hug which he returned back gladly.

A little boy comes at the end of the year. His name is Chuck, and he’s around eight years old. Chuck adores Thomas, and Thomas adores Chuck. In fact, he’s so in love with this cutie that he gushes about Chuck to Newt all the time. If Minho’s there, he’ll tell Thomas to “slim it, you ass” before moving on to some other topic. But Newt doesn’t usually complain. He takes it all, and puts up with all of Thomas’ praises and stories about the eight year old.

One day, however, Newt stands up, dusting off his pants and walks in the opposite direction, leaving Thomas resting against the log benches by the campfire alone.

“H-hey, Newt, where ya goin’?” Thomas asks, jogging to catch up.

“Somewhere else, where I don’t have to take anymore of this Chuck bullcrap,” Newt grumbles, storming off in the direction of the forest, where Gally and Winston were.

Thomas stopped in his track, hurt, watching as Newt left him for someone else.

“I think you hurt his feelings,” Alby said from behind him, making Thomas jump with surprised.

“I think he hurt mine,” Thomas mutters back, turning to face his friend, staring at his shoes as they kicked the ground in frustration.

“I think you hurt his first, which is why he hurt yours.”

“What did I do to hurt his feelings?”

“I think he’s jealous.”

“Alby, stop with the I think’s, it’s getting kind of repetitive now.” Thomas sighed, combing through his hair roughly, pulling at the tips, as he stared in the direction of the forest.

“You should listen to me, Thomas, when I say that you have to watch what you say in front of Newt. Since it’s coming from you, it’ll hurt a whole lot more than if it were coming from Ben, for example,” Alby heeded, gesturing to a big, blond kid.

Stupid Ben, Thomas thinks, stupid Newt, stupid Chuck. Stupid me.

When Winston tries to get Chuck to eat one of the poisonous berries in the “forbidden area” of their habitat, Thomas scolds the younger boy, taking the berries away from Chuck’s chubby hands and throws it to the ground, crushing them with his shoe. It takes all of his strength to stay calm. For Chuck’s sake, not for Winston’s.

“Chuck, listen to me, go and find Alby. But don’t come back, I want you to stay with Minho, okay?” The kid hesitates, and Thomas repeats himself, “Okay?”

Once Chuck leaves, Thomas spins around to face Winston, furious. His hands are clenched into fists as he screams, “You could’ve killed him! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING? DID YOU WANT TO KILL HIM? YOU FUCKING BASTARD, COME AND FIGHT ME. PICK ON SOMEONE YOUR OWN SIZE!”

He’s ready to charge at the other boy, who is stunned by Thomas’ sudden mood change. Alby comes just in time, followed by Newt, Minho, Gally, and the rest of the boys.

Chuck is holding Minho’s hand, always a few steps behind. Alby immediately tries to pull Thomas back from lunging at Winston, holding onto his arms and digging his heels into the ground, trying to drag Thomas back with no prevail. It takes both Gally and Alby to hold him back, while Siggy and Newt are trying to calm him down, talking to him in calm but rushed tones. Minho pulls Chuck in, wrapping his arms around the boy like a mother tiger protecting her cubs.

It’s at that moment when he decides that he likes Gally, and is thankful that he was there to hold him back, or else he might’ve just ripped Winston’s throat out.

Age 13

Thomas and Newt still refuse to sleep anywhere but next to each other. After more than a year of sharing a bed, it’s easy to say that it’s very strange to see them sleep away from each other, even after a fight. Even to them, it felt odd and lonely to be sleeping alone. They tried it once. The next day, they went right back to sleeping next to each other.

However, now that Thomas is thirteen and Newt, fourteen, they’ve starting getting taller at a faster rate, they’ve started growing into their clothes, they’re getting a bit too big to share one mattress. A twin size mattress doesn’t fit them as well as it used to. They’ve had to sleep flush against each other, and, although Thomas would never admit it, he actually sort of likes it when Newt spoons him, his breath hot against Thomas’ neck, and his thin arms wrapped around his torso protectively.

He also likes it when he gets to spoon Newt, the blond’s back pressed into his chest. He can feel each breath, every movement. Thomas just wants to bury his head into the crook of Newt’s neck, and his fingers in his hair.

So, they’ve decided to pull both mattresses down on the dirty floor, both Newt’s and the unused one above that used to be Thomas’, careful not to get any dust or dirt onto their bed. By now, Minho and Alby have become fully accustomed to the strange scene, and aren’t surprised when they find Thomas and Newt in a tangled mess of blankets and limbs. Their only reactions now to this is a soft chuckle or a sly, knowing grin to the other person.

This is also the year that Thomas starts acting differently. At first, he just assumes it’s puberty and the natural, regular boy hormones making him feel this way, but he knows that it’s probably not. Because no one else feels this way about Newt, who is constantly distracting Thomas, even when he’s not there, because every time the boy closes his eyes, he can picture the blond so perfectly.

It’s gotten hard to concentrate in class when he knows Newt is sitting in front or behind him because he gets so self conscious about himself. He doesn’t like it when Newt sits next to him anymore, because he’s such a distraction to everything. The smaller boy looks so attractive when he does anything, even taking notes; his eyebrows furrowing and his tongue licking his bottom lip just barely, and it should be illegal for Newt to lick his lips or furrow his eyebrows or purse his lips or even laugh because holy fuck he just looks so good.

He’s fairly certain there’s no one else in the camp that likes Newt the way Thomas does, who wants to to hold him tightly and kiss him just once, and cuddle with him at the same time. If there is, Thomas would probably punch him in the face and take Newt away.

There’s no such thing as “going on a date” because there’s nowhere to go in the area, but if there was, Thomas would ask Newt to go out with him right now.

Minho catches him staring every now and then. Thomas tries to be inconspicuous about it, but it’s hard when your best friend is almost always by your side.

He’s tried asking Teresa for help, but all of her answers have something to do with “just going for it” and “kissing him straight on the lips”.

Teresa, you know I can’t do that, he'd whined.

Tom, you don’t know what you can and can’t do until you try, and right now, you haven’t tried. Move your lazy ass and kiss him already! Teresa had said.

I’m not you, Teresa, I can’t do that.

But there was no answer, and he had no luck in his attempts to contact her for the rest of the day, either.

“Newt’s pretty attractive, isn’t he?” asks a deep voice behind him. Thomas whips around, surprised, but it’s only Minho. He still hasn’t gotten over the Asian’s gradual voice changes yet, and he’s not sure if he ever will.

“W-well yeah, I guess,” Thomas stammers, “I guess he’s… pretty attractive.” He tries to shrug nonchalantly, but his pulse skyrockets and he finds himself doing a very stiff and distracted half shrug. Acting casual has never seemed so hard in his life. The boy turns his back to Minho to watch Alby and Newt play with Chuck, competing in relays and races and games. But even with all of the distractions around him, he can’t help but zero in on the blond in the dull beige clothes, which somehow makes him look even better.

A moment of silence. Finally, Minho asks quietly, “You like him, don’t you?” And his face turns indescribably pink. That’s all the answer Minho needs. He chuckles and ruffles Thomas’ hair like the way the Chancellor used to do it before, washing over a wave of nostalgia over the embarrassment. “Good luck, buddy,” he says before turning away to walk back to the campfire, settling down next to Ben and Zart, leaving Thomas with the realization that Minho knows.

“YOU BETTER NOT TELL ANYONE!”  Thomas screams at him.

Minho also tries to set them up. Apparently boys liking boys isn’t really that big of a deal. Thomas can’t help but to research all about his sexuality and what it means to like boys. He deems himself bisexual.

For the first time in eight months, he and Teresa are allowed to meet. They run into each other's arms and practically cry while holding each other.

Teresa isn’t the girl he remembers. She’s still taller than Thomas (but he’s sure that one day, he’ll be taller, and he’s quite looking forward to that day), and she’s grown out her hair. He can’t help but realize that she’s become prettier. They hold hands as they walk around WICKED. Teresa shows him around, and suddenly it feels like they’re seven again.

She explains how she can see what they’re doing inside the area, and how they’re inventing new security cameras which are shaped like little ladybugs.

“The tree tower is really impressive,” she compliments.

“I know. We did it in over a week,” replies Thomas, puffing out his chest ever so slightly.

“Group A is really improving. Soon, you guys are going to be the geniuses of the world.”

Thomas takes a deep breath in through his mouth, before steadily saying, “Please, don’t call them Group A.” Teresa listens, and gives his hand a small squeeze before continuing.

“They’ve got everything set up,” she says, “The maze is all complete, thanks to your help. We know the order everyone’s going to go in, starting with Alby. You’ll have to leave before that, since we’ll need your help monitoring how everything goes.

He stops, because all he can think is Not Alby. His friends are going to the maze There will be people going in the maze, his people.

“W-what about Minho? Chuck? Gally?” he demands, his voice cracking when he says Chuck. He hesitates before asking in a softer, shakier voice, “What about Newt?”

“I’m sorry, Tom, He― they all have to go. We could’ve left a few people behind to work with us but―”

“Please! I’m begging you! Don’t send Newt over there,” he pleads, his body trembling with just that. He takes a shaky breath in, “I’ll do anything. I’ll go back to work for WICKED and I won’t go back, just please don’t send Newt into the maze.” He’s on his knees now, gripping Teresa with unstable hands, shaking so hard that he can barely hold onto her shirt.

Teresa hesitates before shaking her head. “Tom… I’m sorry. We have to.”

“But why, Teresa, why do you have to?”

She bites her lip, as if she’s debating whether to tell Thomas or not. “Because they’re all close to you. We can’t risk any distractions. Teaching them would be a lot harder and it would be impossible for them to concentrate. Some of them aren’t even immune, Tom, you know that. Once this operation starts, we can’t have people slacking off and losing focus.”

He breaks. Everything hurts, yet his body is numb at the same time. “It won’t happen, we won’t slack off,” he whispers. He drops her hand, staring blankly at Teresa. And yet it’s the same blank stare that perfectly portrays how broken and shocked he is.

“We would’ve loved to leave Isaac, but he’s so close to you that he’ll be a distraction to your work. To our work. We cannot risk love right now.” Her voice drops, “There are some secret relationships right now, and they’ll be separated if anyone finds out. I don’t want that to happen with you and Newt.

“We need this to work, Tom, and it won’t if he stays. If Isaac works with us, he’ll destroy us. You guys have three years, three years until we deploy the first boy and first girl into the maze.”

Isaac. No one calls him Isaac because Newt doesn’t like that name. Newt, not Isaac.

If he thought he was broken before, he didn’t expect this full blown pain. He unsteadily backs up from Teresa and stumbles over his own feet as he runs away in the opposite direction, his chest heaving and the ache returns once again, but he doesn’t stop running. His feet hit the floor silently, and he wish that it made at least some kind of sound to muffle his sobs.

He sprints away from her; away from his responsibilities, and back to Newt.

He finally decides to accept his feelings, but that doesn’t mean he’s ready to confess first. It gives him so much anxiety to even think about telling Newt how he feels.

After that experience, he’s been acting a little differently. Instead of sitting by the campfire or in the tree tower, he wants to go out and explore a bit more. He wants to venture into the forest, find the walls that barricade them in, and go into the forbidden area. He wants to kiss Newt and tell him how he feels, but that’s too scary. He’s become more daring, talking back to other boys and getting into fights, because he knows that they only have three more years until they leave, and he’s thinking Live the life you want to live.

At every security camera he finds, he sneers and flips them off.

Age 14

Three more years until they have to say goodbye.

He wakes up one morning with that realization, and he’s in so much pain that he doesn’t want to get out of bed, nor does he think he can. Not physical pain, but mental pain, and it hurts so much more than he remembers.

Thomas finally tells his cabin mates at Cabin 5 what he heard from Teresa. It’s another late night conversation with everyone, gathering at the middle of the floor, pushing the two mattresses to the side of the cabin, something they’ve been doing a lot recently to make room during late night conversations, which have recently also been opening up to different people outside of their cabin mates. By now, they’ve practically been sharing their secrets with each other, except for Thomas’ little secret that only Minho knows about.

He takes his unofficial place next to Newt, unintentionally rubbing against his shoulder and his heart might’ve just skipped a beat. The touch creates an electric shock that runs through his system, and his heartbeat soars. His eyes dart to Newt’s face, who looks like it was perfectly normal. He glances at Minho, who just gives him a sly wink, and shakes his head in response, his cheeks turning pink, which was however unnoticeable because of the dim light. Newt doesn’t notice, but if he actually did, then he doesn’t show it at all.

These late night cabin talks are getting more and more common after that.

“Have any of you guys wanked before?” asks Newt, casually leaning against the frame of his own bed.

Thomas can feel his entire face burn, and keeps silent, forcing his stiff shoulders down.

Alby shrugs. “Once or twice. Only for fun or curiosity or something.”

Minho lets out an audible snort. “Don’t lie, you ass! I’ve walked in on your more than once or twice!” says Minho, “Caught ya with your hands down your pants once in the forest as well!”

“I was fixing my boxers,” Alby retorts hotly, before calming down a bit, “How about you, Minho, must’ve touched yourself more times that you can count due to your huge ego.”

“First of all, that doesn’t make sense, my fantastically large ego would never make me masturbate a lot. Second of all, I’ve only done it once!” He straightens his back and puffs out his chest, as if it was an achievement that he’s touched himself only one time. “Did it when you guys were asleep, too!”

He flashes a wild grin, barely visibly in the darkness, as Thomas mutters, “Too much information there, Min.”

“How about you, Tommy? Ever wanked before?” Newt asks, catching the corner of his bottom lip between his top and bottom teeth. Underneath all the casualness and indifference in his tone, the brunette could tell that he was genuinely curious.

Thomas shrugs. “No,” he says, trying to come of as offhand or nonchalant, but his voice catching in his throat, and it instead sounds quiet and broken. He clears his throat and tries again, looking at anything but the boys. “Never.” This time, he manages to keep his tone steady, despite how he feels under Newt’s burning gaze. “You?”

“Yeah,” Newt replies back, his voice soft, and Thomas doesn’t even have to look at him to know that he’s smiling. “I have. Multiple times, though I’m not sure as many as Alby.”

“Hey!” Alby complains, but the blond goes on, as if he hadn’t spoken at all.

“Might’ve even wanked thinking about a specific guy in the glade, but I can’t say who.”

“Why not?” blurts out Thomas, with a feeling of hopefulness and jealousy; a strange combination. Because Maybe it’s me and Maybe it’s someone else don’t go too well together.

“Because I’m not sure if he even likes me back,” he confesses, pulling his legs up to his chest and stares out the dark window.

Thomas catches Newt staring at him during class and lunch more and more often, but he always looks away quickly, too shy to hold Newt’s gaze. He wonders why Newt only seems to look at him, when he probably loves someone else.

One night, when he’s the only one awake, he slides a hand down the elastic band of his pajamas and boxers. He rolls away from Newt, careful not to wake or even touch the boy, as he sits up and leans against the bedframe. He reaches a shaky hand down further before he finally touches himself, gripping the base of his cock and sliding his hand up, going over the head and back down. His eyes flutter shut as he hears himself gasp in pleasure. It also helps when he thinks of Newt.

Naked. On his knees, staring up at him, his tongue slowly and seductively swiping over his bottom lip. Or maybe even Newt straddling his waist, wrapping his arms around Thomas’ neck, grinding his hips against Thomas’ crotch as his lips catch the blond’s.

And that’s when he goes a bit rougher on himself, twisting his wrist at the top, letting his hands swipe over the precum leaking from the tip, tightening his grip on his dick, before he comes shortly after with a soft, breathy moan, his back arching ever-so-slightly from the frame. It’s an overwhelming sensation of adrenaline and ecstasy so intense that he can barely even think.

He blindly goes to change his boxers, throwing wasted ones in the laundry basket, hoping no one can tell, and washes his hands free from his own cum, drowsy enough not to feel too guilty.

When it’s Newt’s birthday, it’s Thomas who grins like a goof. His best friend is fifteen.

Fifteen, He’s already fifteen, where Thomas is still only fourteen years old. It doesn’t worry him that Newt will always be a year older than him, though.

The two of them spend their time alone in the Tower, even during food hours, where they run as fast as humanly possible as they carry their food into the tree tower, chased around the cafeteria by angry WICKED employees, whose job is to keep a safe eye on the kids during lunch. Once they reach the camp, however, they’re safe and sound, for it’s prohibited for WICKED employees to go in there without a permit. Three times they do this, three times they don’t get caught.

They watch the sun go down, painting vivid streaks of red, orange, pink, yellow, and even purple through the blue sky from the entrance and windows of the Tower. They use each other as a pillow, with Newt resting his head on Thomas’ shoulder. They celebrate with a late night bottle of wine and no cups, which meant they have to drink directly from the bottle.

It’s both of their first times drinking wine, and they’re not quite sure they like how it tastes. It’s too bitter, too… unsatisfying. But Thomas keeps drinking it anyway for Newt’s sake, and Newt keeps drinking for Thomas’ sake, until they end up somehow downing over two-thirds of the bottle in three hours.

The tower goes silent for a moment, one enjoying the other’s company just as much as the other, but the silence is accompanied by a buzz in Thomas’ mind. He finds himself saying in a breathy whisper, “Hey, Newt?”

“Yeah, Tommy?” asks the blond, turning his head to look down at him, revealing so much of his long neck, which Thomas wonders whether or not Newt would let him mark if they ever do start dating.

After all of these years, he’s kept his English accent, the one that turns Thomas on so much. The way it just rolls off his tongue, it’s like beautiful music that he can listen to over and over again.

Maybe it’s the alcohol in his blood moving for him, or it’s making Thomas not who he usually is, because before he knows it, he’s pressed up against Newt’s side as he plants his lips sloppily on Newt’s. He pulls away less than a second later, because he knew that this was a bad idea before he even did it, but his cheeks are bright pink and his ears burn with embarrassment, and he wants to kiss him again. Properly, this time.

“H-happy birthday, Newt,” he says, rushed, getting up as fast as he pulls away from the kiss, as he climbs down the ladder hastily with horrible coordination and disappears.
Thomas doesn’t go back to his cabin, camping out in Cabin 4, Gally’s cabin.

When Newt finally catches Thomas alone, he pulls them into the empty forest, holding onto the other boy’s arms tightly, not letting him go anywhere.
“Newt,” Thomas says, as if he is surprised to see Newt like this, and his cheeks turn pink.

“I didn’t get to thank you for my birthday present,” Newt explains, almost in a sort of shy mumble, his cheeks turning the same colour as Thomas’. His eyes travel everywhere but Thomas’ eyes, and they linger just a second longer on his lips, but it’s long enough for Thomas to notice. He doesn’t know what it means, and he’s not sure if he really wants to. All he feels is guilt and anxiety and so much built up passion.

And suddenly Thomas is babbling. The words explode through the barrier that’s been holding them back for so long, coming out in a tsunami that’s unstoppable by everyone.

“Oh, well… that―that’s okay, it was no problem, really―”

“Tommy―”

“― I mean, what’re you gonna do, it’s not like you’re gonna kiss me back or anything. Honestly, let’s just pretend that it never happened, let’s just go back to―”

“Tommy―”  And Newt’s grabbing his hand, squeezing it, and trying to pull Thomas closer to him, but the brunette resists. He doesn’t want to pull away, but it just seems like the right thing to do.

“― I mean, maybe I should’ve never kissed you in the first place,” and Thomas laughs suddenly, panicked and stressed, running a hand through his already mussed hair and yanking it at the tips, “ and then there would be no awkward tension, you probably don’t even like―”

“Thomas.”

That shuts him up quickly. Newt never calls him Thomas. Not ever.

“Just shut up, Tommy. Please,” Newt whispers, and he leans forward, finally staring into the brunette’s eyes, closing the space between him and the boy. It happens too fast. Their lips touch, and Newt’s pressing himself into Thomas, and ohmygod Newt is kissing me runs through Thomas’ head in that exact moment.

It doesn’t take long for Thomas to recover from the shock and his eyes flutter shut. He lets the older boy push him against a tree, the bark scratching him through the shirt, but it doesn’t matter. Because all that matters now is feeling of Newt’s lips pressed to his, and Thomas is dropping the blond’s hand only to run it back through his hair, entangling it with the blond mess atop of his head.

And oh, Thomas is so turned on.

Age 15

It’s easy to say that Minho knew right away about their new relationship. As if the duo coming back to their cabin, both with flushed faces and holding hands isn’t enough of a sign.

Thomas and Newt have to help Minho out. It starts out as a little teasing, but it worsens into them actually trying to get Minho to at least flirt with the boy.

The boy is Gally, by the way, which made Thomas gag the first time he heard about it.

“I know, I know,” Minho stresses after the couple express their concern one more time, the two of them sitting on Alby’s unmade bed, resting against the wall of the their home, while the Asian is pacing around their cabin frantically, “Which is why I don’t want to ask him out! It’s like a freakin’ cliche story you’d find in the classroom. Like Romeo and Juliet. Except less violent.”

“Well technically, there is no where to take him out to anyway, since we’re all sort of stuck in this stupid area,” Newt points out, and Thomas squeezes his hand, because that’s exactly what he told Newt the first time he tried to ask Thomas out on a date. He remembers that time vividly.

“Shut up, you’re not helping. I’ll just go ask Alby what to do, he’s better at these relationship things than you are,” snaps Minho, opening the door to the cabin aggressively.

“We’re actually the ones who’re in a relationship, thank you very much!” calls out Thomas.

“After two goddamn years, Thomas!” Minho shouts back, leaving the two of them alone in there.

Needless to say, after that, Thomas’ face turns bright red. He leaps off the bed to chase after Minho, but is greeted with the screen door instead. Minho’s already long gone by the time he pulls open the door, and he goes back to Newt, emotionally exhausted and quite embarrassed.

“Two years, eh, Tommy? You’ve loved me for two years now?” asks Newt, amusedly.

“Shut up,” mutters Thomas, who looks away. “For like the first year and a half it was only a crush, anyway.”

“I love you too,” whispers Newt, his lips just barely grazing against Thomas’ turned cheek, and he pulls him back down onto Alby’s bed, wrapping his arms around the brunette’s back and hugging him tight. Thomas feels something soft, yet slightly wet on the crook of his neck that sends shivers down his spine, as he realizes that it’s the blond’s mouth, working its way skillfully up towards his jaw. Newt’s tongue barely presses against his neck, but it’s enough make Thomas gasp in surprise, and he jolts upright, only to be held back.

Newt’s voice was and still is changing, along with his body. Even though he’s sixteen, he still has the face of a fourteen, maybe fifteen year old. He’s still the same person, just so much more attractive. He’s grown out of his skinniness into an indescribably hot lankiness. Although he seems so thin, he’s also so strong. He still looks extremely young, due to his lack of any facial hair and (body hair in general) whatsoever, his large brown eyes, and his wild mess of blond hair, which occasionally turns into a soft brown, if not dirty blond. Newt’s becoming a man.

“Newt,” Thomas whispers one night as they cuddle together, his head laying on Newt’s chest.

“Yeah, Tommy?” Newt breathes back, brushing the hair out of Thomas’ face.

“Have I ever told you how attractive you are?”

“No, never,” he muses, sounding quite amused, as he now combs through his boyfriend’s silky hair, tangling his fingers in it, but never creating knots.

“Well now I have,” he murmurs, raising his head just enough to connect both of their lips in a kiss that sends shivers down his back, because this is actually happening. It’s like a dream come true when he feels a tug from the back of his head, and he follows the pull happily and willingly, exposing his neck ever so slightly, tanned, like the rest of body, from being out in the sun all day long.

It’s upsetting that Newt is in such a bad position to do anything about this. Thomas would love Newt to mark the skin on his throat, telling everyone that Thomas is his.

However, due to the position he’s lying down in, it’s almost impossible to do that and also be comfortable.

Thomas lets out a breathy moan as Newt’s cold fingers trace down his neck. It was something he didn’t expect would make him squirm, make him feel so vulnerable and sensitive. Like he's an omega, submitting to an alpha.

And then Newt’s on top of him, scrambling to get himself balanced on Thomas’ hips, pushing him back on the mattress with a hand, and grinding down just enough to drive the brunette mad as they kiss again. Desperate for more friction, his long fingers grip Newt’s hips, but his hands are slapped lightly away from the boy’s hips. He looks up to see a sly smirk on the teaser.

“Bloody wanker,” he whispers lightly, mocking the boy’s accent, rolling his eyes, but the effect of annoyance is dissipated by the small smile on his lips. His hands find Newt’s neck and he brings him down for another kiss, another shock of emotion going down his spine. It’s messy but passionate, as Thomas still hasn’t figured out a good way to kiss the more experienced boy back.

Their lips part, and Newt goes in for it, running his tongue over Thomas’ bottom lip, catching it in between his teeth as if it is his own, tugging on it slightly before the blonde pulled away, his lips swollen and hair wild. He wonders if he looks like that himself.

“Have… have you ever kissed anyone?” Thomas whispers after getting his breath back. Only now was he conscious of his sleeping friends.

“Multiple boys in the glade,” Newt whispers back, getting back up to drag Thomas into a comfortable sitting position, his lips twitch up in a small smile.

“Oh.” Thomas can’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy and possessiveness.

“Don’t worry,” Newt murmurs, sliding closer to reach his arms around the other boy’s neck, his fingers weaving their way into his dark hair, until his lips brush against the corner of Thomas’. “Fifty guys being stuck together will do that to you. I’ve been included in some… wanking parties, I suppose you can call it, as well. That’s what I’d do when I wasn’t with you. Bloody great. I usually thought about you. I wonder if that’s how I knew that I was gay.” A shiver ran through Thomas’ body as Newt whispers that, knowing exactly how dirty it sounds. “I bet you’d like to see me wank, watching me bare arse naked, a hand wrapped around my dick.”

“Oh my god, yes,” Thomas groans, his hands running down Newt’s sides until he grips his hips hard.

“Maybe later. When we’re alone. And try not to get too hard right now, since it won’t be hard for that long if Min and Alby catch us like this.” He grinds his hips once more against Thomas’ crotch, as if to prove his point, sucking in his breath when he feels it affecting him as well.

“You, Newt… are such… such a tease…” Thomas whispers shakily, stifling his moans by covering his mouth with the crook of Newt’s neck, unable to get his hands to move from their spot on his hips.

“And you? Have you kissed anyone else?”

“Never, closest I’ve gone is with Teresa,” Thomas says through gritted teeth, and Newt grinds down once more, letting a shaky breath pour out of him and a soft moan from Newt. His lips part against his neck, and he lets his teeth gently rake downwards. “U-until now, I mean, with you,” he adds while pressing his lips against Newt’s collarbone.

Newt lets out a soft moan, and holy shit that was a good sound. “So you’re like… a kissing virgin? Until me, I mean,” Newt says after amusedly catching his breath.

“Oh, shut up.” And Thomas is going in for another kiss, which Newt gladly gives.

Two years left before he must leave his friends.

The shock tears him apart and it takes Newt, Alby, Gally, Winston, Chuck, and even Teresa, who disobeys all orders to interact with Group A to sprint down to the benches by the unlit campfire, as he’s on his knees and elbows, staring at the hazy grass underneath him. He can’t breathe; he can’t think; his heart is pounding against his ribs loudly; and he can barely even hear what they’re all saying as they try to calm him down. He doesn’t know how he got to that position on the ground, but all he knows is that he’s sobbing afterwards and his stomach lurches, but nothing comes up, leaving him dry-heaving.

Thomas, however, has no recollection of anything after that, as he passed out before they got even close Cabin 5.

Teresa had baked him a cake before she returned to do whatever the hell she does, and he eats it grudgingly, thanking Teresa through his mind, but getting no response back. It takes all of his strength to force it down his stomach and not to throw up.

That isn’t the last time he is found like that, trembling, dry-heaving, and sobbing. It happens two more times, once in the cabin, and the other time in the tree house, because they always seem to hit him when he isn’t protecting himself from himself. Because what will he do in two years, when they’re all gone, and he’s the only one left? The only one of all fifty that have any idea what is going on; the only one that remembers everything that’s happened?

He’s surprised to see Teresa for the second time in three months. They hug like nothing’s ever happened, and Thomas gives her a quick peck on the cheek, despite how much he didn’t really want to. It doesn’t feel right after what Teresa had told him last time they talked, but he kisses her nonetheless. He convinces himself it’s a small ‘thank you’ for being there his sudden… reaction. The guards open the metal sliding doors for them, one of the few entrances and exits of the large home.

“Are you okay?” asks Teresa the moment they’ve left earshot of the guards. “The surveillance cameras don’t catch sound yet. It’s impossible for them to as of right now, so there’s nothing to worry about. Not now, at least, but we’re still working on sound and microphones for the ladybugs.”

“I know they don’t, I’ve been here for around the same amount of time as you, Teresa,” Thomas says exasperatedly.

“You know you can tell me anything, right? I’ll always be here for you.”

“W-what do you mean? Of course I’m okay.” Thomas says, his eyebrows furrowing in faux confusion. But he knows what she means.

“Thomas you ― your panic attack. Have you gotten any more after that?” She looks worried, and Thomas knows that she probably is, but for some reason, he can’t find it in her to believe her.

“Yeah. Yeah. I, uh… No. No, I-I haven’t.” He looks away, unable to meet Teresa’s eyes.

Teresa gives in a skeptical glare but drops the subject, and they don’t talk for at least a minute. The silence isn’t comfortable, but Thomas isn’t sure what he should say. Words used to come so easily between him and Teresa, and then what happened?

“So, uh.. how are Aris and Rachel?” Thomas asks finally, shoving his hands in his pants pocket.

“They’re doing fine. Rachel’s allowed to go with Group B, and she’s been hanging out there most of the time, so it’s usually just me and Aris,” Teresa responds back casually.

“How is he? You know, Aris. Has he gotten better? Less socially awkward and shy?” He breathes out a quiet chuckle.

“Yeah, just a little bit. He’s still a little wimp, though. It’s been, like, two years, but he still won’t ask Rachel out. He’s honestly giving me headaches just from looking at her, it’s getting so tiring. He wants to do it face-to-face as well, which makes everything so much more complicated and a major pain in the ass.”

“And Phase Two. Is it finished?”

Teresa stops to look at Thomas suspiciously. “Yeah. It’s done, it’s been done for about two years now. Why do you care? Have you been telling Group A anything?”

“Please, don’t call them Group A.”

“Sorry.”

Another minute of silence, before Thomas says, “And no, I haven’t. I’m just worried. And scared.”

“Thomas, if you’re lying―”

“I’m not.” But his voice wavers, and he hides it with a clear of his throat. “I’m not lying, Teresa.”

“If I find out that you’re lying―”

“You won’t.” You probably will. “Because I haven’t been lying to you.” I have been lying to you. “I promise.”

Teresa shakes her head and leads them to the labs, where they see doctors watching a crank through a large glass window. Veins stick out so prominently on the crank’s face, neck, arms, and hands. The veins are almost black through the practically transparent skin. The person ― or whatever it is― is missing fingers and toes and teeth. There’s bald spots here and there on the scalp, and a some of the hair left on its head is sticking to its neck and face. It’s impossible to tell the exact sex of the crank, but Thomas almost doesn’t want to know. It has cuts and scrapes, burns and slashes, some so deep, you could literally see the bone. And yet it just keeps on moving.

That can be anyone he knows, Thomas realizes. That can be Minho, it could be Gally, it could be Newt.

Thomas tears his gaze away from the crank before he can vomit his breakfast and lunch. He’s sweating profusely, and yet the temperature in the hallway could be the same as a tundra. He glances back at Teresa, but she looks normal, so it’s probably just him. Just looking up sends a wave of nausea through his body.

Breathe. Just breathe. Calm yourself before you throw up.

But it’s too late, and he’s sprinting back out of the labs and into the hallway to empty his stomach. Teresa apologizes profusely, almost sobbing as she helps him back up. They walk back to the camp in silence, a cloud of unsaid questions and words hanging above him.

Once back in there, Thomas sprints back to Newt, pulling him back into the cabin so he could have someone to be there for company as he throws up in the bathroom once again. Newt stays with him all day and night, even after it wasn’t necessary, holding his hand and murmuring soothing words into Thomas’ ear.

They still take classes twice a week, and Chuck joins them, somehow able to take eight years of classes and shorten it down to three years. He learns things as fast as them, despite being almost four years younger than the majority of them. But Thomas enjoys Chuck’s company, who’s constantly talking out loud and to the teacher, who’s taken quite the liking to the young boy.

Newt doodles on an empty page in his notebook, sketching out an elaborate picture, however he doesn’t let Thomas (or anyone else, for that matter) see. It bothers Thomas, knowing that Newt’s keeping a secret from him, but it makes him feel better that he doesn’t let any other boy see, either.

Just seeing Newt’s face makes Thomas so happy, for he’s biting down on his bottom lip and furrowing his eyebrows in concentration. He occasionally swipes his tongue over his bottom lip when he’s not chewing on it, and Thomas isn’t so sure if he actually knows what he’s doing, wondering if it’s actually a subconscious thing. Occasionally, the blond would look back up at the board and his eyebrows would go up, his lips would part open, and he looks so innocent and hot when that happens. Other times, he’d glance at Thomas, and smile if Thomas catches his gaze.

Thomas wakes with a self portrait of himself a month later, beautifully drawn, so detailed that it must’ve taken weeks to draw.

On Newt’s seventeenth birthday, they celebrate the same way they did last year: in the treehouse, watching the sun go down, with a bottle of wine. But this time, instead of a kiss, they go with a blowjob. One for Newt, and one for Thomas.

He decides that he likes this better than kissing, and it’s so much hotter to see Newt around his cock, his tongue moving so marvelously around the base, and the feeling of his throat working around the tip. The blond’s eyelashes cast downwards, so long that they can probably touch his cheek. Thomas tangles his fingers in Newt’s hair, keeping him there, but not pushing him forward, letting Newt take his sweet time until Thomas comes.

He enjoys the sight of Newt underneath him, cheeks bright pink, pale chest heaving and shiny with sweat, as Thomas teases him slightly, licking over the tip before going down halfway, lightly scraping his teeth over the boy’s dick every here and there, but he can’t help it, thanks to his inexperience. It takes him a while until he can reach the base of his cock, but once he can, Newt lets out a guttural moan, his hips trying to jerk forward. Thomas holds him back, his eyes fluttering shut as he feels the weight of his dick on his tongue. He’s thankful that he doesn’t have much of a gag reflex.

“Tommy, I’m… I’m gonna come,” Newt moans.

He pulls away slightly to say, “Come in my mouth, then.” And he swallows him down once more, letting out a moan just from thinking about it, working back down until Newt’s cock touches the back of his throat.

And Newt does. His back arches as his jaw goes slack. He lets out a breathy groan and spurts into Thomas’ mouth and down his throat. It’s only after he comes down from his high does Thomas swallow it all, ignoring the slightly bitter taste, only because it’s Newt’s. He’s lucky that most of it passes past his tongue and into his throat, or else it probably would taste worse.

He goes to lock his lips with Newt’s, and Thomas pretty sure Newt can taste his own come on his tongue.

Thomas doesn’t think that he’s actually observed Newt’s sleeping expression until now. It was always the other way around; Newt protecting Thomas, sort of like a watchdog. But now it’s Thomas’ turn to be the watchdog.

He notices the way that his brow furrows, even in his sleep. There’s no way to possibly connect the moles that dot Newt’s skin, unlike his, because of the simple fact that there are none. His skin is clear of blemishes, with the exception of a small bump on his right cheekbone, something that’s been there for who knows how long. It’s only then does he realize how young Newt actually looks. He could pull off the look of an exceptionally tall thirteen or fourteen year old if he wanted to.

I’d date him if he was fourteen, he thinks to himself. The only fourteen year old I’d ever find mildly attractive.

The only thing that isn’t muted was the sound of Newt breathing, his mouth wide open. Thomas is tempted to close his mouth, worried of the bugs that might crawl in there while they sleep.

His hand run over Newt’s cold cheek and brush over one ear since they were turned to face each other, which meant that the other ear was squashed between Newt’s head and his pillow. His hand travels so lightly, it’s almost like the ghost of his fingers running over his forehead, tracing his hairline, and letting his knuckles brush against Newt’s cheekbones. Everything is so soft and fragile, the touch is almost addicting.

There is really no trace of facial hair whatsoever as he skims across the lower part of Newt’s face. No stubble, not even a hint of a mustache. Every time Newt complained about it in the past, Thomas was sure that he had at least some, but now, after this, he accepts that he is wrong. His fingers hesitate over Newt’s lips, so close that he could literally feel the hot breath coming out of his mouth when he exhales.

It takes him so long before deciding what he wants to do next, and his hands wander down to Newt’s jaw, tracing its way down to the center, and running his fingers over his chin.

Thomas doesn’t dare to touch Newt’s lips. It’s almost feels like a sin to touch anything as beautiful as that, so he presses a light kiss to Newt’s jaw instead. Thomas skips over his lips and touches any skin available to him, including his neck and sternum, his touch still light and gentle.

So this is what it feels like to be sleeping next to the love of your life, he realizes. Staying awake just to watch them sleep, watch their chest heave up and down and their lips looking absolutely kissable. And Thomas knows that Newt would do the same to him, if he hasn’t already.

This is what it feels like to love someone who loves you back.

Age 16

On his first day of turning sixteen, he’s greeted by a buttload of hugs and presents and alcohol. Not too much alcohol, since he doesn’t really like the taste of it, and seems to actually like the taste of juice better (without anyone’s surprise).

He comes back home to the cabin that evening to find it almost completely empty. The door shuts close behind him, and the lights are dimly lit, for the only ones that work at the moment is the one in the middle and the bathroom lights, but those are turned off.

“Newt?” Thomas asks, surprised. Not because of his presence, but because of the fact that he is dressed in only a white towel, which is draped too low on his hips It makes Thomas feel a little overdressed, due to the fact that he is still wearing the same clothes he had been wearing the entire day, but it’s still sexy as fuck.

It’s not like Thomas had never seen Newt shirtless. It’s just he’s never seen Newt shirtless and in such an intimate situation. His gaze roams over Newt’s clavicle that is so prominent; his dark nipples that are even more sensitive than his own; the faint trace of abs from all the exercise everyone gets every day.

Thomas sucks a breath in, pushing the palm of his hand against his crotch to keep it from getting hard, but it wasn’t working too well. “Newt, hey, w-what are you doing?” he asks nervously, feeling a shiver rush down his spine as Newt walked over to him, one foot in front of the other. It might just be his imagination, but he swears that Newt is purposefully swinging his hips. Whether he is or he isn’t, it’s definitely turning him on.

With a roll of his eyes, Newt replies, “Your mum,” practically dripping with sarcasm, as he pushes against Thomas’ chest, forcing Thomas to use his weight to balance the both of them while still standing. He ignores the painful burst he feels in his chest and quickly steadies himself, because right now, it’s only him and Newt.

“C’mon, Newt, I thought you had grown out of that phase,” Thomas teases. “And it doesn’t even make any sense. Because my mother isn’t a what, she’s a who.”

“Oh shut up, you’re ruining the mood,” he grumbles, “I got Minho and Alby to leave us for a bit, so we have all night long.” He entangles his hand in Thomas’ brown hair at the base of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

It starts out soft and sweet, just a simple close-mouthed kiss, but both of them know the whole scene will get so dirty so fast, just by the way Newt looks. The towel is threatening to fall from his waist, and Thomas is praying to heaven that it does quickly, because he’s not quite sure how long he can manage before he comes.

Thomas’ hands run all over Newt’s torso, running over the sides, his thumbs tracing over the barely visible indents and bumps of his ribs and flicking over his nipples teasingly, making Newt arch up, letting out a breathy gasp. Thomas lets out a low chuckle of amusement, before Newt’s bottom lip between his teeth again and pulling harshly. The word Payback flashes through Thomas’ mind, and suddenly their mouths are open and everything feels like too much and too little at the same time.

Their tongues fight for dominance, but it’s shortly over because Thomas didn’t know that tongue wrestling was a sport until now, and his mouth is so tired just from that. But it feels so good, and he can honestly ignore the ache his tongue feels, because Newt’s fingers find their way underneath Thomas’ blue shirt, his ice cold fingers meeting lava hot skin.

Thomas lets out a soft moan, and Newt takes this short time to push him back until their feet find the edges of a bed. Not theirs, since their bed is on the floor, remember. It’s Alby’s bottom bunk, and Thomas falls onto the made bed, making creases from his weight. Newt joins him shortly after, propping himself up on his elbows as he takes in the flushed cheeks and swollen lips and hooded, glazed eyes.

“A-are we sure that we should be doing this on Alby’s bed?” Thomas asks hesitantly, “He won’t get mad?”

“We can deal with his rage together if he does get made,” Newt reassures, “But let’s try not to get it too dirty.”

And they’re kissing again, Thomas gripping Newt’s hip, and plays with the waist of the towel, his cock straining against his pants and boxers. Newt slaps Thomas’ hands off gently, like the tease he is.

“Later,” Newt whispers with a soft chuckle. “Trust me, you’ll thank me when I do take it off. I’ve got a little birthday surprise for you.”

Thomas has to suppress a shiver and a moan as he hears these words. “Fine,” he breathes, “Fine. But first help me take of my clothes. I’ll get the shirt, you get the pants.”

And Newt happily obliges. It doesn't take long for them to get Thomas almost entirely naked if they work together, and it takes all of Thomas’ will to not cover up his erection through his boxers. One thing happens to another, and all of a sudden, Newt is inches away from Thomas’ dick, his elbows digging into Alby’s poor mattress. He has no idea how the blond managed to get there in the first place. Even through his boxers he still manages to feel Newt’s hot breath so easily. And then Newt’s lips are there, taking the bulge into his mouth as he works his tongue through the fabric.

Thomas instinctively bucks his hips up and lets out a low, guttural moan, weaving his fingers into Newt’s hair. His hand doesn’t press down on Newt’s head, doesn’t tell Newt to do anything else, he doesn’t make Newt do anything. Thomas just lets the other boy to do all the work.

Newt mouths the cock through the boxers, bringing his free hand up to trace around the wet spot already forming. Thomas knows that the fabric probably doesn’t taste good, and somewhere in his mind he is very grateful.

He has to cover his mouth with his hand and bite it hard to make sure he’s not that loud, however it’s hard when Newt looks like he’s the one that’s being given pleasure, his eyes half-lidded and his throat making these soft moans, barely audible, and Thomas is left trembling, open-mouthed, and gasping for breath.

“Ohmygod, d-don’t stop... I’m gonna come,” Thomas moans, shutting his eyes, and tightening his grip on Newt’s hair.

Of course, that’s when Newt pulls away, his face once again so close to Thomas’ dick, and yet so far away. He stares at Thomas’ crotch, clearly impressed at the wet spot he’s made with his saliva and mouth. He’s palming his own erection through his towel, letting out a soft moan before going back down to Thomas’ legs, letting his hands run down Thomas’ thighs as his head got closer. He lets his hands rub up and down Thomas before finally going high enough to pull down the waistband of the black, now dirty boxers.

And ohmygod this is actually happening again. Newt has his lips wrapped almost down to the base of Thomas’ cock, his fingers replacing the couple inches he can’t take into his mouth, and Thomas lets out a surprised, strangled cry, which is quickly replaced by a breathless moan. He can’t be grateful enough that he had closed the door before walking into his own cabin. It doesn’t take long, only a few swipes over the head, Newt hollowing out his cheeks, and coming so close to deepthroating it that it isn’t even funny.

This is the first time that he’s actually wants Newt to fuck him, bury his dick deep inside of Thomas, and there are flashes of what it would look like in his mind that sends Thomas into a trembling mess. He feels his orgasm coming, and he doesn’t try to hide it.

“Holy fuck, Newt I’m gonna come, don’t stop, I’m gonna come I’mgonnacomeI’mgonna―” and he lets out a loud, throaty moan as he feels himself coming, his vision blurring and practically going white from the intensity.

It takes him so long before he realizes that he actually came in Newt’s mouth, and that Newt hasn’t had his orgasm yet.

All it takes is a push on the shoulders to get Thomas to lean against the cabin wall, as Newt sits across the bed, knees pulled up so he’s digging his heels onto the bed, and he’s leaning on his hands as he spreads his legs apart ever so slightly. The white towel rides up his thighs, revealing his pale skin. Newt’s legs open even more and Thomas has to press his palm down to make his erection go down, because it would be very embarrassing if he’s hard right after he comes, while Newt hasn’t come at all yet.
Thomas has never been so tired, and yet so awake at the same time.

It’s clear that Newt’s doing all he can do tease Thomas, since he’s got one hand traveling up and down his torso, running over and pinching his own dark nipples, and sucking in a breath as he does as well. Newt’s eyes flutter shut, and Thomas’ dick jumps when he hears Newt whisper, “Tommy,” in possibly the most seductive way ever that hits him straight in the groin, as if it is Thomas that’s playing with his nipples. As if it’s Thomas that’s trailing a hand down his stomach, Thomas that finds his way down to his dick, palming it with an unhurried pace.

Newt’s taking his time as he goes under the towel to touch himself, wrapping a shaking hand around his already hard cock, leaking with precome. He let’s out a loud, unrestrained moan, and Thomas is pressing his own dick harder to keep it down.

It’s the second time that Newt moans, “Tommy,” that sends Thomas over the line of control, and the brunette is there at Newt’s side, a hand on the other boy’s hip. But Newt opens his eyes, blown wide, and looks down at Thomas with such a lusted intensity.

“Don’t touch me,” Newt begs, “I’m gonna show you what you do to me.” He’s already wiping his sticky hands on his towel to grab for a thick rope, conveniently placed underneath the bed. “I’m going to tie you up. Is that okay? That way you can touch yourself, but you can’t touch me.”

Thomas swallows harshly, nodding his head hastily as he goes to the wall again, and lets Newt tie one hand to the bedpost, leaving the other free to knead his own dick furiously with no restraint. Maybe being manhandled is just a little bit of a turn on.

Just like that, Newt continues, letting Thomas, and only Thomas, watch.

His eyes flutter shut once again, his hand cupping his both his balls, playing with them as if they were toys. His arm goes away once again, disappearing underneath the bed and reappearing in a split second, holding out what seemed to be a container of lube in his hand.

“A-are you going to―” Thomas asked, eyes wide with surprise.

Newt let out a soft moan before shaking his head, almost casually dipping his fingers into the opened container, scooping some lube out from the side of it. “No, not yet. Oh god, not yet, I wouldn’t be able to handle it. I just don’t want to give myself a burn from a handjob. Maybe later,” he replies, arching his back as he trails a lubed finger close to his arsehole teasingly. “But for now, I want you to watch me wank. I promised,” he whispers before shutting up entirely. The only thing coming out of his lips are soft moans and Thomas’ name, which is perfectly fine with Thomas, because that meant that there was more he could concentrate instead of Newt’s nonexistent profanities.

It doesn’t take long after that for Newt to come. His eyes open just barely, his legs open up even further, and Newt’s back is arched, letting his head fall back.

“Oh, fucking hell, Tommy,” he moans, his come spurting onto his chest, soft white against the pale skin and the dim light. That leaves Thomas and his boner, something he doesn’t really want to take care of, but he decides that it’s already too far to go back to the state of limpness now, and that there’s not really any choice but to finish himself off. He has his free hand wrapped around the base of his cock, dragging out the process for as long as possible. His eyes flutter shut as he breathes in shallowly, because deep breaths would just result in moans, and this is the perfect time to tease.

Newt whines impatiently, and suddenly he’s the one wrapping his fingers around Thomas’ cock. The other boy’s eyes widen in surprise before closing them again and letting Newt watch every moment. He wishes that Newt would undo the rope, binding him to the poor bedpost, but it’s almost impossible now, with Newt so tired out. His thumb goes over the tip, his fingers tracing a ghostly path along his vein, and Thomas is breathless.

Newt is too exhausted to get hard, but there he is anyway, capturing every single one of Thomas’ pants and moans in a single kiss, until Thomas’ lungs burn with the need of oxygen from not breathing enough.

Newt goes down to kiss a ghostly trail down Thomas’ neck, pausing to suck at the nape of his neck.

“I’ll do them where no one can see, love,” Newt breathes out before going back to drag his teeth back up his neck, sucking right underneath his jaw. He pauses briefly to let a hot breath, which Thomas assumes is a quiet laugh. “Mmm… I guess I lied. I suppose like the thought of you being mine. Mine and no one else’s.”

“Oh god, that’s hot,” Thomas moans, and he arches his back involuntarily, his head falling back to expose more of his neck and chest to Newt, who takes this opportunity to mark the rest of his torso. He keeps his hand on Thomas’ dick, taking his sweet time. “Newt…” Thomas breathes.

“Yeah, Tommy?”

“Just hurry up a-and fuck me already.” Thomas trails off with a moan.

“I would, but I’m too tired for my dick to get up again,” Newt replies with a smirk. His grip on Thomas’ dick tightens and his hand moves up, and that’s all it takes for Thomas to go off the edge. He comes with a loud cry, holding onto Newt’s shoulders for support, for the second time that evening.

The post-sex part is sweet and steady, and Newt’s undoing the knot that holds Thomas back. As soon as the rope is untangled, Thomas sinks down against the bedframe, absolutely exhausted. Newt crawls next to him, and scoops Thomas up so the younger boy sits on his lap. Newt brushes Thomas’ bangs out of his eyes, peppering his face with soft kisses. His free arm traps Thomas from escaping, pressing him against his bare chest.

“How’d you like your present?” Newt asks, and goes down to gently suck on the skin behind Thomas’ ear. His free hand trails up and down Thomas’ torso, going over his dark nipples, lightly groping his side.

“Better than I expected,” Thomas responds breathlessly. He gives Newt a lopsided grin, before squirming in his grip, pushing down on the arm to get it away from himself. “Stop, that tickles, babe.”

“I’ll stop if you call me babe again.”

“Babe. Now stop before I piss myself.”

“Sounds kinky,” Newt muses.

“Oh my god, stop,” Thomas laughs, and raises his head for a kiss that Newt gladly gives him.

Thomas and Newt kiss a lot, but they’ve done nothing over blowjobs and handjobs. Yet.

Chuck decides to prank Cabin 5 one day by putting livestock in their room. That morning, Thomas wakes with an unpleasant surprise before nudging Newt until he wakes, then Alby and Minho. Their cabin reeks of shit and other nasty smells that Thomas doesn’t even want to think about. With everyone’s help (minus Chuck and a few other people), they manage to drag the cows, goats, and sheep back to the farm on the opposite side of the camp. By the time the boys finish, it is already time for dinner, and boy, are they hungry.

Minho drapes his arms around Thomas and Newt’s necks, using them for support as the trio walk down to the cafeteria. “So,” the Asian begins, looking directly at the two of them, “Have you guys… you know, done the deed yet?”

Thomas has a look of confusion on his face while Newt looks completely done with Minho’s shit. “What do you mean?” Thomas asks at the same time as Newt deadpans, “Go away, Min, we’ll do it when we’re ready.”

Minho cackles and drops his arms, leaving to go ahead of the duo. He calls behind him, “Use lube! Lots o’ lube!” before laughing even harder than he did before.

That’s when Thomas finally gets it, and his face flushes a nice shade of pink.

“This is our home, not Sex Ed!” Thomas shouts back, but Minho’s already disappeared somewhere in the cafeteria, leaving them all alone in the empty corridor, with all the other boys already grabbing lunch and sitting down.

Newt and Thomas walk down the hallway devoid of any sign of life minus them, their hands in an awkward and (yet comfortable) tangle of fingers. They don’t talk at all as they enter the already full cafeteria, and share only glances as they head to the back of the lunch line. It’s not quite the awkward silence as they thought it would’ve been, but more of a comfortable silence you could only get with someone so close to you. It’s the silence people enjoy rather than the too quiet silence that makes people uneasy.

Only after they’ve settled in at their usual table do they finally even attempt a conversation. Minho and Alby are chatting avidly to each other and with other people about whatever the hell they’re talking about, like usual, only this time, they actually have other boys to talk to. Gally, Winston, Ben, Zart, and Siggy all crowd around the two, leaving

Thomas and Newt, sitting at the end of their table, to talk among themselves.

“D’you think Minho’s had sex before?” Newt asks in a casual but lowered tone. He’s got a hand on his chocolate milk carton, tipping both his head and the milk back as he drank.

“Probably. To be honest, I think he’s as straight as a circle,” Thomas mutters back, spooning his pasta into his open mouth.
Newt chokes on his milk.

Cabin Five is having another of its late night talks. Thomas is explaining in more detail what they’ll be doing in the maze, during Phase One, even though they all knew about it years ago. However, it’s just the fact that their impending departure will happen sometime this year that makes them all so anxious.

“It’s like I said before,” Thomas says avoiding eye contact with the others, “You guys will be sent to a maze to test what’s in here―” he taps the side of his head “― and all the information will be recorded and sent back to WICKED. That’s where I’ll be. In headquarters. Watching you guys.” His voice wavers a little at the end, but he makes an effort to go on, so he clears his throat and continues. “Look, none of you guys will be able to remember what I’m telling you. Maybe it’s best that I don’t elaborate any further.”

“So… what you’re saying, is that, we’ll be taken and everything, but we won’t actually know when,” states Minho bluntly, “And then we get sent into this world unbeknownst to us, and we gotta figure out how to survive.”

“No. For the first part, I mean. The last part seems pretty correct,” Thomas clarifies, “I leave a day before the first person leaves to go to the maze. After that, a person should be taken every month and sent down to the maze. I’ll be the only one out of us that remembers everything.”

His throat constricts, and all of a sudden, he feels like crying. He can practically feel his anxiety and stress rising, and it takes him a moment to calm himself down. Deep breaths. Count to fifteen, deep breaths, he thinks to himself.

“So, we might lose our memories?” Alby asks.

“No…” Thomas hesitates, “You will lose your memories. It will uh… i-it won’t take long. The memory swiping process.”

“So… I won’t remember anything?” Newt speaks quietly, but it’s the loudest in Thomas’ ears.

“Nothing,” Thomas whispers harshly. “You won’t remember anything.”

“Tommy… I can’t… I can’t lose you, I can’t lose anyone. I won’t remember who you are, Tommy, I won’t be able to remember anyone here, I won’t be able to remember how much I love you!” Newt shuts his eyes tightly and takes quick and light breaths. Thomas knows he’s trying not to cry, because he’s also trying not to.

“We will find a way,” he says, his voice shaking so bad that he doesn’t even understand himself, but it’s the best he can do without breaking into tears in front of everything again. “We’ll always find a way.”

Teresa tells him he has exactly one month prior his departure.

“Make it a month you’ll remember, even when they’re all gone,” she advises, giving Thomas a tight hug before walking away, leaving Thomas numb once again.

“One more month,” Thomas says, mentally exhausted and drained, as he drags his way back into his home, falling onto his bed on the floor. “One more month before I leave.”

“One month ― who the hell would even do this to us?!” Minho shouts, bursting into outrage while Newt stays silent, sitting on top of Alby’s bed. “Why do they even need these stupid trials, they should just figure it out on their own!”

Thomas doesn’t have the heart to tell them that he himself had a part in this idea.

While Minho stalks around the cabin, muttering furiously to himself and occasionally shouting at nothing before quieting himself back down to a barely audible grumble, Newt stares blankly at Thomas. It’s a look Thomas has only seen once before, and that was when Thomas had first kissed Newt in the tower.

“One month,” Newt says, almost shocked, but he sounds so empty that it physically hurts Thomas. “We have one month together.”

“I’ll see if Anderson will let you stay with me longer,” Thomas hastily tries.

“Tommy, you know he won’t,” Newt forces out, and he sounds like he’s in so much pain. Maybe it would hurt less if Thomas was stabbed in the chest right now. Because

Thomas knows that this is partially his fault for even coming up with the whole plan.

“Well then fuck Anderson, who needs his decisions?” demands Thomas, but anger quickly dissolves into utter exhaustion.

It’s at this moment that Minho decides to tune in to their conversation, interested, but at the same time, pitiful. He goes to sit next to Newt quietly, wrapping an arm around the smaller boy as he pulls Newt into a tight, one-armed hug.

“You guys will figure it out,” he murmurs almost so softly that Thomas doesn’t pick it up, even though he knows that it’s directed more to Newt than to himself. “You guys always figure it out.”

“I ― we ―will try to find a way, Newt,” Thomas manages shakily, “I will try with every breath that I take, because even if we’re separated, I will always love you, and I will always find you.” He’s by Newt’s side quicker than he realizes, because one second he was on their bed, and the next, he’s sitting on the other side of Newt, resting a clammy hand on the other boy’s thigh.

And Newt lets out a quiet sob that shakes his entire body, pulling his legs up towards his chest as he buries his head into his arms.

One more race.

Just for the good, old times, they decide. After all, one more can’t hurt anybody.

It’s Minho versus Thomas versus Newt, and for the first time, Thomas passes both of them in the same race, streaking towards the finish line where Alby, Gally, Chuck, and a few other campers were waiting for him, even though they aren’t sure why the trio have suddenly decided to participate in a race. He sprints ahead, leaving them in his dust.

He’s not sure if they both agreed to let Thomas win prior to the race, but they both seem happy, content, and out of breath by the time they cross the finish line as Thomas watches who would come in second place.

One more prank.

The prank is done on Chancellor, organized by Minho, who had help coming up with the idea from Clint and Jeff. Newt, Alby, and Siggy provide the plastic cups, however the latter of the three is able to bring the most cups because of his relationships with the cooks and WICKED employees there. Instead of only being allowed to take only four cups each (like Newt and Alby), Siggy somehow manages to convince the workers to let him take twenty-five cups every single breakfast, lunch, and dinner. On a good day, maybe they’d even let him have thirty.

Thomas goes down to help one day, and he manages to collect over a hundred cups in a single afternoon. While everyone gapes at him, he just shrugs and gets back to work.
Thanks to Siggy and Thomas, this process goes by faster than expected. It is Thomas, Minho, Winston, and Gally’s job to fill the all plastic cups to the brim with water in the span of five hours, where Teresa would let them into the WICKED building. She guides them in front of the door to the Chancellor’s office, where Newt and Alby are waiting with approximately a two hundred and fifty cups all together, stacked in piles of ten.

“There’s a bathroom right across from his office. Don’t worry about this hallway, no guards come around here from twelve to four in the morning, which means that you guys have plenty of time, but not enough time to dilly dally, so get moving,” Teresa whispers harshly, already starting to unstack the cups. “Anderson will come back at around six in the morning. I’ll have to get you back to camp before four if you don’t want to get caught. Aris is watching the security cameras right now, so we’ll be fine if any cameras come out.”

The boys glance at each other with a new-found respect for the girl. Hurriedly, they get to work.

Years of growing up and working together pay off, as they’re able to get into a system, where two people are filling up two different cups at the same time in the sink and the toilet, to Teresa’s obvious disgust, before hurrying to place the full cups in nice rows all around the Chancellor’s door.

“Don’t worry about the water we spill,” reassures Minho, “It’s a tiled floor. The worst that’ll happen is someone slipping, but hopefully that’ll only be the Chancellor.”

It takes a little more than three hours to get the cups all around his door, with some even extending outwards on both sides of the hallway.

The boys have to hurry to get back to their camp before anyone notices they’re gone, and Teresa gladly takes them back, thanking them so much for their help and cooperation. She gives Thomas a bone-crushing hug, but not without a deadly glare from Newt. They bid their farewells as Teresa closes the door to their camp, sealing it tight to make sure that no suspicions arise. Although everyone is exhausted from their work, the boys are buzzing with excitement. Although their limbs will be sore, and their muscles will ache, no one can even think about sleeping right now. Because it’s almost as if they’ve committed a crime

It’s such a shame that they won’t be able to see the Chancellor’s reaction to this “crime”.

One more attempt to get Chancellor Anderson’s consent to take Newt out of the tests and trials.

Thomas enters his office late one afternoon after a quick run-in with Teresa. He’s out of breath, running his fingers through his unkempt hair as he tries to tame it. He pulls up a chair in front of the Chancellor’s desk, and quickly apologizes for his delayed arrival before getting right into what he came here for.

“I am requesting permission to take Newt out of the trials,” Thomas says, reciting what Teresa had told him to say, word for word, since Thomas is practically hopeless with his own sentences.

“Who?” asks the Chancellor.

“Newt,” Thomas repeats, and then quickly amends, “Isaac. His… his name is Isaac.”

“Oh, yeah. Him.” Silence. Hesitation. “Thomas… we can’t take him out of the tests. I’ve seen you when you’re around him, when you’re with him. Isaac will be a distraction to our work. He’ll be a distraction to our studies, and we cannot have distractions.”

“He won’t distract me! I promise, please, Chancellor, please.”

“Thomas, I cannot. What will we do if the Flare spreads inside the WICKED labs? He’ll die.“

"He’s immune.”

“No, he’s not.”

“Yes, he is,” Thomas replies back, but his voice is shaking because he knows that the Chancellor can be right. It’s been around eight years ago since he’s read everyone’s files. Immune and Not Immune can get mixed up after so long.

The Chancellor sighs before bending down, opening one cabinet after another. The only noise audible at the moment is the rustling of papers. Three cabinets and two minutes later, Chancellor Anderson comes back up with Newt’s file. He places it on the table, leaning forward on his desk to look Thomas in the eye.

“Read it if you want, Thomas, and tell me if he’s immune.”

It’s the same manila folder he had remembered information from almost seven years ago. The peach-coloured tab still reads, “Isaac Newton” in Anderson’s scratchy handwriting, but it’s almost faded now. There’s a small tear on the side of the folder, and a coffee stain by the corner. The folder is damaged, but the inside is still the same. Thomas takes the folder with a shaking hand.

It takes all of Thomas’ energy and restraint to keep his composure as he excuses himself out of the office. He hides his trembling fingers with agitated hand gestures and the hole burnt into his chest with a empty smile that couldn’t fool anyone.

When he closes the door behind him, he drops all the lies and fake feelings. There is something sitting on his chest, squeezing his heart and filling his lungs with something that isn’t air. Something inside isn’t feeling right; he’s numb, but in pain. Thomas gasps for oxygen, but he can’t find enough, and he’s choking on his tears. He wants to throw up, but nothing comes out, so he’s stuck dry heaving in front of the Chancellor’s door.

The initial shock drains out of his body, leaving only the hand around his heart and the tears that were forced back for so long. He sits back against the wall, since it seems like his stomach isn’t in the mood to hurl all his food back up again, his tremorous hands raking through his hair, yanking hard and entangling his fingers in the awful mess. His knees are pulled up to his chest, making him simultaneously look and feel smaller than before.

Thomas takes deep breaths that are broken with quiet sobs as he buries his face into his right arm. He wants to stop crying, but he can’t. And everything that makes him feel better just makes him feel worse.

Because what’s the point of loving something you can’t protect?

Maybe it would’ve better to distance himself from everyone in the beginning.

This wouldn’t have happened if he didn’t want to go with the boys.

Fuck.

This is all my fault.

Thomas hasn’t slept too much all week. (Approximately only ten hours all week; that’s a record for the poor boy.) Why waste his time on sleep when he can waste it being awake and doing things?

He's got dark circles under his eyes, his hair always sexily mussed (but “It’s not worth it if he doesn’t get enough sleep,” Thomas once overhears Newt telling Minho), and he’s unnaturally pale. But even so, when he’s awake, he feels alive and like he can do anything. He hardly notices it when he dozes off in the middle of lunch or twenty minutes of class (which has gotten reduced to once a week for an hour now that the start of the trials is nearing). No one bothers waking him up because everyone knows of the lack of sleep he’s been getting.

There’s only two more weeks left, and he doesn’t want to waste any time, he doesn’t want to leave

One more kiss; one more blowjob; one more twist of the hand around his dick; one more look at his naked body. There’s too much he wants to do, but so little time.

To: Dearest Newt

Also known as Isaac Newton, but you don’t like to be called that, do you?

I suppose I’ll start of saying this: this letter is not going to be pretty. It’s going to hurt a shit ton, for both you and me.

For the reader, and for the writer as well.

Who knew goodbye letters were so hard to write?

I fell in love with a boy named Newt when I was probably around thirteen. I can’t remember anymore; it’s been too long! I’m sixteen now, turning seventeen in a month, but I suppose you already know that. I haven’t heard your side of this story, and I do intend to later, but for now, you’ll have to deal with mine.

From start to finish, my journey with you has been a rollercoaster. A shitty one, I’ll admit, but one that I will cherish and remember nonetheless.

I think the thing that caught my eye the most was your accent, because hot damn, I could get drunk off of your words. I still can. Probably even more than I was younger. I seem to be a lightweight for your words, if you get what I’m saying. But I suppose I’m a lightweight in general. It takes me like a shot of whiskey to feel kinda woozy; two to get me half way there; and three to get me drunk. It takes me four before I’m grinding on everything and anything. Hopefully you, but you’d never know.

I’m in love with you, Newt. I’m in love with the damaged world we live in because you’re the one that makes everything better. The light in the dark. The lollipop in the salad.

Shit, that was sappy. And of course I’m writing in pen; it makes everything stay longer.

You won’t remember everything we’ve done together, but I will, and maybe that’ll be have to do for both of us. Look, I’m not trying to make you cry, but if I do, I’m sorry. It seems like I have that effect on people. Just remember that I will always be watching from the surveillance cameras. Please don’t hurt yourself too bad, I will never be able to live with myself if you get hurt. Think of me like your conscious. No, not your filthy conscious, but the good one that’s telling you to stay safe and make the right decisions. I don’t want to be associated with sex all the time, you know.

I will find a way to meet you again, hopefully in the maze. I will be quite angry with you when I find you in hell when I get there. I will find a way to make you remember, and hopefully by then, you’ll be falling in love with me all over again. It’s okay if you get yourself another boyfriend or something in the maze. Maybe I should leave marks on your body before you go. So everyone knows you’re mine. I bet you’d like that. You love everything about hickeys, but you always told me not to put them in the most obvious places, since everyone would tease us.

You’d put them everywhere on me anyway.

We’re only sixteen, but I could love you till I die.

The next time we’ll meet is in the second trials. I heard they’re not suppose to last too long, but I don’t know.

I’m telling you this now so you understand that I don’t want to leave you. I’d go with you halfway around the world if you wanted me to. I’m sixteen and stupidly in love with you. There are no photos for us to remember all the shit that happened, sadly, but they’ll all stored in my mind. I just wish I was as good of an artist as you. Then I could draw them out for you.

I suppose you’d like to know who I am, since you won’t remember me. My name is Thomas. Well, not really, but I don’t exactly remember my real name. I know things that I shouldn’t, I can telepathically communicate to a girl named Teresa (yeah, that sounded a lot normaller in my head), and I am a big sucker for competition. I do like the occasional alcohol, but, like I said before, I am quite the lightweight drinker. I’m actually really bad at talking in real life. Maybe I’ll get better, who knows?

I’ve never told anyone else this, but I’m tired of this world. I’m ready to die, I feel like I’d belong there after the things I’ve done. In fact, the king of hell would probably welcome me there.

There are things I’ve never told you, and there are things I can’t. Most of the things I’ve never told you are also things that I can’t. Because I’d get hurt, you’d get hurt, and everyone would hate me. I hope you respect my decisions.

I am in love with a boy named Isaac Newton, Newt for short. Everyday I think about him, about his smile, his beautiful hair that changes from blond to brown every five goddamn minutes, and his voice ― oh my god that voice could send me into a state of blissful oblivion. His kisses are like a drug, I could get high off of them, and I’d never regret it. I’m in love with his accent, the way he stands, the way he dresses.. I’m in love with a boy named Newt, who’s also the sexiest person alive.

I ’m so glad that I met you. These past six years have been the best six years of my life. You are my best friend and my super hot boyfriend. I don’t know what I’d do without you.

I love you.

S o goddamn much.

PS ― it would be really cool if you took this with you to the maze. Like hide it in your shirt or in your boxers or something. Just so you remember how much I love you.

Thomas watches from the surveillance cameras as Alby stands inside the metallic box. The camera, which is basically just a fake ladybug, zooms in on Alby, focusing on only him and blurring out everything else that isn’t deemed important. All alone, with only food, water, and clothes to last him for who knows how long. Alby’s shaking, whether from the cold or fear, Thomas does not know.

The room is dim and empty, the only source of illumination coming from the screens of the videos and the lamp in the corner that brings very little light when it’s turned on. It’s only Thomas in the room, standing in silence, with only the hum of the heater to keep him company. He doesn’t talk. He doesn’t move.

He just watches.

He watches as the next boy enters the maze two days later. Then another boy, a month later. Then Minho, four months later, and Thomas is holding his breath as Minho rises from the metallic box that they all came from.

There’s no point to try to keep Thomas away. Every time, he manages to find his way back into the camera room whether subconsciously or not. Half of the time he’s not even taking notes, but just absorbing all the details. He knows everyone’s second personality, not surprised to find that Minho’s and Alby’s are still very similar, and shocked to find that Siggy is the new cook and goes by Frypan. It takes a few days to realize that Frypan and Siggy are the same person, since Siggy doesn’t seem to be the type of person who likes to make food.

Sometimes it feels like the universe is going against Thomas, trying to force him away from his life again, and away from the person he loves the most. Sometimes it feels like everything is too much, and he’s okay with dying now. At least he’d be in peace.

Teresa brings him food and water most of the time, because Thomas doesn’t know how to find time to go down to the cafeteria and eat. He feels terrible for making Teresa serve him food, but Teresa just smiles and tells him that it’s okay.

“I know you’d do the same for me if the situations were reversed,” Teresa reassures, but Thomas isn’t sure if he’d be able to. He feels even worse, but doesn’t say anything, just letting his stomach churn in guilt.

It takes eleven people and seven months of obsessive screen watching until Newt arrives. Thomas doesn’t notice it at first, because he’s expecting someone else. There’s always that tug in his chest that says that maybe it is Newt. There’s the other side that thinks, “Maybe Chancellor Anderson listened to me for once.”

Thomas is up and out of his seat in less than a second, watching the screens, too engrossed in the live video of Newt’s face close up. This beautiful boy is still the same Newt as he was before, but at the same time, completely different. He looks exhausted, both physically and mentally drained. From where he is, he can see Newt’s cracked lips, the dark circles under Newt’s eyes that match Thomas’ own, the blank stare on the boy’s face, unalike the terrified expressions the other Gladers (as they call themselves) held when they first came up from the box before him. He looks taller, or maybe that’s just a trick of the camera. Newt’s grown out his blond hair for the first time in six years, letting it hang past his ears.

Ten faces prior to his, and yet Newt’s is the only one that doesn’t even look a tiny bit scared.

Newt sits with his back resting against the metal, grated wall, legs crossed, and his hands folded in his lap. He just watches, his head turning side to side, as if looking at his surroundings, as if he’s calculating the other boys’ reactions. Thomas can’t help but hold his breath.

Thomas switches to another screen that shows the ten other boys, crowded around the edge of the metal box, staring at Newt like they’d never seen another boy before. The video pans and zooms in on one boy with dark hair and tanned skin. Immediately Thomas recognizes him as Minho. The Asian looks the same as always; short, black hair that stays out of his face (unlike Thomas’), dirt smudges that never seem to go away (even though Thomas knows they do), and the stern but relaxed expression that only Minho can ever pull off.

Minho’s the same as always, and yet he seems so different.

A bullet to the chest would hurt less than the pain Thomas feels at this moment; the indescribably sharp wrench on his heart that practically tears him apart. He’s already fragile enough; there’s no reason to make him even worse.

Newt rises onto his unsteady feet, staring each and every single boy in the eyes with a passion that Thomas has never seen on his face before.

If there are people in the surveillance room, Thomas doesn’t notice them. Instead, he just sees a tired and lost boy, with something white sticking out of his pants pockets that looks suspiciously like paper.

Thomas is screaming at the screen, his chair knocked backwards from the spontaneous burst of energy it took to stand up. Everyone is looking at him in bewilderment, but he doesn’t care anymore. Only Teresa understands, but even she doesn’t try to hold him back. Everything is spinning and blurred from the tears in his eyes. He doesn’t even try to wipe them away as he yells at the screens for Newt to stop.

To stop climbing the vines. To stop being stupid. To stop and think about what he’s doing.

Because I love you, and you loved me.

It practically happens in slow-motion. He sees every moment that goes by; the determination on Newt’s face as he hauls himself up; the masked expressions every time he looks down. With the three times that Newt stops, so does Thomas’ heart as he thinks that this is the time that Newt is going to let go. The first two times, Thomas is wrong, and Newt closes his eyes and counts to five. Thomas can see the words forming on his lips.

One… two… three… four… five…

The last time, Thomas is right.

He watches as Newt lets go of the vines that held him up. As Newt plummets a good forty feet down onto the solid ground beneath. It’s not as high as the top of a building, but it’s high enough.

He isn’t sure when he started shouting, “NO, NO!!”, and he’s not sure if he even did, either. He can’t hear anything but the blood that rushes in his ears and his own heartbeat.

Newt’s limp body hurts Thomas as well.

Thomas is frozen in shock, with a blank expression on his face. His body feels numb but overcome with too much emotion at the same time. Thomas wants to cry, but he can’t; it’s like his body won’t let him do what he wants. He’s in too much shock to do anything, really. All he really wants to do is tell the Gladers what had happened, step-by-step, and hope that they can fix his broken body.

It takes too long for the Gladers to come and see what had just happened. He watches Newt’s limp figure for an extensive amount of time. The unnaturally bent angle of Newt’s leg makes him sick, but he stares nonetheless because Newt probably feels worse than this, if the shock doesn’t prevent him from feeling any pain.

Newt can’t die. Because if he does, then Thomas doesn’t have anything to live for anymore.

His stomach churns uncomfortably, and it takes all of his might not to throw up right then and there. A wave of ice-cold chills that lasts less than a second washes over Thomas, and suddenly it feels like the world is spinning around him. Vertigo, minus the great height part. Thomas takes deep breaths, forcing himself to breath, inhaling for four counts, and exhaling for three. It doesn’t help, but at least it takes his mind off of the screens just for a little while.

“Fuck,” he whispers shakily to himself as he tries not to cry. “Fuck!” He repeats, this time louder, “FUCK!” He pounds his hands on the screen and watches it flicker for a millisecond because of the impact. By this time, he’s sobbing uncontrollably hard. He tries to cover his mouth with the back of his palm, as if he can hide the grief and shock and desperation behind a simple hand. His sobs wrack his chest as he stands there, shoulders hunched, like there’s nothing left to him to carry on.

He’s unable to think; unable to breathe, despite his techniques prior. Thomas can’t even wipe away his tears because he can’t even bother to move. They pour down his cheeks, making his hand wet and sticky. He tries to calm himself down because there’s still other people in the room, but all that happens is a choked sob and more tears spill out.

All he can think about is that Newt is almost positively dead. It would be a miracle if he’s still alive.

Maybe he should’ve listened to the Chancellor and should’ve never created all those bonds. Maybe that would stop the pain in his chest. Maybe he should’ve stayed behind the scenes, like Teresa and Aris.

Thomas wishes for a miracle that would save his Newt from imminent death. Just this one time, he begs to the sky, Please. For me.

He hasn’t eaten much in the past month. Saltine crackers are his main snack at the moment, because they’re one of the only foods he can actually keep down. He feels sick. Nauseous. Diseased. Even though he isn’t. It’s hard to breathe, like there’s a knot in his chest that grows tighter and tighter every single time he even thinks about Newt.

People are so fragile, so broken, and it takes Newt almost dying for him to realize that.

Teresa practically forces food into his mouth whenever he forgets to eat, which is often. It gets so bad that the Chancellor threatens to lock him out of the camera room if he doesn’t eat. So, begrudgingly, he does. It doesn’t help that Thomas feels like throwing up afterwards, but he always manages to keep it down.

Minho kisses Newt on the lips, pulling the blond boy in from the hand on the back of his neck. His eyes are shut, and for all Thomas cares, so are Newt’s.
Thomas is furious, so close to lashing out, because “That is my Newt, and no one kisses him but me!” He knows his anger isn’t right. Because Newt doesn’t remember him, and yet Thomas still loves Newt. He doesn’t notice the wide eyes and gaping mouth on Newt’s face as he pulls away, nor the fact that Newt had pushed Minho away, and seems to be apologizing profusely, because he’s too furious to comprehend anything but the fact that Minho had locked lips with the love of his life.

He’s grumpy for the rest of the day, lashing out at anyone who gets too close to him, and being so rude that Teresa and Aris don’t even bother trying to get him to eat anymore.

So, after being forbidden access into the camera room for nine hours as his punishment, Thomas finally goes back to where he feels safest, to the place where he always goes to. Because he has no other way to deal with his problems.

It’s there and then, when he switches the screens back on, that he feels much better. And a lot worse, too, because he’s been acting like such a jerk for the past day.

The sun’s already disappeared from the horizon by the time he starts paying attention to what’s happening. The ladybug, hidden in plain sight, is the only reason why he can even see what’s happening now. It adjusts to the dim light of a cabin, but which cabin? The ladybug crawls forward and into a more exposed area, almost as if it had heard Thomas’ thoughts, where almost everything is visible with a 360 turn.

Thomas is awfully surprised to notice how similar the cabin looks to the ones back at their old home. It’s the same wooden structure, built with the same design of the beams that hold up the roof, and the cabin seems to be the same shape as well. The inside of the building is almost identical to his own. The bunkbeds are larger, but still relatively in the same location, as well as the closets and bathroom.

There, hunched over on his bottom bunk bed, is a pale skinned boy, accompanied by a wild mess of blond hair and long legs that are hidden by navy blue pajamas. It takes Thomas’ breath away, because he feels like it’s been too long since he’s seen him like this: innocent and confused, and yet he still knows how to stop Thomas’ heart without trying.

The ladybug almost automatically climbs towards the bunk bed, and onto one of the rungs of the ladder, like it’s trying to get a good look at the blond.

Newt’s got a worn out piece of paper in his trembling hands, his eyes moving left to right as he reads what’s on the page. He’s chewing on his bottom lip almost mindlessly, and yet Thomas knows Newt so well that something like that just has to be on purpose. Because Newt never does anything without an explanation.

Thomas stares at Newt from the bright screen in the dark room. He looks so different the last time he saw him. Before, he was bloody and bruised, a broken body on the ground. Now, he looks healthy, at least as healthy as he’s probably going to get. He watches as Newt folds the paper back up with unsteady fingers, tucking it underneath his pillow carefully. Thomas sees a quick glimpse of the letter and the words on the top of the paper, and his stomach does a backflip.

To: Dearest Newt.

Eating isn’t a problem anymore. Neither is sleeping. It’s like the boulder on his chest vanished.

Everything is going to be okay. Everything will be fine.

Thomas wakes up one morning strapped to a chair. It’s not exactly the most comfortable position, but Thomas is too groggy to care right now, because the bright lights and people in white robes are more concerning.

“H-hey, what’s going on?” he asks.

“Tom.” He turns to the sound of Teresa’s voice, but she’s not there. She’s not in the room with him. “It’ll be okay. Everything will be okay. Just shut your eyes and count to fifteen.”

“Teresa? Is that you?”

“Thomas, just listen to what I have to say.” Teresa’s voice is calming, but her thoughts aren’t. They’re forcing you into the maze, she thinks. I’m not supposed to use telepathy, but that’s okay. “In less than a minute, you’ll be asleep. You’ll have no recollection of anything. All you will know is your own name.” I’m being watched over, so I’ll have to say everything else in your mind. Be careful.

“I know what’s going to happen, Teresa, I’ve been in on most of these procedures. But why? We have enough people―”

“That’s not the reason why. Technically I’m supposed to keep it confidential. I can’t tell you.” I will later, just give me a little time. But go along with the idea. Please. For me.

Okay. “But I won’t remember in like thirty seconds.”

“Doesn’t matter.” It does matter. We need you in there. You’re the saviour of the world. You can save them. So please do. “Ten seconds, Tom.”

Thomas shuts his eyes. He knows what’s going to happen. All he wants is it to end the same way it started: with peace and darkness.

Ten years ago, he was brought to this place. Now it’s time for him to leave.

Five seconds, Thomas. I’ll miss you. Wait for me.

He doesn’t get a chance to respond, because at that point, he blacks out.

The first thing he notices is how incredibly bright this place is. And maybe it wasn’t the best idea to waste his energy in the cage, but he can’t help it. Where is he? How did he get here? Who is he, and what is his name?

The top of the cage opens like a cardboard box. He winces at the grating sound and clang of the metal hitting the ground. He has to screw up his face to look up, his eyes narrowing to focus on one person at a time.

“Name’s Newt, Greenie,” says a boy. Thomas turns in the direction of the boy’s voice. It’s deep, and everything is tinged with a faint accent. It sounds familiar. Soothing. Peaceful.

Newt’s blond, maybe only a couple inches taller than Thomas. He’s lanky, with large brown eyes that make him look maybe fourteen. Something about him makes Thomas feel safe. Like he can trust this boy, who he’s only known for a few seconds.

Thomas looks back down at Newt’s extended hand. Maybe Newt was trying to give him a handshake, or maybe a hand up from the large metal box. Hesitantly, Thomas reaches up to grab the hand. His lips pull up in a smile, like he can’t help it, as Newt squeezes his hand gently, his lips also quirking up in a small, almost unnoticeable, grin.

Like Thomas is so fragile that he might break. Like maybe they can become friends right away.

There’s something special about this boy. Something familiar about his smile and rough hands, but Thomas can’t figure out what.

Like they had met before, maybe in a dream, maybe in a past life.

But for all Thomas knows, he’s at peace now, holding onto the hand of a complete stranger, who helps him up and out of the box.