Have You Listened To A Word I've Just Said?
Chapter Seven
Newt stared at him with deep disbelief. “Have you listened to a word I’ve just said? No one wants to be a runner.”
The look on Newt’s face sent a deep pang clanging through Thomas, because Newt seemed to look at him like he was crazy…yet there was a flicker of something in Newt’s soft eyes…and it was concern. Not an accusation of lunacy. He'd had enough of people accusing him of craziness. There had already been Gally, everybody but a few in the Glade, and there was that time, when they were looking for the Right Arm that Newt had scoffed and laughed at his plan. That, excluding Newt's death (don't think of that, don't think of that) had hurt the most.
“And besides.” Newt said, shifting against him as he walked forward, Thomas striding beside him, and Thomas shivered and Newt moved against him. “you gotta get chosen.”
This time, Thomas stayed silent. He knew how to get chosen. He could feel Newt’s soft gaze on him, like a golden warmth of light, honey rays from the sun, but he also felt the look examining him, looking him up and down. Undressing his secrets.
Thomas scuffed the ground. He hadn’t been knocked to the side yet. He was supposed to have been - after he said ‘chosen by who’. Was it a trigger?
As he was thinking this, he could feel someone’s presence, the presence of the same boy that had knocked him in earlier last time looming up behind him. Thomas knew what would happen, and moved out of the way. It would be wise to avoid making an enemy out of Gally again.
When Thomas moved out of the way, Newt’s arm brushed against him, and it seemed less platonic than it had been the first time around. And he could feel his breath catch as Newt breathed on him, as he saw the curves of his lips, his glowing blonde hair and the fire reflecting off of Newt’s light brown eyes, glittering in the swimming depths of his dark eyes…
Bam! It was as if it was that night again, that dreaded night where Thomas’ heart completely shattered. When his heart had been broken. The city was coming down around them, breaking and destroying, being torn apart. It was going up in flames, and rubble surrounded them. The area they were in was hot, the humid air from the fires swarming them. And Newt was there. But that wasn’t Newt. There were the black veins crawling up his arms, up his neck, and the fire glittered in his eyes like it just had…
“Greenie?”
Thomas jolted awake, having been lost in that nightmare of a memory.
“Are you alright?”
“I-I’m fine.” Thomas surprisingly found that this was quite true. With Newt, he was always fine. “I’m…I’m sorry. I just zoned out for a second…” Thomas shook his head, dazed and distracted. “I’m sorry…I’m just overwhelmed.”
“It’s alright.” Newt said, grasping Thomas’ shoulder gently, and Thomas nearly gasped, because Newt was there, Newt was touching him, and…
“It happens to all of us.” Newt licked his lips, and was looking into Thomas’ eyes but Thomas noticed his eyes were flickering downwards each fraction of a second, to his…his…his lips?
Why would Newt be looking at my lips? Thomas wondered. But he couldn’t help but blush under Newt’s stare and lifted his gaze from the ground to look at Newt. He suddenly became hyper aware of everything they were doing: Newt’s hands had moved further downwards, to his waist, and they were so close, pressed together, their lips mere inches apart. Thomas’ breath hitched as they both slightly leaned forward, before they both pulled away on instinct and sky breaths were released. Newt’s hand dropped and it left a burning feeling, like Thomas had been relighted. The moment had passed, and it had broken.
Thomas suddenly remembered that the fight with Gally had never happened, and that meant that his name had never been remembered…discovered.
He was scared that Newt would think he had tried to kiss him…which he had, he wasn’t going to lie. But he would never do that if Newt hadn’t eaten him to, and he couldn’t help but cringe if Newt remembered him as the boy who had tried to kiss him on his first day in the Glade. He could play this off as something else…maybe…pretend to remember his name!
“Thomas. My name…” Thomas stared into Newt’s eyes. “My name is Thomas.”
Newt looked at him for a second. And then, slapped his back, caressed…it had been a stroke, and said.
“It’s nice to meet you, Tommy. Welcome to the Glade.”
“Oh, and Tommy?” Newt said, and Thomas quickly met Newt’s eyes. “I’ll show you to your hammock. Alby’ll wake you up early tomorrow. Try not to wake anyone up.”
Thomas nodded. Newt led him through the crowd of Gladers celebrating yet another month alive. He wondered when it had become so surprising to survive another month. He was no stranger to death; if you were lucky, you’d survive being in the same vicinity of Thomas for a week. The majority of the Gladers hadn’t made it past that.
Newt stopped in front of a hammock. It wasn’t the same one as last time; this one was closer to the Homestead, and if Thomas was correct in remembering (the intricate details were fuzzy, and only the feelings of real fear were sharp and clear) closer to Newt’s sleeping spot.
“This is where you’ll sleep.” Newt said, and gently tugged on Thomas’ arm. When had they started holding hands? “It’ll be your sleeping area for months, maybe even years. Get used to it. And get some sleep.”
Newt looked at him.
“You’ll need it.”