Archive of Our Own ^beta

His throat is burning and it’s difficult to breathe, way too difficult, so he sits up in an attempt to make it easier, when he realizes that it’s because he’s screaming. He can’t even remember what made him so distressed in the first place, and if that wasn’t enough, the pain kicks in and he becomes aware of the gaping hole going right through his stomach. He looks down at himself—the gunshot wound has been taken care of with a thick bandage wrapped around his torso, but it still hurts like hell.

Thomas forces himself to calm down, and eventually, his breathing evens out. He has no idea how long he’s been asleep for, but it feels like years. He scans his surroundings—he’s on a bed in some kind of hut made out of thin wood. The door is open, and he can see the ocean only a few feet away from the little cabin. The waves are calm, but suddenly a strong gust of wind hits him. The breeze is surprisingly humid and refreshing, he takes a deep breath and savors it because he can’t remember a time when the air wasn’t too dry or dusty with sand.

He gets out of the bed and stands up. This sends a jolt of pain through his whole body, but he doesn’t care because the urge to go out and explore is stronger than the burn in his abdomen. That’s one of his big problems; he has always been too curious for his own good.

Thomas thinks that he must be dreaming as he takes his first steps on the beach, because there’s no place like this left on earth. It’s warm outside and the sun shines brightly, but it doesn't radiate that obnoxious, scorching heat that he’s so used to by now. Everything about this place feels so pleasant, he can’t remember feeling so fully at ease like this before. It’s too good to be true, his brain automatically tells him. A trap. He tries to ignore the paranoid voices in his mind and thinks that WCKD really did succeed; they damaged him so severely that he’s still doubting everything around him—even in his goddamn dreams.

Everything is so colorful and so alive, he realizes as he turns around in circles, over and over again, just to take it all in. The place reminds him of the Glade, a little bit—but there’s nothing artificial about the balmy sunlight, the sounds, or the weather here—nothing at all. He feels so free.

Thomas turns around again and looks out at the ocean and the mountains in the distance—it’s so beautiful, he wishes desperately that it was real, that the sun wasn’t so cruel and made the whole world look exactly like the Scorch all those years ago. This definitely feels real, though, he realizes as a particularly big wave crests and the water reaches all the way up to his feet. The crystal clear water is cool and it feels so vivid and that takes him out of the trance he was in, and suddenly—

Suddenly, Thomas remembers what happened right before he got shot and passed out. He’s stock-still, his whole body turns ice cold despite the warmth outside as the memories come back to him in waves. He remembers the veins on his friend’s neck and face turning darker and darker by the second, he remembers how sick and utterly helpless he’d looked—and he remembers the terrifying wails of pure insanity he’d let out in his last moments. He also recalls Brenda running toward him and the lifeless body lying on the ground, the serum clutched tightly in her hand, but she’d been too late. If Thomas had saved them some more time, just a few short seconds, his friend would still be alive right now. Newt’s death is his fault, and it’s going to be impossible to live with—wether he’s awake or dreaming.

There’s Teresa, too. Sweet, beautiful Teresa who, for some stupid reason, put Thomas’s life before her own. He could’ve pulled her up onto the Berg too if he was a little stronger, a little faster, but he wasn’t. They managed to defeat WCKD, get away and even find a cure—but he lost the two most important people to him that same day, and suddenly life didn’t seem so worth living anymore, because how can he live with both of his friends’ blood on his hands?

Thomas is still just standing there, frozen in place, horrible pictures are still flashing through his mind. Blood, infected skin, burning cityscapes. He’s pretty sure he’s crying now, but he’s not sure—and frankly, he doesn’t want to find out.

Suddenly, he hears footsteps in the sand behind him and he turns around, expecting the worst. But it’s not a Crank or something just as nasty, like what he usually dreams about, no, it’s just Brenda.

She approaches him at a steady pace, smiling like nothing’s wrong.

“You’re finally up, huh?” she says, stopping right in front of him. “How are you feeling?”

Thomas is about to say something like what do you think? but then realizes that she must be asking about his actual wound—not the metaphorical one in his heart.

“Uh, better,” he says, sounding way too hoarse, and remembers screaming earlier. He has to cough multiple times before he can continue speaking. “Better now.” 

Brenda reaches out and lifts up his shirt, revealing the bandage. She nods approvingly and makes a gesture toward the mountains. “The others are over there,” she tells him. “Do you wanna go see them or do you need to rest some more?”

What others? he thinks. The Gladers? If so, then he wants to go and see them since this is a nice dream—it hasn’t turned into a nightmare. Yet.

“Let’s go,” Thomas says, and she grins up at him.

“You were asleep for a long time, you know,” Brenda states as they walk along the shoreline. Once again, Thomas wonders what this weird dream is about—but he’s not complaining. He doesn’t want to go back to reality just yet. Or ever. “Enough to get us worried.”

“Sorry?” he says, holding a hand to his forehead in an attempt to cover his eyes from the blinding sunlight.

“It’s okay,” Brenda chuckles. “Newt and I took turns to check on you pretty much every hour.”

Thomas startles at the mention of his name and stops dead in his tracks.

“Newt is here?” he asks, voice full of disbelief, and turns around to look Brenda in the eyes. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, though, he mentally kicks himself for hoping. He’s had hundreds of dreams like this before—they start out good, and then they turn into traumatizing nightmares where his friends are either dead or infected. But if he can see Newt again—just for a little while, and even if it’s just in a dream—then he’ll take that risk.

Brenda looks concerned. “Yeah, why wouldn’t he be?” she asks, and suddenly he sees Newt in his mind again, now cradled in Thomas’ arms, blood gushing out of the wound in his chest. He doesn’t answer her.

They are closer to the mountains now, and Thomas spots a couple more huts that look very similar to the one he woke up in. They are all built close together, and there’s smoke coming from a few of them—he breathes in the smell of food, and it reminds him of Frypan’s cooking. Thomas suddenly remembers what he said one night when they were on the run; Never thought I’d say it, but I miss the Glade. Thomas understands him perfectly, now.

Brenda leads him into the little colony, and there’s a lot of people there. He doesn’t recognize them all, but he sees Harriet, Vince and Aris and some of the kids who they rescued from WCKD that he doesn’t know the names of yet. Some are sitting around a small fire and some are running around, working individually with different things, all minding their own business. It reminds him of the Glade more than ever. So much it almost hurts. Even the style everything is built in is how they did it there.

Brenda gives Thomas a moment, letting him take it all in, but then Vince spots him, gets up and comes towards them.

He smiles like a proud father and pats Thomas on the back. “Welcome to the Safe Haven,” he says, and Thomas has never seen him this happy, ever. “How are ya, kid?”

Thomas hesitates, too overwhelmed to speak, because this is a very lucid dream. He opens his mouth to answer, but then he shifts his gaze to look behind Vince, and—

Oh.

Minho and Newt are coming towards him behind Vince. Newt is smiling, and there’s absolutely no sign of the virus anywhere. In fact, he looks radiant—happier and healthier than ever before, and it’s. It’s a good look on him, to say the least. Thomas realizes that they’d both been so busy and stressed out all those months they spent at camp that they didn’t get many moments to just sit back and rest—but now Newt looks relaxed and so carefree, and Thomas has never really seen him like that before. It’s a beautiful sight.

Newt must feel Thomas’ gaze on him, because he turns away from Minho and they make eye contact—his smile grows instantly. Thomas would never admit it to anyone, but this sends little tingles through his whole body, and for a second he forgets that this actually isn’t real. Newt has that effect on him, he thinks as he starts jogging toward his friends. He makes Thomas forget about everything around him.

He makes it to them and pulls Newt close to him, so close, because if this is a dream then he’s going to make the most of it before he’s brought back to the real world.

Newt makes a breathy, startled sound against his neck, but puts his arms around his waist after a moment. “Hello to you, too, Tommy,” he says, pulling back to look Thomas in the eyes. They are still very close, though, so Thomas reaches out and cups Newt’s cheek before he can overthink it.

“Hi,” he breathes, completely mesmerized, because he just lost Newt, but now he’s got him back—he’s got second chance to say everything he didn’t say before.

Everything feels so real that Thomas allows himself to pretend that it is. He runs his thumb over soft skin—it’s clear and healthy—no bulging veins, no paleness, no burning fever. Newt raises his eyebrows and seems surprised by the gesture, but he’s smiling and slightly leaning into his touch, and that’s all that matters to Thomas. He can’t help but wonder if real Newt would’ve let him do this.

Newt laughs, and the skin around his eyes crinkles. “Hi. You’re feeling better, I take it?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Thomas says dismissively, because he is. He doesn’t have time to worry about himself, he’s too busy worrying about Newt right now. Besides, there is barely any pain in his stomach anymore, and he can ignore it completely when he looks at the boy in front of him.

“Sure about that?” Newt asks, obviously not convinced. “You got shot, you bloody idiot, you could've died.”  

“But I didn’t,” Thomas protests, trying desperately to ignore the voices in the back of his mind saying are you sure about that?

Newt just rolls his eyes and puts a hand on Thomas’ forehead. “And to top it all off, you caught a serious fever as well. ‘Seems to be gone now, though.”

Thomas tries to not be affected by his touch, he tries, but he’s never really been good at that, awake or dreaming. He can’t stop the blush forming on his cheeks, and all he can think about is how screwed he is—even though this is just a fake scenario made up by his own imaginative mind.

Minho snorts. “You shanks need some time alone?” He teases, and Thomas pulls away a little, suddenly remembering that there are other people around, not just him and Newt. He wants to say yes, yes we do, but he doesn’t.

Newt laughs again and tugs at Thomas’ sleeve. “No, let’s go.”

“Where?”

“You were out of it for a long time, man. We made progress here while you slept like a little baby,” Minho says and makes a dramatic gesture towards the huts and the big campfire area—and yeah, it is impressive.

(“Let us show you ‘round.”

“That sounds familiar.”

“Shut up, Tommy.”)

How they did all this in just three days is beyond Thomas, but he supposes that that’s just how dreams work.

There are six huts in total, and they are already planning on building more. Most of them are huge, too—Minho tells him that five people could probably fit in each. They haven’t been needing shelter yet, though, so most people have been sleeping outside in hammocks since it’s only been sunny so far. No rain, no storms, but they still want to be prepared for everything.

Thomas sees Sonya, Fry, Jorge and Gally on the way, and they all greet him with big smiles on their faces. Thomas can still not look at Gally without feeling hatred towards him because of what he did to Chuck, but... he’s getting there. It wasn’t really Gally’s fault, anyway, and it’s been easier to be in his presence ever since he helped them get to Minho.

Thomas doesn’t see Teresa anywhere, though, and his heart breaks for what feels like the hundredth time when he realizes that she’s not here, for some strange, unknown reason. This is his dream, right? So why can’t he control it? He wants to hold onto this universe for as long as he can, but he needs Teresa here with him, too.

The sun has begun to set already, and everyone is slowly moving down the hill from their huts to the beach where the campfire and the food is. There’s also a big block of stone next to it, and when Thomas gets closer he realizes what it is. It’s their new version of the wall in the Maze where they wrote all the names of the people who didn’t make it. He spots Teresa’s and Chuck’s names immediately and he feels like breaking down again—it’s so overwhelming, seeing all these names in front of him; it makes him realize just how many people they’ve lost. It’s devastating, even if he didn’t know most of the people whose names are written on the stone. He thinks that he might have known them before, though. Before he got all his memories taken away from him.

“I told you we’d find a place somewhere,” someone says behind him, and he spins around to find Newt there.

“Yeah,” Thomas whispers breathlessly, because the fire next to them illuminates the other boy’s face with a soft, orange light, and he literally looks like he’s glowing. Thomas is going to miss him so much. He already misses him.

“Something’s botherin’ you, I can tell. How are you feeling?” Newt asks, not accusingly, just gentle, in that wonderful way of his. Like he wants Thomas to know that he doesn’t need to talk if he doesn’t feel comfortable doing so.

There’s nothing Thomas can’t tell him, though. “I just—I wish this was real.”

The blond frowns and tilts his head like a lost puppy before realization dawns on him.

“Hey, look at me,” he says, and Thomas meets his steady gaze. Newt reaches out like he’s going to touch Thomas, but drops his hand in the last moment like he’s not sure if he's allowed to. “This is real, I can promise you that,” he says instead, and the thing is that Thomas really doesn’t know what’s real and what’s not anymore, and that scares him more than anything.

“I don’t know,” Thomas whispers, chuckling in an attempt to maybe make the mood a little less tense. “It kinda feels like I’m dreaming.”

“Too good to be true, yeah?” Newt murmurs, smiling now, and the tension vanishes instantly. “I get that feelin’ sometimes, too. But this is real, we made it. You’re safe now, okay?”

Thomas wants to believe him, he really does. But he still doesn’t know what to think—he watched his friends die only a couple of days ago—and this feels real, sure, but that did too.

“I know about your nightmares,” Newt says then like he can read Thomas’ mind somehow. “I heard you sayin’ my name a couple times in your sleep—but whatever happened in your dreams didn’t actually happen, alright?”

“You died in my arms,” Thomas blurts out, and he absolutely hates how his voice breaks at the end of the sentence. “We couldn’t cure you.”

“Tommy, listen,” Newt says a little desperately, and takes Thomas’ hand, intertwining their fingers. “Brenda got to me in time,” he lifts their joined hands up and places them on his chest so that Thomas can feel the steady, constant rhythm of his heartbeat. “You two saved me, see?”

They are so, so close now that he can feel the warmth radiating off of Newt—and everything about it is so undeniably real, he can grasp that now. Thomas knows now that he didn’t want this to be real, in a way, because he wouldn’t survive if it got taken away from him. If he woke up suddenly, or if the Safe Haven turned out to be another one of WCKD’s cruel games. That would completely ruin him. But Newt is making him feel so safe right now that he lets go of those thoughts, and lets himself realize that this is reality.

“It was just a nightmare.” Newt finishes, and Thomas nods because he is smiling at him in that special way only Newt can—the way that makes Thomas feel like the world is okay again. And it kind of is, now—because they’re here, in their own safe little bubble of utopia in a world full of misery and disease.

When the sun has gone down completely and it’s getting a bit colder, they light the fire. Frypan hands Thomas a plate with almost too much food on it and says, “Eat up. You need it, man.” Thomas can’t even open his mouth and thank his friend before he’s off to get someone else their food.

Newt pulls him down onto the log next to the fire with him on Thomas’ right and Brenda on his left. They eat, talk and laugh, (Thomas high-fives Fry when he walks past them later and compliments his cooking) and they listen to Vince’s speech—Brenda tells him that he’s been doing them every night so far—but Thomas isn’t complaining. He can tell that what’s coming out of Vince’s mouth is completely genuine and straight from the heart.

“Here's to the ones who couldn't be here,” he says, pointing his glass to the stone carved with names, and everyone cheers.

After a long meal, people are slowly but surely packing up their stuff. Thomas says goodnight to most of his friends as they leave, and eventually, Thomas, Newt, Minho, and Brenda are the only ones left on the beach. The sun has gone down completely and the fire has almost burned out—but it’s still big enough to keep the small group warm and content.

Minho’s still hungry, apparently, because he’s currently attempting to cook a steak over the fire using only a stick, and Thomas laughs because it’s such a Minho thing to do.

“Stop that, you’re going to set yourself on fire,” Newt says, obviously trying to contain his laughter, but fails when Minho has to drop the whole stick in the fireplace because it’s rapidly burning up.

They all end up laughing hysterically, and Thomas can’t remember ever feeling this happy before. They don’t stop, and after a while it’s like they’re laughing at something else entirely; maybe at how completely insane the past couple of days have been for them. The plan to rescue Minho and get to Paradise always seemed so far away to Thomas, but then they did it—and all of a sudden he found himself here, in the Safe Haven, laughing with his family. It feels so surreal, and he actually can’t believe they made it this far.

Their laughter dies down eventually, and then Minho yawns loudly. “Man, I’m beat,” he says, stretching his arms over his head.

“Yeah, me too,” Brenda says and gets up from the log. “You two coming? I can show you where to sleep, Thomas.”

Thomas hesitates for a second. He is really tired, but he’d prefer sitting out here a little bit more. “Nah, you guys go ahead.”

“Oh, alright,” Brenda says, smiling softly. “Goodnight, then.”

“‘Night,” Thomas and Newt say in unison, and Thomas catches Minho’s gaze as he and Brenda are walking away—and he has that mischievous look on his face that Thomas hates. He narrows his eyes as if to ask what he's up to, but Minho just shrugs and disappears.

They sit in silence for a little while, just watching the fire as it gets smaller and smaller.

Newt speaks up eventually. “Not tired?”

“Not really,” Thomas answers and shrugs.

“Or do you just not wanna sleep ‘cause of the nightmares?”

The corners of Thomas’ mouth tug upwards, because, well, he’s been caught.

“...Maybe,” he says, looking down at his hands and thinks about how they’d held Newt’s, just a few hours ago—how intimate that had been. This feels even more so, because there are no other people around this time. He can hear faint chatter from the huts—but they are pretty far away from everybody else right now.  

“It’s alright, I think we all get them,” Newt says in a somber voice, and Thomas wonders what he has nightmares about. “They put us all through stuff.”

Thomas just hums in response, still watching the embers, and he feels pure hatred towards WCKD for what they did to his friends and everyone else. But he feels much better when he thinks about how they’d won over them and escaped—that's how they got their revenge, and that’s all that matters at the end of the day.

He finally finds the courage to look at Newt, and he looks so lovely like this, in the low light. Thomas wonders if they knew each other before the Trials, and he longs to get his memories back. He wonders if they were friends, if they were more than that. He likes to think that they were. (Assuming that he loved Newt before, too, because it would be impossible for him not to.)

Their hands are resting next to each other on the log, and it would be so easy to move his own closer to Newt’s and intertwine their fingers again. Thomas has done some risky stuff in his lifetime, and he wonders why this silly little thing feels scarier than breaking into the world’s most powerful organization’s headquarters.

“What do you dream about?” Thomas asks instead of taking Newt's hand and hopes that this topic isn’t too sensitive for him.

Newt just shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “The usual—going mad, how I couldn’t control my anger or my actions,” he says, and Thomas’ heart hurts again. “It was terrifying.” He confesses and finally looks up to meet Thomas' gaze.

“I’m so sorry, Newt,” Thomas says, but he doesn’t really know what he’s apologizing for. For not giving him the serum earlier, maybe. Because if he did, Newt wouldn’t have gone through that; losing his sanity.

“Sorry? What are you sorry for? I thought we talked about this already, Tommy—it’s not your fault.”

“But—“ Thomas is about to protest, but Newt’s hand comes up to rest on his shoulder, and that shuts him up instantly.

“Stop it, I won’t let you blame yourself.”

It hits Thomas, once again, how good this boy is—how unconditionally selfless and caring Newt is. He puts everyone else’s well being before his own—it’s like he feels a responsibility to take care of their whole group. It must be a tough burden, though, and Thomas wants to take that burden off of Newt’s shoulders because he needs to remember to take care of himself, too.

It’s the hand on Thomas’ shoulder that gives him the courage to lean a little closer, and the atmosphere changes instantly to something more affectionate and tender.

Thomas wants to make Newt feel good, he wants to show him how much he cares for him—so he kisses him and hopes that it’ll do just that.

The blond makes a soft, surprised sound against Thomas’ mouth, and he’s beginning to think that he has messed it all up. Newt doesn’t pull away, though, which he considers a pretty good sign.

“Sorry,” Thomas whispers and puts a little distance between them.

Newt looks at him, dumbstruck, and Thomas wishes he thought that through a bit more—but he doesn’t regret it, even if Newt never speaks to him again.

But then Newt collects himself and sighs, rolling his eyes fondly. “You’ve got to stop apologizing for everything,” he mutters and pulls Thomas back in.

There’s nothing hasty or rushed about it, like Thomas imagined their first kiss would be like. Instead it’s delicate, so gentle and so loving that he feels like he’s going to melt to a puddle on the ground. He thinks that it’s because they both know that they have unlimited time together ahead of them.

Newt parts his lips a little bit more and Thomas can’t help but let out a soft sigh against his mouth. He never thought he’d get to have this, but now that he does, he never wants to let go—so he tilts his head kisses him deeper, and Newt’s hand moves from Thomas’ shoulder up to his throat, his cheek, and starts caressing it gently.

Thomas himself has no idea what to do with his own limbs—but he eventually places his hand on the other boy’s waist, letting his fingers slide under his shirt, brushing against warm, smooth skin.

Thomas wishes he didn’t need to breathe, but unfortunately he does, and they are forced to pull apart eventually. He realizes that he has no idea what to say when they make eye contact again, but Newt looks at him like he doesn’t have a clue either, so Thomas just laughs a little breathlessly. He knows that they’ll be okay no matter what, so they can talk about what this means later.

The fire has died down completely at this point, and it’s getting a little chilly. (Thomas’ face is still hot, though. He’s pretty sure he’s blushing like an idiot, and hopes that the darkness outside hides it.)

Newt suggests that they should go inside one of the huts, and Thomas agrees—sleeping in the same room as Newt sounds better than he’d like to admit.

They fall asleep next to each other in the same bed, and Thomas doesn’t have a single bad dream that night.

❦

The sunlight wakes him up the next morning.

Thomas opens his eyes, but closes them immediately and tries to shield his face from the blinding light, instinctively moving closer to the other boy who’s lying next to him.

He nuzzles his face into Newt’s neck before actually thinking it through. They kissed last night, sure, but he can’t help but wonder if he can do this now, if Newt thinks this kind of stuff is okay.

It feels so nice, though. Newt has always been a little taller than him, so Thomas takes advantage of their height difference now—he places his head on the blond’s chest and listens to his heartbeat, and it calms him down and makes him feel safe like it did yesterday.

Thomas looks around the small room, seeing it in a different way than he did last night when it was pitch black outside. It’s a very small room with one bed, and it’s built in a way that suggests the people who built it were in a hurry—which they probably were. It’s not perfect, but it definitely works. Sunlight is streaming through the one window in the room, and he can hear the distant sound of people talking outside.

Thomas just lies there for a while, relishing the quiet morning and the warmth of their shared bed—until Newt stirs in his sleep, and the sunlight shining on him makes his tousled blond hair look like a halo.

“Mornin’,” Newt mumbles without opening his eyes. He finds Thomas’ hand in between the sheets and laces them together, and the doubts Thomas had about this disappear immediately.

“Morning,” he replies and gives Newt’s hand a gentle squeeze. This makes the corners of Newt’s mouth twitch upwards and he lazily opens one eye.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks in a low, pretty voice that makes Thomas quiver a little—he’s never really seen or heard him like this before, this drowsy and vulnerable.

“Good,” he says honestly. “Better than I have in a while.”

Newt gives him a sleepy smile, and it’s probably the most endearing thing Thomas has ever seen. “Brilliant, ‘cause we have a lot of work to do today.”

Thomas curiously perks up at this. “Like what?”

“Work, build, cook—you know how this works by now, Greenie,” the blond says teasingly with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face.

Thomas groans and playfully shoves him, but gets a little sentimental at the nickname. “When will you guys stop calling me that?”

“Never,” Newt answers and presses a light kiss on Thomas’ forehead before getting out of bed. They haven’t talked about what this thing is yet, but he doesn’t think they need to. It is what it is—Thomas wants to be with Newt, and he’s pretty sure Newt wants to be with him, too. Simple as that.

Almost everyone else is up already, is what Thomas realizes as they both step outside. Some people have already started working on various projects around the little village, and it hits him, once again, how similar it is to the Glade. There’s a whole different aura about this place, though—it’s obvious that people are really happy and free here—unlike they were in the Trials.

Thomas is feeling pretty energetic himself. He changed his bandage and shirt before they went outside, and he’s had a really good night’s sleep. He’s very restless from recovering for so long, so he’s ready to do some work.

The two of them walk the short distance to the beach where Frypan is cooking breakfast. They eat in silence, looking out at the endless ocean in front of them, and Thomas feels a peace he’s never experienced before. That is until Minho comes up to them.

“Nice shirt, Thomas,” is his way of greeting him. Newt, that traitor, snickers to himself with a mouth full of food.

Thomas splutters and looks down at the t-shirt he’s currently wearing. It’s a little big on him, so maybe it’s obvious that it’s not his own. Or maybe Minho just recognizes it because he has seen Newt wearing it before.

Thomas mutters a thanks and feels a blush develop on his cheeks again, and he doesn’t even know why. He doesn’t mind if his friend knows. 

"Good to know that it takes the end of the world for you shanks to get your feelings sorted out," Minho says with a playful smirk. Newt lets out a surprised laugh, and even he is looking a little flushed at this point. "Piss off, Minho."

But Minho just grins at them. "You'll never hear the end of this, just accept that."

They end up helping Gally build a new cabin later that day, and it takes them a long time to finish it. Mostly because Minho keeps making jokes and making them all laugh, and by evening they’re all exhausted.

It’s starting to look like something, though; a place where they can start over, recover and eventually be happy.

❦

Dinner is pretty much like it was yesterday, but Thomas is not complaining. This is his favorite time of the day, he decides, because it’s a time when everybody can hang out together, eating, laughing and talking with good company.

Harriet is currently telling the story of how they’d hijacked the Berg to everyone who doesn’t know, and it’s a good story. It took them a long time to plan that. Thomas knows how nervous she’d been about it before they did it, but they did great and it went so smoothly. He’s proud of her.

”—and then I slammed the gun in his face, and he blacked out just like that!” she exclaims, snapping her fingers.

They all cheer and laugh while Harriet high-fives Sonya and Aris.

Newt is sitting next to Thomas, leaning on him a little, and it makes him feel warm and tingly all over. He gets a sudden burst of bravery and leans forward, planting a soft kiss on the corner of the other boy’s mouth. Newt’s smile just grows bigger, and if anyone around them noticed, they don’t seem to care much.

Thomas looks over at the girls on the other side of the fire, and Sonya smiles at him. He’s never noticed how much she looks like Newt before. They have the same dirty blonde hair, the same eye crinkles when they grin—they both talk in a similar way even though they have different accents. Thomas has no idea what to do with this information, but he should probably get Newt to talk to her more in case this ends up being some sort of family miracle. He’ll mention it later. They have all the time in the world ahead of them, after all.

 ❦

Newt and Thomas are walking along the beach after dinner, listening to the waves and the crickets in the distance.

It’s not completely dark outside since the moonlight is very bright tonight. The stars, too—Thomas has never seen so many stars all at once. This truly is Paradise.

Newt looks even more beautiful than usual in the pale light, with his windswept hair and already tanned skin. Thomas will never get used to the fact that Newt is his now, in a way. He knows that a person can’t belong to another person, but it definitely feels like they are each other’s.

Thomas stops Newt to pull him closer and press a quick kiss to his mouth—because he wants to, because he can, he’s allowed to. He considers it making up for lost time. Newt just laughs and kisses him back, and Thomas melts, once again, because this is real—this is actually happening.

They sit down on the sand, and it’s still a little warm even though the sun set a while ago. They are so close that their thighs are touching, and it’s like they are drawn to each other without actually meaning to. Thomas smiles to himself at the thought of that, of them being meant to be.

“Did Minho give you the necklace yet?” Newt asks, and Thomas is suddenly very confused.

“No? What necklace?”

“The necklace I gave you back in the city,” the blond explains, and Thomas remembers now. Newt had been lying there, helpless and sick when he suddenly pressed something into Thomas’ hands. He remembers the screaming, too, and he knew that Newt was losing control of himself. Thomas had been so occupied with everything else that he completely forgot about it, and now he doesn’t know where it went.

“Minho found it, don’t worry, but I asked him not give it to you again, just yet.”

Thomas is even more confused now. “Why not?”

“There’s a letter for you inside it—I thought it was the last one I was ever going to write,” Newt explains, and Thomas can practically feel his own heart break in two.

“Newt...” Thomas tries, but trails off since he has no idea what to say.

“‘S alright,” he murmurs, and Thomas doesn’t ask about the letter immediately because he knows that Newt will tell him if he wants to, if he’s ready.

“I wrote a lot of stuff in that letter, but I’d rather say it to you, face to face, since I actually can do that now.”

Thomas nods, suddenly worried about what he’s going to hear.

"Tommy, I love you,” Newt confesses, just like that, just as if it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world, and Thomas' brain short-circuits. “I have for a while, now. I can’t actually remember when it started, to be honest,” he says and pauses, looking down at his hands, not making eye contact with Thomas. “But probably even before they took our memories.”

Thomas realizes that he’s been holding his breath this entire time, so he finally lets go and breathes out. He doesn’t know what to say, he usually doesn’t under normal circumstances, so definitely not now.

“Just thought you should know, y’know, in case I didn’t make it here. That’s why I gave you that letter.” Newt finishes, and Thomas realizes that there’s really only one thing to say.

“I love you, too,” Thomas finally whispers, and if his voice trembles from how vulnerable he feels, well, then no one has to know.

They are face to face, now, and Thomas has never felt this close to anyone before. It’s so intimate that he thinks he’s going to burst at any moment. It’s like Newt can see straight through him, see everything he feels towards him, see just how much Thomas loves him. It’s definitely scary, being this vulnerable, but he also needs him to know everything.

The second the three words are out of Thomas’ mouth, though, something unsure flickers in Newt’s eyes, like he doesn’t believe what he’s hearing. Thomas decides that he’s gonna say it every day until he has convinced him.

Kissing him senseless will have to do for now, though. They both lean forward at the same time, meeting each other in the middle.

It’s more passionate this time, but it’s still not rushed. Thomas kisses him, deep and slow, trying to pour his emotions into it, trying to make Newt understand and feel all the love he has for him. But then Newt shuffles impossibly closer to him and cups his cheek, holding Thomas in place. This gets a sound out of him, it’s not a whimper, it’s not, but there probably isn’t a better way to describe it.

Newt laughs against his mouth at this, and Thomas can feel the vibrations of it. He still has trouble believing that this isn’t just some fever dream where he gets everything he’s ever wanted in his life—safety, freedom, requited love.

Thomas is almost sitting in his lap at this point, and it feels good, being the smaller one of the two. Newt is swallowing the soft, needy sighs he’s making against his lips, and everything’s just so blissful and perfect.

It feels so good that Thomas is about to lose himself completely, but then he hears someone shouting both of their names.

Newt groans, leaning in and burying his head in Thomas’ neck, laughing silently. It’s Minho, of course it is.

Thomas starts laughing too and presses one last kiss on the other boy’s forehead before quickly putting at least some distance between their bodies before Minho reaches them.

“So, what are we doing?” Minho asks, sitting down next to Thomas and Newt.

Thomas pictures himself and blushes at how he must look like right now; dilated pupils, messy hair, flushed cheeks. He runs a hand through his own hair in an attempt to tame it a little bit, but it probably won’t make a difference. Minho smiles at him and Newt with a knowing look on his face, but there’s no judgment in it.

“Um, stargazing?” Thomas manages to say, but it comes out sounding like a question.

“Okay, I’ll take it,” Minho responds, rolling his eyes, obviously not buying it. Then he lies down directly on the sand and points a finger upwards. “You know, that one looks like a shopping cart.”

Newt does the same to get a good look at what he’s pointing to. “That’s Ursa Major, slinthead,” he chips in, and Thomas laughs and wonders how he knew that.

Minho just shrugs. “This is our place, man. We can name the stars whatever we want. We can just... start over.”

Thomas considers this, and yes, his friend is right. This is their own part of the world where nothing has been destroyed by solar flares or infection—and they can do absolutely whatever they want with it. Start over. He’s suddenly overwhelmed by the freedom and happiness of it all.

The three of them are silent for a while, just laying down on the beach, looking up at the stars. So many of them are visible since this area hasn’t been affected by light pollution, and it’s stunning—Thomas can’t even take it in or process it.

He’s no expert when it comes to stars or their constellations, but Newt was right; they can definitely see Ursa Major right in front of them, just above the horizon. Thomas looks around a little more and he’s pretty sure he can see Scorpius and what must be Sagittarius, too. But what Minho suggested sounded like a pretty good idea—those names don’t have to matter anymore.

“Alright, I name that one after Alby,” Newt announces, pointing to a particularly bright star, and Thomas turns his head to his right so that their faces are closer to each other, and they give each other loving, intimate smiles.

“Ben,” is all Minho says, pointing at another one.

This is so incredibly bittersweet, naming stars after their fallen friends—but it feels right. It’s like they’re paying tribute to them, in a way. Thomas looks up at the starry night sky again, looking for one to name. He finally spots the perfect star; it’s pretty small but still very luminous.

“That’s Chuck,” Thomas murmurs, and finds that it still hurts to say his name out loud, but he ignores it because he knows that time heals everything. This is the first time he’s ever felt like he’s actually going to be okay someday.

Thomas finds a bigger star right next to Chuck’s. It’s just as bright, and it’s right there—as if it’s watching over the smaller star. Protecting it, somehow. “And that’s Teresa.”

He feels Newt take his hand, presumably to comfort him, and it works remarkably well. Thomas intertwines their fingers in the fine, soft sand, giving it a gentle squeeze as if to say thank you. And Thomas really wants to say it out loud—he wants to thank Newt for never giving up on him, even when he probably should have. He wants to thank him for following him wherever he went, without doubting him, or his lack of plans, even for a second. The amount of trust that must’ve taken is overwhelming, and Thomas doesn’t feel worthy of it. But he can thank Newt later—they’ve got time. They’ve got so much time.

“So, what do we do now?” Newt asks, and Thomas just knows that he’s not referring to right now, but rather the whole picture—what they are going to do here, in Paradise.

Thomas thinks about Teresa and Chuck and everyone else they’ve lost, but then he looks at his friends and realizes that everything is a lot more bearable when they’re around.

“What Minho said. We start over.”

They’ll be okay.

+

“The future’s in your hands now, Tommy.”

Thomas beams and takes Newt’s hands in his own, pressing quick, soft kisses on his knuckles. “You mean in our hands, right?” He says, because they are in this together, forever and always.

Newt just makes a humming sound in response and watches Thomas with a tender look on his face. Thomas almost feels unworthy of it—of his love and affection. What did he ever do to deserve such a thing?

It’s been about four months since they got here, but Thomas still wakes up screaming almost every night. Newt does sometimes, too, but they have each other there to comfort one another. When he wakes up, Newt just holds him close so that Thomas can hear his heartbeat, and it works wonders every time. Then they fall asleep like that, and when they wake up in the morning they’re somehow even more tangled up in one another than they were the night before. They're not okay yet, not by a long shot, but. They are definitely getting there, slowly but surely. Newt's love heals him faster than anything ever could. 

Thomas lets out a soft sigh as he watches the sun go down in the ocean behind the other boy, and it makes his hair look golden. He loves him so much that it actually hurts. Thomas has told him this many, many times, but it never seems to be enough—he never succeeds to explain his unconditional love for Newt. So he tells him again.

“I’m so in love with you,” he says, probably for the hundredth time. Thomas will never stop saying it, because he loves to see the look on Newt’s face when the words leave his mouth. It’s a look full of pure admiration and fondness, and it’s Thomas’ favorite thing in the whole world. Newt doesn’t need to say it back to him, because Thomas just knows by looking at the blond’s expression that his feelings are very much reciprocated.

Newt always says it back, though. “I love you, too.” Always.

❦