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The melody was the first thing to call Thomas’ attention, – its rhythm kind of low, but ascending. Then it was the humming voice with eventual singing. A voice he knew a little too well.
He smiled to himself as he walked down the docks, getting close to a nearby small storage room of the Right Arm's temporary base – where the sound seemed to be coming from.
The day was almost over; the Sun was soon to touch the horizon and merge into the ocean in the distance. The big, old container ships in the water kept people busy, walking around during the last hours of the day, filling them with boxes and all the resources needed so everyone could leave for the said Safe Haven as soon as possible.
Everyone was working, doing their part to save the remaining breaths of a living society. Brenda, Frypan, Jorge, Harriet, Vince; all of them were probably getting ready for their big mission tomorrow morning: after so much planning and research, they were finally saving Minho, Sonya, Aris and as many kids as they could from WCKD's grasp by getting on their train.
But Thomas was distracted the second he heard the song, and he felt the last drops of the cold sea breeze hit his cheeks before he got to the wooden door of the small cabin.
He took a look inside, only peeking his head into the open archway, and it didn't seem like much at first glance, – only a few boxes with junk and dusty shelves on the walls. But Newt was sitting on a pile of old cushions and blankets on the corner of the wall Thomas stood from, his eyes lost somewhere the brunet couldn't place.
Next to him was a small table. On top of it was a record player that looked like a beaten-up leather suitcase.
“I look at the world, and I notice it's turning...” The blond sang out the lyrics, almost humming to himself. His lean fingers tapped against the table to the rhythm of the song.
Still my guitar gently weeps
The voices that came out from the old record player matched Newt's accent, Thomas noticed as he just stood there silently against the door. He smiled at the fact. Also because he had never wondered how incredible it was to hear his friend sing.
“With every mistake…”
We must surely be learning
Still my guitar gently weeps
“...Gently weeps.”
The only source of light that shyly illuminated the room was the one from a high, small window, casting soft rays of orange light right on top of Newt's golden mop of hair. It glowed like honey, shining just like the Sunset sky. And Thomas quietly took in the scene, not wanting to make the blond aware of his presence yet, knowing he'd stop singing if he knew.
The world around them slowly collapsed. Dusk awaited them with danger – Thomas knew that. He also knew he didn't know when he'd have the chance to hear Newt peacefully sing again, so he let both of them live the moment.
“I don't know how you were diverted. You were perverted too.” Newt sang softly, carefully swam around the lyrics, as if he was still learning them. But it was obvious it wasn't the first time he listened to it. Thomas asked himself for how long Newt knew of this secret spot, – for how long he had been going there alone to listen to music. “I don't know how you were inverted. No one alerted you.”
And the brunet also asked himself how on Earth vinyls managed to survive the Sun Flares and all the destruction the world had suffered – or how someone even found and brought this to camp. But he guessed those were unanswered questions, and that's all they were going to glance from an old world that one day existed; by things he never thought he would see or remember.
Once the song was over, Thomas figured it would be a good moment to let Newt know he was there.
“I don't think I ever heard you sing.” He said with a smirk stamped on his face.
Newt turned his neck to the door, completely unaware of the brunet. His big brown eyes were wide, like the ones from a deer caught in the headlights. But once he saw who stood there, his expression softened completely.
He scoffed, looking back to the record player and removing the needle from the vinyl. And a grin also showed up on the corner of his lips. “Don't get used to it.” The song that had just started stopped playing.
Thomas got off the wall, sitting down next to the blond on the big pile of pillows. He grabbed the vinyl cover thrown on the floor, examining its art. To his surprise, there was nothing there. On the cardboard cover only stood the color white, with ‘The Beatles’ written on it in small letters, almost at its center. Inside, there was a second disc.
“What's this? ‘The Beatles’.” He questioned, curious.
Newt let out a huff of a laugh, stretching his arm to get the cardboard from Thomas' hands. Their shoulders brushed as he did so. “A band, for what it seems.” He let his fingers travel through the corners of the squared packaging. But Thomas looked at his eyes, the ones that seemed to gleam as the blond spoke. – Maybe it was just the sunset rays that illuminated him, maybe it was just a Newt thing. “I've been listening to them since I found this.”
“So this is where you hide when you vanish.”
“Yeah.” A shy smile grew on his lip. His eyes met Thomas’ for a second. “These vinyls make me think about all the music we never heard. Probably never will.”
“Yeah.” The brunet answered.
“They're quite good.”
“I like you better.”
“What?”
“Your voice when you sing. I like yours better.”
Newt rolled his eyes and laughed, – that laugh that always made Thomas feel warm inside, like a torch was lighting up all the dark corners of his being. A bit of red was born on the blond’s cheeks and, even if he turned his face a bit to hide it, the brunet couldn't ignore it.
“No need to lie.” Said Newt, getting comfortable, closer to the other boy. Their shoulders casually rested side by side, then. Touching. “I don't have many memories of them. Do you?”
“Of who?”
“The Beatles, you shank.”
“Oh, no.” Thomas shrugged. He tilted his head to the left a bit, hovering close. “Maybe Jorge has.”
The blond bit his lip. “Yeah, you're probably right.”
And silence filled the room, only replaced eventually by the next song that muffledly burst out of the record player the moment Newt put the needle back in its place.
Thomas laid his head on the boy's shoulder, letting his tense, exhausted body rest for a moment. Feeling Newt's heartbeat against his skull, Newt's warmth touch his own skin.
She's not a girl who misses much
She's well acquainted with the touch of the velvet hand
Like a lizard on a window pane
Thomas' mind wandered off as he observed the needle circle the vinyl's lines. It's funny, he believed, how he felt just like said needle; running around in circles, moving to a destination but, at the same time, stuck on its axle.
Somehow, the lyrics playing didn’t sound real, as if they belonged to a whole different world than its own. How could reality change so sharply, so quickly? How could humanity turn into fractions of what it once was? And their memories – so present yet foggy – from a world they once knew also felt like non-existent flashes, because, of course, WCKD made sure their subjects had knowledge of Earth before the apocalypse, – but just what they judged sufficient.
I need a fix ‘cause I'm going down
Down to the pits that I left uptown
I need a fix ‘cause I'm going down
It sounded stupid; to feel so depressed for not knowing music.
But just as music from an old world vanished from existence, Thomas knew time slipped out of his hands like running water. The clock was ticking. They had to be successful on their mission to rescue Minho tomorrow; that was the only thing he knew would give them some high ground, some victory. Yet he or nobody had control of what the future kept for them.
When I hold you in my arms
And I feel my finger on your trigger
I know nobody can do me no harm
Newt whispered to the tune of the song, making rhythm flow down Thomas’ body. And the brunet could feel all his muscles loosen up at the second.
Sometimes he wondered how he felt so at peace around the blond. But maybe that was just another question left unanswered.
It was easy to feel that way around Newt, after all. Thomas decided he didn't need to worry that much about it.
He closed his eyes. Newt held him close. He breathed.
And there was no fear there. Maybe the world outside that storage room could be crumbling away, but neither of them would notice.
In there, they were not being chased by some nagging terror. They could sleep inside that moment, live inside that string of precious seconds. It would be fine. Because they were together, in their own safe place. In their little sanctuary.
Because, at the end of it all, they would still be Newt and Thomas.
Thomas just couldn't dare take a chance of losing that.
The feeling he tried so dearly to ignore was there, knocking loudly. Once buried deep somewhere, hidden, unknown, now at the mercy of the brunet's throat, threatening to jump out.
He couldn't lose Newt the way he lost Minho. He couldn't lose Newt. Especially Newt.
He didn't think he'd be able to walk another step if that ever became reality.
The idea made something move inside him. And, without thinking too much about it (but also trying to get rid of his overthinking), Thomas took his head away from Newt's shoulder, – but just to replace his face on the crook of the blond's neck.
“What's up with you?” The boy giggled, his laughter lighting up a small sparkle in Thomas’ heart. And he flinched a bit, ticklish, but didn't move away.
The only way Thomas could respond to that was with a muffled ‘uhm?’ lost between golden curls and warm, soft skin.
“I could sense your wheels spinning. But, also, you're extra touchy today.” Pointed Newt.
Even behind his soft tone, it was obvious the drop of worry in the boy's croaky voice. And just like that, those same thoughts came back to Thomas’ uneasy mind, – (as if they ever went away).
“Just… Too much.” He sighed again at Newt's neck.
“I know.” Whispered the blond, with that comforting warmth only he knew of. “But don't worry, Tommy. He'll be on that train, and we'll save him.”
The song was over.
Newt stretched his torso, then, got to the small table with the record player in order to change it to Side B. Thomas whispered sadly as his head left the boy's comfortable shoulder; the lingering scent of blackberries and wet grass Newt naturally emanated leaving his nose.
“It's not just that.”
“What is it, then?” The blond looked over his shoulder, locking eyes with the other. His dark brown irises held curiosity, caring. His brows, furrowed, almost completely lost under his golden fringe.
Thomas thought of answering him short and simple. It's you. But Newt would never settle for that, – and neither would he.
The blond flopped his back on top of the pillows again, just as a new song started to play.
Martha, my dear
Though I spend my days in conversation, please remember me
Martha, my love
Don’t forget me
“It's– I don't know. After thinking so much about making plans, rescuing Minho and the others, I realized what I'm most afraid of losing is you, too.”
“That's not gonna happen.” Newt scoffed, smiling a little.
Hold your head up, you silly girl
Look what you've done
But there was no smile on Thomas' face. “You can't promise me that, Newt.”
A pause.
When you find yourself in the thick of it
Help yourself to a bit of what is all around you, silly girl
Newt only stared at him, expressionless. But then he closed his eyes for a second, sighing, and then stared at the ceiling.
“And you can't, either. I wake up every day scared you'll bloody run off alone and I'll never see you again, because I buggin' know you too well.” He let out a small laugh, humorless. “But I try to keep up with you and your crazy ideas. Keep you safe.” Skin-deep adoration, youthful yet exhausted eyes, – Newt softly stared at him. And Thomas felt useless. “I guess that's all we can do for each other, right?”
“You don't get it.” He muttered.
“What?”
It wasn't about losing Newt Thomas was so stressed over. It was about losing Newt. About waking up every day and not finding the boy curled up beside him in his own sleeping bag, not finding their fingers intertwined on the floor in between them. About not having someone to ease his mind when he felt lost, buried down in a deep hole. About losing the good bits this world still had to offer. About losing his safe place, his best friend.
About losing himself in untold, sweet words of affirmation and affection, forever tangled in his throat like poisonous vines.
Words he still wished he'd be able to share with Newt one day.
Take a good look and you're bound to see
That you and me were meant to be for each other
Silly girl
“We have so many more important things to think about, but I can only think about losing you.” He tightened his jaw. Newt bit his lip. Somehow, those words were a start. Something.
And eyes that mirrored the same unspoken feelings looked into his own, needy and lovesick.
Thomas whispered. “I can’t think about losing someone like you in my life, so you have to stay.”
Newt smiled, studying him. Lingering gaze, distance.
But he closed such distance the second he pulled Thomas by the neck of his dirty shirt, kissing him.
His hands were feather-light, warm and soft. Yet needy, staining every bit of skin he could touch with want.
And with stained lips and neck, the brunet let him.
Martha, my dear, you have always been my inspiration, please
Be good to me, Martha, my love
Don't forget me, Martha, my dear
The kiss was slow, because they had all the time in the world for each other. They always had. Blackberries and wet grass, honey and warmth and sunlight. Thomas would never get sick of how intoxicating Newt was.
Because that wasn't their first kiss. Nights awake in the Scorch around dying fires and under thin blankets. Or situations where near death was faced and adrenaline hit them, – so many other moments of solitude between two needy teenagers already held memories for both of them.
And yet this one felt... Real. Like a promise. Like realization.
“I will.” Newt breathed against wet lips, smiling with his eyes closed as he sealed the unspoken promise. And before Thomas could respond, the boy captured his lips once more.
They melted into each other's arms, tenderness and softness filling the empty corners of each wall of the small room. And, while Thomas held Newt close, he knew that feeling of being weightless around the boy he cared so much about was the one he wanted to feel every day.
“When all of this is over, do you wanna try this?” He asked in between small kisses around the blond's mouth.
“What?”
“Anything.” Thomas brushed the tip of their noses together. He smiled. “Everything.”
Newt smiled back. “I'm down to ‘everything’.”
The last rays of sunset that illuminated them from the small window close to the ceiling were long gone, but neither of them seemed to notice it. And tomorrow morning they would head off, save Minho and, hopefully, live the ‘normal’ life this new, messed-up world had to offer them. Still, in the meantime, Thomas would have to settle with waiting.
And if the door of the old storage room was kept locked during the whole night, no one on camp seemed to notice.