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“I love you!” It’s a scream. A plea. Some could argue a cry.
“What?” Thomas flinches, swivelling around.
Newt takes a step closer, right up in Thomas’ face. “I shuckin’ love you. But all you bloody do is look at Teresa and even suddenly Brenda. ” A pause. He runs a hand through his hair. “Tommy…I’m dying.”
Thomas is frozen, he swears his heart stops beating. “ What? ”
Newt turns and faces the wall and in one breath blurts out. “I’m dying . And all you can do is look at a bloody psychopath that is torturing Minho. You’re all I think about, all the time it’s you, Thomas. Always.” His eyes scream every unwritten, unspoken word that Newt has kept in for so long. This fire burning deeper than the moment.
“Newt-“
“And I hate it. I hate it so much,” he growls, breath hot on Thomas’ face. “You have no idea what I would do for you! We need to go out there and save Minho, but…I can’t go another day knowing that I could just die and you would never know. You pull my bloody heart out and rip it to shreds and you don’t even know! You…you wreck me in the worst ways imaginable. You make me soft, in a world that only the strongest survive and I hate it but then- then you look at me and I melt all over again. It doesn’t make sense,” he yells, frustrated.
“Newt…” Thomas’ heart thumps loud in his chest. He’s never been scared of Newt. But why is he gripping the wall and preparing for something awful? Why is his pulse scattering and brain twitching?
“It doesn’t,” a gulp, “it doesn’t make sense!” He pants, heavily. “You make me feel all…wobbly and I don’t like it. I’m sick, Tommy. Really sick . I have these god awful thoughts about the people I love and I’m scared I’m so, so scared but you’re always somewhere else! Always moving, always onto solving the next problem. I would follow you anywhere, and I have.” It’s all a rush of vowels and meanings, circling around the two of them in one breath. His hand shakes on Thomas’ shoulder and there is this manic look in his eyes, so close. “I’m so…angry. I can’t- I’m sorry. I’m so angry…so…” he puffs, “…angry.
He shakes his head, hopeless. Desperate. “Everytime you look at someone else that god damned way you do, it breaks me. Every time. And I just…” shaky breaths shoot out. “I needed you to know that.”
Thomas looks down at his shoes, exhaling when Newt eases off and steps back, still breathing heavily.
“What do you mean ‘you’re dying’? Newt, what do you mean?” he demands, shaking his head, disbelieving. Fear lacing his deep brown pools.
“Did you not listen to anything else I just said?”
“Newt. What did you mean?!”
Newt pulls up his sleeve and shoves his arm at the brunette, tears glistening. “I just…I needed you to know, Tommy,” he whispers quietly, such a contrast to his yelling seconds prior.
Thomas’ eyes soften and he pulls Newt into him, cradling his infected arm where only black invades skin and pushing his head into his neck. And holds him. His shirt already begins to feel wet and he clings onto the blond so tight. “You hate it?” he whispers.
Newt croaks out a, “ what? ”
“Loving me? Because… I love it…”
“Love what?” he rasps.
“Loving you.”
Newt pulls away. “What did you just say?” He is still close, eyes only inches apart from Thomas’
“I’m sorry that you thought…well…. I don’t think of Teresa like that. Newt…I was confused for a long time. I don’t understand my feelings towards you, and when I did…well I was scared. Because I know you don’t enjoy thinking about me, but when I think of you all I feel is warmth and it’s the only way I have been able to cope . I close my eyes and your smile is the only light in my agony and I am so sorry that you didn’t think I saw you the same because I fear that all that’s left of me is every part of you.”
“Tommy…”
“And you will not die. I won’t let you.”
Newt shakes his head, tears streaming out. “You can’t fix this one, Tommy,” he croaks, uneven.
“No. No, you don't get to say that.”
“Lying to yourself will only make it worse. Trust me I know from experience.”
“No. Newt, look at Brenda. There’s still hope. You can’t give up.”
“Tommy, even with the serum it will never last. I’ve accepted it. You should too.”
“So what? You won’t give up on Minho, but you can give up on yourself?”
“Minho’s immune. That’s different,” he argues in an exhausted tone.
“No. Newt you can’t- don’t lose hope, okay? Promise me you won’t give up?”
Newt’s whole body begins to shake and Thomas pulls him in again. “It’s okay, you’re okay. We can do this. Together.” Newt deflates and Thomas directs them both to the lounge. “I need you to keep on fighting. Please sweetheart,” he begs, voice cracking, “just keep on fighting for a little while longer. I’ll save you.”
Newt doesn’t have the energy to fight, the conversation having drained the small amount of adrenaline that the flare had randomly pumped into him. “I’m scared. This isn’t really me, Tommy. It’s like…it’s like everything just feels so different and I’m so- so angry.”
“I know,” Thomas whispers, “it’s okay, I would never blame you.”
“I’m sorry I said I hate loving you,” Newt mumbles into Thomas’ arms.
Thomas gently shushes him, rubbing circles in his back.
“I don’t,” Newt says, firm. “I really don’t. There’s so much Newt could say. About the ants scraping out his brain. Digging deep and making just want to itch . Scratch . Burn his skin until all the itchiness is gone. So that everything is just quiet and the sound of sand can’t rattle his brain whenever he tries to think. He wants to look up at a clear sky and tell Thomas it’s beautiful rather than only seeing the dark atmosphere that lies beneath. Without hearing this agonising screech in the back of his mind. Or the trigger that makes him feel things he has never felt before. He wants to tell Thomas that he had never felt anger like this. Never been set off by the smallest things. He wants to tell Tommy that he is perfect and that Newt is the one with all the wrong, stitched deep into him. The ink invading his skin cannot say that. Only he can explain the truth to a disease that corrupts.
Only he knows all the symptoms. The way sometimes just sitting in silence feels so achingly loud. That itch under his skin, all consuming. Never ending. He wouldn’t dare explain how his only relief to his distress is knowing someday he will just be gone . Not a crank. Not a subject of Wicked. Not the glue.
Just gone.
Peace.
He can’t say any of that, despite the longing that pulls him too. But he can say this. He can say how he feels towards Tommy. And not what the flare chooses him to feel instead.
“Newt it’s-“
“Tommy, I mean it, okay? I just always thought you felt…different.”
“I’m sorry I made you feel like that.” He cradles Newt’s head, whispering assurances.
“I know it’s hard, but it’s going to be alright. I just need you to hold on,” and it’s Thomas pleading this time, eyes wide oath a pain that Newt would do anything to take away.
“I’m not sure I can, Tommy.” His words sit heavy in his stomach, digging a little deeper. Making it a little more real.
“You can,” Thomas’ voice is made of steel. “I know you can.”
Newt’s body morphs into Thomas’ and his breathing evens out.
Thomas allows one singular tear to trail down his cheek before rubbing it away and readjusting his grip on Newt, supporting him better.
He leans down and places a kiss on the top of Newt’s mop of hair. “I love you, too.”