If Only You Understood

They decided to leave the talk of crying, and all else that took place that night, alone. Neither felt the need to talk about it, so they simply didn't. Thrown to the side, a topic not needing to be discussed, so it was out of sight and out of mind.

Things didn't change between them, nothing drastic or even that noticeable, aside from the fact that they were closer. Physically, they sat a bit closer, even if it was barely there. Often shoulder-to-shoulder, elbows bumping and knees knocking. And they'd become slightly more affectionate, nothing near cuddling or romantic, more like an arm around the shoulder or a hand resting on the knee. Reassurance.
I'm here and I won't leave you.

And he wouldn't. Neither of them would. After having been through as much as they had, and sticking together through it all, them leaving one another seemed like a fool's thought. How could they leave? How could they even think about leaving?

They couldn't. The thought of leaving was like seeing pigs fly. Impossible.

A small tap on the back of his hand drew him into reality and he blinked slowly to clear his thoughts.
"Hm? What is it Tommy?" Newt kept his voice low, soft and curious.

"Minho wanted to talk with you but you were spacing out." Voice equally as quiet, he gazed at his friend with concern. "You okay?"

He hummed and shrugged halfheartedly.
"'M fine Tommy. How many times do I have to tell ya?"

"A thousand, but even then I wouldn't believe you." Came the mumbled response as he raised a brow. "We've been friends too long. I know when you're lying."

"And I know when you're being a bloody stressed out shank, don't worry 'bout me. I'll be back to tip-top shape in no time. For now I just have to sit around and look pretty until I'm well enough to be working again." He huffed, nudging Thomas with an eye roll.

"I'm gonna worry because I can. Now let's go, Minho's waiting for you." The dark-haired boy pushed himself up and tugged Newt to his feet with a grunt. "He's around here somewhere."

•••

They discovered the ex-runner chattering with Vince, broad smiles on their faces. When he caught sight of Newt and Thomas he paused and mumbled, what they assumed was a goodbye, before jogging over and greeting the teens. "Took you shuck-faces long enough."

"Shut up." The blond grumbled and leaned some of his weight onto Thomas, his leg was starting to ache from the small trek they went on to find Minho, who had his arm thrown lazily across Newt's shoulders.
Thomas merely nodded his agreement to the older boy's statement.

Minho cast a glance at Thomas, knowing that he had said he wanted to speak with Newt. But, he let out a breath and simply brushed it off. If Newt was fine with him being here then Minho could care less.
"I think it's time to talk about what happened back there, at W.I.C.K.E.D."

Immediately he tensed up, as if a trigger had been hit. His face went stony and his eyes narrowed, meanwhile his spine straightened and his fingers curled inward, nails digging into his palms.
Of course the boy beside him noticed, to which he reacted by placing a calming hand on Newt's. He ran a thumb across his white knuckles and mumbled something Minho didn't quite catch, though he figured it was about calming down because, well, the teen did.
He exhaled, closing his eyes for a minute. And then he shot Tommy an appreciative glance before opening his mouth to speak.
"Alright."

•••

Cool fingertips brushed across the rough surface of his hand and his dark eyes fluttered open to meet a pair of hazel ones. He kept quiet, eyes glancing between their hands (which Thomas was now subconsciously playing with, lacing and unlacing their fingers) and then back up to his friend.

Newt sucked in a breath and nervously gnawed on his bottom lip. With a surge of confidence, he seized Thomas's hand and fully laced their fingers together.
He felt the eyes trained on his face, but he ignored them and continued to stare at their intertwined fingers.

His own were slim and warm.
Thomas's were cold, thicker and definitely far more calloused.
But they still fit against one another snugly.

"Your hands are bloody cold Tommy."

"And yours shucking soft, as if you haven't worked a day in your life. After all those years on the Glade how did you manage to get away with perfect hands? Did you just sit around all the time?"

"Maybe it's just because I'm perfect." He teased with a small grin.

The dark-haired teen let out an exasperated sigh and frowned. But he couldn't mask the laughter dancing in his shiny eyes.
"Keep telling yourself that."

"I will." Newt fired back, grin now turning smug.
Thomas snorted a laugh and shook his head.

They were still after that, fingers locked together. Everyone had departed for bed hours before and neither teens had found themselves with even an ounce of sleep in their bodies so they decided to stay up, sitting beside the fire which had burned out long ago.

A yawn split the quiet they'd created and the blond chuckled. "Already tired?"

Grumbling in response, he stood up and glanced down at his companion.
"Are you coming with me?"

Without answering, Newt struggled to stand and slumped against Thomas for a second, regaining his balance before he stood on both legs, one taking more weight than the other.
Together they made their short journey to the cramped tent and settled down to sleep.

They lay closer now, less distance separating them from each other as their connected hands lay in the gap between. Just like that they fell asleep. Fingers locked together and gentle smiles gracing their faces.

(End of Chapter Four)