Pairing(s): Thomas/Newt

Warning(s): References to underage smoking.

Universe: Modern/Runaway AU. "August Rush" AU.

Word Count: 1,922

*A fag is British term for a cigarette and is not used in the derogatory way.

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Dissonance

/ˈdisənəns/ [noun] [MUSIC]

( ) lack of harmony among musical notes

( ) a tension or clash resulting from the combination of two disharmonious or unsuitable elements

His guitar is strapped to his back, the shape a solid form on his back. It bangs weakly against the back of his knees as he moves, but he has no time to adjust it so that it rides higher on his already nimble frame. Guilt weighs heavy in his gut like lead, but he knows it's for the best. Newt closes the old rundown theater door behind him, and it feels like he's sealing off a piece of his past - another chapter in his story. Finally, he's moving on.

Newt knew that he'd miss Harriet, the forty-something woman who gave Newt her square on the first day, who had fed and watered Newt when he had escaped The Glader Home for Boys, over in Wisconsin. He had met Thomas, a world-renowned worthy musician, who was more than willing to give him Brenda, the guitar, and had shown him what he knew. But being a runaway convincing yourself that you'd find your parents, or at the very least make a name for yourself, seemed to not be a wise choice. The police had arrived at the rundown theater they all lived at, and they scattered, and Newt found solace in the church, where he met young Chuck, whose own mother was at Juilliard, and the rest, as they say, was history. Newt was accepted through some string pulling and now he has his own concert to attend to the following day.

He only returned for one thing - Brenda. Then he would be on his way.

"Running away, are you?" Comes a rasp and his shoulders lock and he turns around, ready to brandish his own instrument as a weapon if he had to. "You seem to be good at that." There's the sound of a lighter striking, and for a brief moment be sees Thomas' striking face in the pale gloom. His slightly oval face is peering at Newt without judgement, just with a forlorn resignment. His dark blue eyes continue to watch Newt, his expression unreadable, even though his pale pink lips were pulled into a slight frown.

Apparently he had also come for Thomas, because his heart leapt into his throat at the sight of the sixteen year old. He looked rugged, as he always did, but there's a certain charm to his lightly dusted button up flannels and worn jeans. But Thomas isn't giving him one of those easy smiles right now, where his mouth quirks just so.

"Tommy." Thomas makes a noncommittal sound. "You weren't supposed to be here." The brunet ducks his head down at that, his fringe of dark hair falling across his eyes.

"I'm not supposed to be anywhere," comes the exasperated response all at once. Something in Newt's chest twitches at that. "And apparently, that includes being by your side, huh?"

"You're always welcome to come with me," he says out in a quick rush, as if he can't get the words out fast enough. He sees Thomas pull his head up, looking perplexed under the lighter's glow when he flicks it on. Thomas says nothing and only shuffles through the leather jacket that he's wearing to pull out a pack of fags. Newt frowns, eyeing the butts littering the ground. Looked like Thomas was waiting for him.

"Hm," is all Thomas says to that, sounding weary.

Newt ends up watching Thomas light another fag and inhale the smoke. His eyes are distant, and the smoke curls around his face. Newt wants to get closer and breathe it in, but instead stays where he was. He could remember when he blew smoke rings into Thomas' face, watched the younger boy breathe it in like he breathed air. That was a long time ago and it felt like it happened to someone else - or maybe in a dream.

He closes his eyes to the sound of the words unspoken. A beautiful harmonious disaster, falling apart at his touch. It's easier to make masterpieces out of music - easier to fix what has been broken. The sounds drown out the sounds of him breaking. That's how he liked to think of it, anyways.

"So - Juilliard, huh?" Thomas snorts, clearly amused but his hands are shaking. Newt remembers how calloused his fingertips were when he skirted them across Newt's face, not daring to go any closer, afraid to get attached. It was too late for that, now. Too late for everything.

"Yeah, following in your footsteps," Newt comments, adjusting the strap of his guitar along his shoulder so it didn't cut into his shoulder.

Thomas frowns - knew it in the way that he shifted from where he sat. "Seems like," he says, idly. Not paying attention, apparently. "My mum teaches there - did you know that?" Newt's tongue barely curled around the first syllable of denial when the brunet continues. "She's married now. Nice house, pro'lly. Has a kid. Can't help but wonder why ... she didn't want me. Why nobody wanted me." He knocks his knuckle against the butt of the cig, and its ashes scatter across the ground. He brings it to his lips but doesn't inhale. Newt is suddenly sorry that he dragged the younger boy into the habit of smoking, even though he never takes a drag from it and instead seems fond enough to roll it between his fingertips and breathe in the faint trails of smoke pivoting upwards. "I joined up, once, thought it'd be a happy reunion, but she didn't even recognize me. Left pretty quick after that." A sudden pause in his words, "Harriet was waiting for me."

"She always has," comes the slow realization. He feels sick, knowing that he's pushing the older woman away. He had always known that they were like a family - that they treated him like one, and even had the familial teasing when they found out about him and Thomas. They had taken him in, given him food, and helped him find the people who would help him into Juilliard and realize his potential. It sounded like Thomas cracked under the pressure and left for someone he knew would always be there for him - with a sickening lurch, he wonders if he would ever wait for Thomas like Harriet had. He'd like to think that he would, but he wasn't entirely certain about it.

"She'll wait for you too," Thomas says, almost like he hadn't heard. "And I will too." There it was. Newt curls his fingers along his guitar strap, wondering how to convince Thomas to go with him. But ... he supposed Thomas was also searching for the words to ask him to stay. "But you won't come back this time, will you?"

Newt clicks his jaw, averts his gaze even though he knew Thomas couldn't see him. "I have a concert," he says, as if that explains everything. Maybe it does. He sees Thomas watch him from under the fringe of his hair, looking lost.

"Of course you do." Thomas says, but he doesn't sound jealous or upset, just like he's accepted it. He rubs at his face, and Newt can see his fingertips are covered in soot.

"Newt," he can see how red Thomas eyes are in the dark - but also dry. "You should go." He rubs the underside of his thumb across his cheeks again, careful not to drag his cigarette across his face. Slowly, he raises his eyes to Newt's. "You need to go before I ask you to stay."

"I wouldn't," Newt says, but his words ring falsely on his own ears. He wonders who he's trying to convince. "I wouldn't stay." Not unless you asked it of me.

Thomas lets out a choked laugh. "You're cute. But ... the street life isn't for you - I don't want it to ... ruin you." Newt curls his nose at that. Thomas settles himself further against the brick wall, eyes a contrasting white in the darkness as he looked up. "I won't be the reason you're holding yourself back, Newt." He props his legs out in front of him and let's his hand drop to the pavement. "I won't take your dreams away from you. I ... wouldn't forgive myself if I did that." He taps the cig against the top of his leg, then idly curls the tip into his jeans, barely wincing when it burned some of the fabric. "Juilliard ... it'd be good for you."

Newt wants to tell him that his dream would always include Thomas - but the words let loose from mute lips and fell on deaf ears. They were pointless to speak. Thomas hadn't been there in the beginning - Newt's dream did not spring up when he saw the brunet that day, and although his vision had started to change - to include all of his friends - he doubted that Thomas would last through it all. Thomas thrived off of playing at the corner every day, loved to express himself to passerbyes who didn't even give him a second look. The life Newt wanted for himself wasn't one that included Thomas.

The realization was a punch to the gut - but so was the fact that Thomas seemed aware of it, seemed to know that Newt was willing to shed himself of his dream just to be with Thomas. And, like the leather jacket upon the day of his return, Thomas was giving it back to him. Letting him go.

Newt's heart ached - he didn't want to leave but knew that he had to. Thomas' expression was getting increasingly distraught, his pale lips trembling as he tried to pull the fag to his lips again. Suddenly Newt regretted never having kissed Thomas, the boy who had given him everything and never expected anything. He regrets not playing with Thomas more often in that Square, when their smiles lit up their faces and competition drove them to sweat - rather, they would drive each other sweaty later - but it was just them, and it was great. But it also was something from long ago and they couldn't go back, no matter how easy it looked, how easy the decision should have been.

A wretched gasp left Thomas' lips, broken and sad all at once. "Go," he tells Newt, his voice sure and as sharp as a crack from a whip. "Just go."

He pulls his arms closer around himself, dropping his head and letting the cig drop. He looks defeated and wrecked, and they were both well aware of the fact. Newt wondered what Thomas would do if he told the boy that he loved him. It was a foolish thought - something that shouldn't ever be said but only wondered about late at night.

Newt takes a step back, and turns away. It was best not to think about it, about the heartache that they both felt. They were two seperate forces of nature - a hurricane and a volcano, each being too powerful on their own and not likely to occur next to each other. Newt was the hurricane - traveling, getting stronger or weaker, but at least he's moving. But neither of them had ever wanted easy, but they couldn't last travelling down the difficult path together anymore.

With a heavy heart, Newt walked away, trying to ignore the soft sounds that Thomas made that played his heart like a string.

This is for both of us, he thinks, not sure if he's trying to convince himself or the remains of Thomas.