A/N- This story is very based on Hold On by Chord Overstreet and I got the idea from To Feel Your Heartbeat by badboybellamy on Ao3. Major Trigger warning for depression, cutting, blood, and suicidal thoughts.
Three months clean. Now no time. Newt raked the razorblade down his arm, and then across his wrist. He watched the blood pour, and smiled. Finally.
His relationship with Thomas was far from perfect. But they loved each other. For a while, that had been enough.
"Let go of me, Tommy!" Newt has yelled as his boyfriend slammed him against the wall of their apartment.
"I'll let go when you give me answers!" Thomas was deranged, furious. Newt had never seen him like this. "Why were you grinding on Alby?"
"Tommy, that was taken out of bloody context-" Newt began, but Thomas slammed him back again.
"Don't lie to me. Don't. Lie. To. Me," He growled again as Newt opened his mouth to argue. "You were grinding on your ex-boyfriend, who broke your heart, in a club, while I, your boyfriend, thought you were at work!"
"Because you're so shucking possessive of me! I can't even go out to have fun! Alby and I were just dancing! We weren't going to shag or any of that klunk. He has a boyfriend, Tommy. A boyfriend that was right there, completely unbothered. Like you should be!"
"You said you liked it when I was jealous," Thomas hissed, breath hot on Newt's neck.
"No, I didn't! I said I liked it when you got me away from slintheads at a club hitting on me! Not when you ruin a perfectly innocent time with one of my best friends!" Newt's blood was practically boiling now. "God, Tommy, you're worse than Gally!" Newt wanted to take it back the second he said it. Even if he was mad, comparing the love of his life to his abusive ex was not the way to go.
Thomas took a step back, nodding slowly. "He was right. You are a worthless shuckface." And then Thomas was gone.
Black was starting to dance around the edge of his vision. His skin was cold and he couldn't remember exactly why he'd been fighting with his boyfriend. Tommy, he thought. Tommy was perfect for him. He should shout it from the rooftops! Yes, that was a good idea. He tried to take a step forward. Tommy, he thought as the light faded out and the impact of his spine on the tile floor jarred him to sleep.
Only twenty minutes later, Thomas regretted it. He picked up his phone nad typed out a message.
Newt, I'm sorry. Okay if I come over?
Send.
Fifteeen minutes later, Newt still hadn't answered. Thomas sent another.
I was a dick, okay? Please, answer me.
Send.
After ten minutes, Thomas sent one final message before he got in his car.
I'm on my way.
Send.
Thomas didn't drive particularly fast, as he had no reason to rush. His boyfriend was incredible at holding a grudge. He didn't think anything was wrong.
He fumbled with the lock for a second beofre it clicked. He removed his key and stepped inside.
The TV was on. Running Love Actually. Newt's favorite movie. And Newt wasn't in there. That was the moment he knew that something was very wrong.
"Newt!" He yelled, running down the hall, randomly flinging doors open. And then he saw something that made his blood run cold. Staining the carpet at the end of the hall, seeping from under the bathroom door, was a puddle of red.
"Newt!" He screamed, turning the door handle. But it didn't move. Newt had locked himself in.
"Shuck, Newt!" He cried. Thomas took a couple of steps back, before slamming his body into the door. He did this twice more before the hinges groaned and the door gave in. He dropped to his knees as the full reality sank in.
Newt lay on the ground, next to the door, bleeding from his skin was translucent, and his white shirt was soaked red.
"Newt," he let out a strangled sob before dialing 9-1-1 and frantically explaining the situation. As he did, he stripped his blue t-shirt and wrapped the blonde's wrist. Newt was barely breathing as Thomas lay his head down on Newt's chest, sobbing.
"Please don't leave me," he whispered as footsteps sounded from behind him and the paramedics pulled Newt from his arms.
Numb, Thomas couldn't even think to respond.
"Sir, come with us," one of the paramedics instructed. So Thomas did.
They were able to give him a blood transplant in the hospital. Thomas sat in the waiting room, going out of his mind, bouncing and staring at the wall, praying for Newt to pull through.
A doctor came spriniting in. "Thomas Murphy, we need you in room A5 immediately."
Thomas sprang to his feet, flying across the room. He opened his mouth to ask, but the doctor was faster.
"Your boyfriend is awake."
The doctor led him through a maze of halls, one that seemed endless and inescapable. FInally, the doctor opened a door for him, let Thomas in, and shut it.
"Tommy," Newt breathed from the bed.
"Newt," Thomas cried out, before running up and hugging his boyfriend. "You're okay. I'm so sorry, I love you so much, and I-"
Newt cut him off with a sweet, gentle kiss. "It's okay, Tommy. I love you, alright? Don't forget it."
The beeps began to slow. "Newt, Newt!" Thomas screamed as Newt's grip weakened and failed, and the beeps cut off with one endless hum.
Cold, Thomas pulled away.
Lipsyncing with Newt as they drove up the highway. Kissing as fireworks went off on the fourth of July. The heated rush of passion in their bedroom, the apparent halo surrounding Newt during picnics in the sunset. All of it gone.
Because of him.
Thomas fell on the floor sobbing. Broken. More dead than the angel laying unresponsive on the bed.
And it was his fault.
"I still want you," he whispered numbly as the doctors streamed into the room. "Come back, I still need you."
And everything went black.