There were pictures and thoughts of what it should be. Homemade pies, Christmas presents, and a table where everyone sat down to eat together. People who loved you; a warm bed that meant safety. All these things were there, but the details were missing. It was like a puzzle with only corner pieces. Who was it that loved him? What did his room look like? Did he even celebrate Christmas?
Home. Every Glader knew the word. Every Glader understood what it meant- what it should be. The problem was that no one could recall what their own had been like. The problem was that they were homeless. The Glade was a place to live, sure. But it wasn't any of those things- warm, loving, or safe. It wasn't a home.
The worst part of the whole shuckin' thing was the longing. As Thomas sat in his spot in the Deadheads, he realized something. He understood the feeling that had settled in his stomach. Thomas was homesick. A sigh escaped his lips as he sat with closed eyes. Despite everything, the systems they had set up to keep everyone going, the whole situation felt hopeless. Thomas couldn't even remember reading the story of Peter Pan, but he was reminded of the lost boys. They were the Gladers; a bunch of young clueless boys running around, trying to stay alive.
Slowly something snaked around Thomas' body, and for a moment he was tense with panic. It seeped away after a moment as he opened his eyes to see Newt, looking at him as if trying to analyze what was going on inside the newbie's head. Like butter to heat, Thomas melted under Newt's touch. The blond boy pulled Thomas closer so that his back was pressed against Newt's chest. The other boy's chin rested against Thomas' shoulder.
"Tommy." It came out as a comfortable, lazy murmur. "Whatcha thinkin' about?"
Home. It was a word all the Gladers knew. It meant safety and security. It meant smiling and laughter and love. It meant something that was damn near impossible to have in the Glade.
After a moment with no response, the blonde chose not to push it. Instead, he placed his lips softly against the hollow of Thomas' neck. Newt's breath against his skin reminded Thomas that his heart was still beating. He had lungs that filled with oxygen every time he took a breath. The boy behind him, making a slow trail of kisses up his jaw, was real. They were part of each other's lives.
Lips made their way along his jaw and feathered kisses across his cheek. They rested there for a moment, warming the skin beneath them. Serving as a reminder that both of them were alive. The Glade, the Maze, all of it; this was Thomas' life now. Without needing any sort of verbal explanation, Newt just understood that sometimes this was what Thomas needed; a reminder of life, both good and bad. The newbie turned his head to face Newt.
It was something simple. A short kiss, sweet as honey. A small gesture that held the entire world in it. Between the two lost boys, it said everything.
Newt. All the Gladers knew him. Thomas especially knew him. Some days he was the only thing that made the situation bearable. More than once, he'd been the only thing keeping Thomas together. And sometimes, in the dark of the night, Thomas would lay awake thinking how Newt was the only good thing about this place. When they were pressed together like this, exchanging thoughts without words, a ghost of a thought sat in the back of Thomas' mind- Maybe Newt was the best thing to ever happen to him. Maybe Newt was enough for Thomas to want to be here.
Thomas' eyes were closed. As he took a deep breath in, he focused on the feeling of the body pressed against his. It was warm and stable.
Here, Thomas felt safe. Nothing could get to him in the fortress that was Newt's arms. If he wanted, he could curl up against Newt and sleep forever. The boy was warm and comfortable as Thomas shifted his weight to lie against the blond. When he felt the soft rhythm of the boy's heartbeat, he was reminded of the constant ticking of a great grandfather clock, placed in the back of an old living room. Again and again, without fail, Newt's heart carried on. It gave Thomas something to grasp onto; a constant. For the moment, Newt's heart would go on, sounding out its rhythm of security.
When he turned his head, angling his neck so that their eyes met, something shone within Newt's. It spoke of faith, and hope, and a million promises. To someone who didn't know any better, perhaps someone like Thomas, it looked like love. Something like a thousand butterflies burst in the boy's chest, confusing his heart and making it skip beats. He hoped his eyes replied with that same look.
Safety. Home.
Warmth. Newt.
To Thomas, maybe they didn't feel so different.
I wrote this pretty quickly in my government class to avoid doing work. Apologies if there are grammatical errors, as I didn't spell check it. I'm a lazy piece of poo. The idea is taken from the Christina Perri song 'Arms' and the title was taken from the Starkid song 'To Have a Home'.