Thomas looks up at Minho, before intertwining their hands together. He burrows into the Asian's chest, sniffling. "I'm sorry," he says stubbornly, drawing in on himself and trying to bury himself more.
"I know," Minho says. He slings his arm over the smaller boy's form, and they both lay in silence.
The door opens, and Newt comes in, still talking on his phone. He's still arguing as he toes off his shoes and loosens his tie, throwing his boyfriends a worried look. "Look, I have to go right now, but I swear to God, if this guy doesn't fuck off-"
"Shuck," Thomas whispers to himself, unheard by the other two men.
"- with his corporate junk, we're gonna-"
"-Isaac," the voice on the other side crackles, soothing. "Isaac, I'll just tell them no, okay?"
Newt sighs, but nods. Seeming to realize that the other conversationalist couldn't see him, he says, "Okay. Gotcha." He presses a button on his phone and gently tosses it onto the dresser. "You okay, Tommy?"
"He's remembering," Minho says, frowning. "Something made him really upset, Isaac."
His name's Newt, Thomas thinks.
Newt shrugs off the rest of his suit, trying to be neat and folding it before climbing onto the bed in a wifebeater and his boxers. "You wanna tell us what's up?" He asks, frowning at the distress Thomas is in.
Thomas clings to Minho, muffling a name.
"What?" Minho asks, moving his chest back so they could hear him.
"Chuck," Thomas spits. Tears cling to his eyes and his face is red from panic. "Chuck died."
"Our paperboy?" Newt questions. "That chubby sixteen year old?"
"He was thirteen," Thomas says miserably.
"Before or after I died?" Newt asks, curious. Thomas lets out a noise that seems to mimic that of a drowning man. Minho smacks Newt upside the arm, and scowls.
"Before," Thomas manages, his breathing getting irregular. "He was the first."
"How'd he die, Thomas?" Minho asks gently.
"He took a knife," Thomas says, a bit shrill, "he took a knife for me. That shank took a shuckin' blade in the chest for me." Then he rests his face in the crook of Minho's chest and refuses to say another word. Newt, clearly unsure of what to do, gently lays down behind Thomas and wrapped himself around him.
"I'm sorry you're the only one to remember," Newt offers softly.
"Yeah," Minho says. He leaves it at that.
Thomas lets out a great big sigh, and turned to face the ceiling. He rubs his eyes, jutting his sharp elbows out, before everything about him seems to deflate. "I think the worst thing," Thomas says quietly, "is that because of how much history has been lost, is that I'll never know if it's the past or-" his throat closes up, "-or the future."