Thanks to Bennyweirlover17 and Anonomoose for your review, you guys are awesome! I seriously can't believe I finally reached the end, I feel like I've been writing this for months I'm so proud of myself for finishing it.

"Newt, wait!"

Thomas watched Newt disappear into the corridor, letting out a defeated sigh. He turned his head to glare at Minho, and harshly shrugged off the hand that had kept him back from going after his friend. He took a quick glance over his shoulder, wondering for a second if he could still follow Newt, but let out a frustrated groan when he saw nothing but a few guards hovering among the tables. The brunet looked back at Minho, taking a threatening step toward him. "Why did you stop me?"

His friend gave him an unimpressed look, and didn't say anything, staring him down until Thomas looked away, realizing his outburst had been uncalled for. He had no right to shout after his friend, and, even without knowing why yet, knew that he had probably done the right thing by keeping him from going after Newt. He just couldn't help himself, he had been really impulsive and fidgety these last days. Newt was supposed to be the glue, to be the calm one who brought them together, but now that he was breaking down, the warm feeling of calm he always spread among the group was slowly fading away, leaving his hot-headed friends alone to deal with their reckless temper.

"You need to let him blow off some steam," Minho explained, sitting back down at the table, "you've been following his every step for days, you shank. No wonder why he ended up going off on you."

The brunet ignored Frypan's snicker, and looked away, suddenly very embarrassed by his own behavior. He knew he had acted really protectively towards Newt these last days, always making sure he was alright and never leaving him for too long, but he didn't think everyone had noticed. Tilting his head down to hide the slight blush that had crept onto his cheeks, he went to sit back down across from Minho. "Honestly, I don't know how he managed to stay calm this long, I would have exploded right at the first day." he smirked, earning another glare from Thomas.

"Maybe you should still go check on him in ten minutes. Newt has been weird since he's been back, he shouldn't be left alone for too long." Winston suggested hesitantly. "I would've done it but..."

Minho nodded, cutting him short in his rant, and told him he would do it. He understood that, even though they were technically friends, Winston wasn't close enough to Newt to help him through a crisis like this one. He brought his attention back to Thomas, and saw that his friend was still tensed, with his jaw stiffened and his eyes unfocused. He nudged his knee under the table, making him look back at him, and gave him a reassuring look. Thomas answered with a faint smile, giving him a grateful nod. They were about to start to listen again to the conversation Frypan and Winston were having beside them, when Thomas noticed someone standing by the table, awkwardly waiting to have their attention.

"... Do you need something?" he asked, bringing his friends' attention to the young man.

He had brown hair and dark, circled eyes. From what Thomas remembered, his name was Aris, and he had been here the longest. The brunet seemed to be caught off guard for a second, before regaining his composure, clearing his throat before speaking in a quiet, hoarse voice.

"I'm sorry, I was watching, and," he made a pause, crossing his arms uncomfortably, "I should've come to talk to you about it earlier but I didn't know..."

He was cut in the middle of his rant by Minho, who asked him to go straight to the point. His voice wasn't severe or rude, just sharp, showing the brunet it wasn't the moment and he needed to express his thoughts more quickly. Aris rubbed his neck, and resumed that he couldn't really explain it to them right now, but that he had heard some scientists talking about their friend. "Isaac Newton, that's right?" he finished, unsure.

"Newt." a voice corrected him sharply. He looked up, meeting Thomas' steady stare. He had definitely caught his attention with these last words. This unsettled Aris for a second, who spluttered a quick "oh, right, sorry.", but Thomas just shrugged it off, asking him to continue. At the moment, he couldn't care less about Newt's name, he had just corrected Aris out of habit, and he couldn't wait another second to know what made Aris so nervous. He had a dreadful feeling creeping up his stomach, and the tensed silence that settled between them as the young man struggled to find his words only made it worse.

"They said he was close to breaking." he ended up saying, riddled with the guilt of not telling them earlier.

"Close to breaking?" Minho echoed, frowning.

Aris shrugged sheepishly, admitting that he didn't really know what it was supposed to mean, but that Newt probably shouldn't be left alone. The brunet had no idea what the scientists were talking about, but, given the ominous tone the man had used and the anxiousness in his colleague's eyes, he knew it could only mean something bad was gonna happen. Minho glanced at Thomas, hoping his friend could enlighten him, but the brunet wasn't looking at him. His eyes were unfocused, he seemed to be deep in thoughts, slowly realizing something. "They want him to break..." he mumbled to himself, a frown slowly appearing upon his features.

Minho got a sinking feeling in his stomach, as realization slowly began to dawn on him. They had taken Newt away for a week, and the bulky boy didn't know what they had done to him, but, given the sleepless nights and the panic attacks, it must had been bad. They had tortured him mentally in hope to see him break, and now they were only waiting for him to act.

"Do you think-" Minho started, but instantly stopped when Thomas suddenly shot up from his seat, darting towards the corridor Newt had just disappeared in.

The brunet barely heard his friend calling after him, too focused on joining Newt the quickest way possible. He ran through the different corridors, going so fast the whole world around him was in a blur. He heard Minho's footstep right behind him and only went faster until his legs starting to ache. He had never run so fast in his entire life, not even in the Maze. He felt like he was running for his life, running for Newt's life.

They had almost reached their room, only a few corridors away, when two guards suddenly got in front of them, making them come to an abrupt halt. The two heavily build men took the whole corridor, leaving Thomas and Minho no space to flee past them. "Where are you going like that?" one of them barked, taking a threatening step toward them. Thomas sent Minho a sideways glance, and they exchanged a sharp nod, agreeing on the same reckless idea. Clenching his fist, Minho was about to lunge at the guard on his side of the corridor, when a grenade suddenly flew past him, hitting the man right in the chest. The two friends watched, astonished, as the guard got shocked by electricity, before collapsing to the floor. They both turned around at the same time, their eyes falling onto the blond scientist Thomas had assaulted back in the cafeteria, holding a launcher between her hands. Her eyes flickered from the other guard still standing up to them a few times, before aiming her gun toward the man, while shouting at them to go.

"I'm keeping him here," she added when they didn't move from an inch, "go save Isaac!"

Thomas gave her a thankful nod, and took off running in the opposite direction, painfully aware that the few seconds he had just lost may have been Newt's last ones.

"Newt, I'm scared."

Staring down at the gun between his hands, Newt took a deep, shaky breath, and closed his eyes, feeling tears dropping from his eyelashes to trickle down his cheeks. He clenched his fist around the weapon, ignoring the uncomfortable touch of cold metal against his skin. He needed to do this. He had to. He couldn't keep on going, it had to end. He was so tired, exhausted of fighting all the time. Fighting the grievers, fighting creators, fighting his depression, fighting against his own memories. He couldn't do it anymore. He had spent his entire life running away, and his lungs were on fire. He wanted to stop hearing these voices, he wanted to be left alone, everything was too much and he needed it all to stop. He winced as he felt the trigger digging into his finger. It all felt too familiar.

He was barely hearing the guard banging against the door, not lucid enough to wonder why the door had been locked. If his thoughts had been coherent, he would have understood. He would have realized Janson had asked for the door to be locked, he would have known the older man had gotten him exactly where he wanted him. But, at that moment, Newt's thoughts were too wild, too charged in emotions for him to form a coherent train of thought. Inside his mind, the different voices of his family were swirling madly, and, as much as he tried to think about what had kept him going until now, the vision of the pale shade of blue wouldn't leave his head. He tried to think about Alby, Minho, about the Glade and about every friend he had lost in the battle. He tried to think about Thomas, about his lazy smile and tired half-lidded eyes, about his fingers softly running along his arm, about his strong arms holding him tightly, but nothing could overcome the haunting memories. Newt opened his eyes, looking back at the gun between his shaking hands. He swallowed down the lump in his throat, and tried ignoring the icy fear that twisted his stomach. He was scared senseless. Newt couldn't deny the fact that he was terrified of death, even after years in the Glade, but he was terrified even more of keep on living with this past. Taking a deep breath, he lifted the weapon, placing it against his temple. He pursed his lips, looked up at the ceiling, and, for a second, everything was silent. The voices were gone, the banging on the door seemed to have stop for an instant, even his own breathing had never been so quiet. He closed his eyes again, and let out a long breath. He had known all along it would end up this way. The house, the warmth, the sun, the pale shade of blue, and the gun.

"Newt!" he froze, his attention drawn to Thomas banging on the door. "Put it down, please!"

His breath got caught in his throat, as he slowly lowered the gun, his eyes going unfocused.

"Newt?" her voice was shaking as she called him. "You're not afraid of me, are you?"

The young boy took a step backward, feeling sick. He was shaking from every limb, but couldn't tear his wide, frightened eyes away from his mother, watching cautiously every single move she made. She slowly got up, leaving his sister's body on the floor behind her, and took a threatening step toward him. He kept moving back, trying to put as much distance between them as possible, but, every time he moved back, she made another step forward, the wooden floor creaking under her weight as she crept toward him.

"This wasn't my fault. She pushed me on the edge, I lost control!" she screamed, her lips curling in a snarl. "This wasn't my fault!"

She suddenly lunged forward, and, before he could react, grabbed him, holding his arms painfully. He could feel her nails digging into his skin, and let out a quiet moan. The little boy asked her to let him go, barely managing to articulate his words through his sobs. Hot tears were prickling at the corners of his eyes, and his vision was so blurry he could barely see her, but he could still discern the thin black lines drawn on her pale neck.

"You can't tell your father, you won't. It wasn't my fault!" she shouted, spitting black blood onto his face, making him turn away from her. "Look at me!"

She let go of his arms and withdrew her hand, about to slap him, leaving him enough time to take off running in the opposite direction. He ran through the corridor, almost tripping over his own feet a few times, before finally reaching a bedroom. He closed the door behind him, and used his own body as a barricade, hearing someone slam against it only a few seconds after. She started kicking and scratching the wooden door, yelling herself hoarse.

"You won't tell him!" the boy looked around him hastily, not able to see anything but blurred silhouettes because of the tears filling his eyes. "I won't let you!"

She started punching the door with more strength, and he knew he wouldn't be able to hold her any longer. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on what to do, when he remembered his father's words. Opening his eyes again, he quickly scanned the room before his glance landed on a chest of drawers. He ran towards it, hearing the door burst open only a second after, and opened the bottom drawer, before hurriedly grabbing its content.

"What are you doing?"

He turned around slowly, eyeing the person before him. Despite the black blood that was still dripping from her chin, she suddenly looked more human. Her wide, startled eyes weren't dark and filled with hatred anymore, and she didn't seem as restless as before, scratching anything that would come under her hand.

She took a step towards him, and he instinctively moved back, aiming the gun in her direction. He was still shaking, holding onto the gun for dear life. He could feel the cold touch of metal against his skin, and winced as the trigger digged into his finger. His mother took a step back, frightened, and a few tears dropped from her eyelashes, trickling down her cheeks. "Newt, put it back." she whispered in a severe tone. He started lowering the gun, his face creased in agony. He was about to let go, when his glance fell back onto the corridor. From where he was, he could still see a part of the living-room. The blanket on the ground, right in front of the radio, a chair, and the crumpled form of his sister, laying dead in the corner of the room.

His mind went blank, and when he looked back at his mother, he couldn't see her brown eyes anymore. He could see nothing but the black veins on her neck and the scratches on her hands. He couldn't hear her pleads anymore, couldn't hear her shaking voice, couldn't hear anything but his father's words.

His mind was filled with the same words, repeating themselves over and over again: never the legs, aim for the head. He closed his eyes, felt the trigger digging a little further into his finger.

"Newt, put it down, please!"

And a single gunshot echoed.

"Newt, please, I," Thomas banged another time on the door, but Newt didn't even flinch, "I..."

The words got caught in his throat, and he let out a ragged breath, letting his forehead hit the door window. He wished he could tell him, he wished he was able to let these simple words out, but he didn't have the strength. He banged again on the door, putting so much strength in it he was almost punching the glass. He could see him through the door window and it drove him insane. He could only witness as Newt held a gun pressed against his temple, having his back to him. Apart from his shaking hands, the boy wasn't moving from an inch, and didn't seem totally aware of their presences. He banged on the door once again, helpless, when he heard Minho telling him to move back. He stepped aside, watching as Minho took a few steps back, proceeding to break the door down.

"Minho, you can't-" Thomas tried to stop him, knowing his friend was more likely to bust his shoulder than knock the door down.

"I won't stand there watching until these shanks open this door." the bulky boy grunted back.

That's when Thomas finally saw it: the distress in Minho's eyes. He had been so focused on his own dismay that he hadn't noticed how it also affected his friend. His breathing was heavy, his shoulders tensed, and the brunet was almost sure he could see some tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. He had never seen Minho putting so many emotions on display. He was usually the smug one, always unaffected, and seeing him like that made Thomas' stomach twist. He tended to forget Minho had known Newt for way longer than him. The brunet didn't know this wasn't the first time his friend was dealing with this kind of situation.

Minho abruptly threw his shoulder against the door, which remained completely intact. He took a few steps backward again, and violently slammed his body against the metallic door. "Why won't they open this damn door?!" Minho growled, as he kept throwing his shoulder repeatedly against the door. "Open it!"

He kept putting more and more strength into it, grunting in pain at each hit, until Thomas joined him, slamming his body against the door with him. The asian boy stumbled back a little at the chock, and turned his head to look at Thomas in disbelief. The brunet gave him a quick nod, as to tell him he wasn't alone, and went back, wincing as his shoulder violently hit the cold surface of the door. They kept hitting the door until they couldn't feel their shoulder anymore, often throwing quick glances at Newt through the window. He was still in a daze, but seemed to be shaking even more than before. He was still holding the gun tightly, but had slightly lowered his hand.

"Hold on, Newt!" he slammed his body against the door again, before shouting again, yelling himself hoarse. "Don't give up on me, don't you dare give up on me!"

"Hold on, Newt! Don't give up on me, don't you dare give up on me!"

Newt gasped, suddenly out of his daze. He inhaled deeply, feeling like he had just emerged from underwater, and it took him a few seconds to get his breathing back under control. His eyes were still unfocused, the same words replaying over and over in his head, and, even though he had just emerged, the voices coming from outside were still muffled and distant, as if he was still underwater, diving into his own memories. He had never felt so hollow. The pain was gone, along with the anger, the joy, the anxiousness. He had no reason to feel bad anymore, no reason to grip onto that gun so tightly, and yet, he had never felt worse. Pain was nothing compared to numbness.

Newt absent-mindedly applied a little more pressure onto the trigger. He could barely hear the loud banging on the door, or his friends' screams. He could barely hear his own heavy breathing, and barely heard himself as he mumbled the few words that had driven him insane.

"Never the legs, aim for the head."

He lifted the gun, closed his eyes.

And a single gunshot echoed.

They almost didn't hear it. They were once again lunging toward the door, when the gunshot had echoed barely a second before they finally knocked the door down. It went slamming against the wall, creating a loud noise, and they both froze, wondering if it had been a fragment of their imagination. For a second, they foolishly hoped they were right. They believed they had broken the door down and had arrived just in time. Newt's collapsing form left no room for doubt.

Thomas immediately rushed into the room, acting on instinct. He didn't think for a second about how scared he was of what he was gonna see, didn't think about how Newt's blank eyes would haunt him until the end of his life, didn't think about the blood he would get on his hands would never truly leave him, and about how he would spend hours scraping his skin until it turned red. All he thought about at that moment was that Newt was in danger, and he wanted to be by his side, no matter the cost.

He slid down to his knees and caught Newt as the blond fell down to his knees. He pulled him to lean against his chest, wasting no time to check for any injury. He could see no wound, but kept frantically looking for any blood, roaming his eyes over his friend's body ceaselessly. Nothing seemed to indicate an injury, and yet, Thomas was sure he had heard a gunshot. He took a quick glance at his surroundings, suddenly noticing the gun at his feet. From behind him, Minho called him and pointed at the impact on the opposite wall. A tidal wave of relief washed over him, as he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, feeling the pressure in his lungs falter. A single tear slid down his cheek as he unconsciously tightened his hold on Newt, kicking the gun away from them. He could feel Newt's shaking body against his chest, and pursed his lips, his heart breaking to pieces.

"Never do that again." he whispered, his voice hoarse from all the screaming. "Please."

Newt didn't answer. He kept staring into space, his eyes painfully hollow. The pain was gone, along with everything else. Thomas wished the blond was crying. For once in his life, he wished his friend was bailing his eyes out. Being in pain was better than not caring at all, nothing was scarier than knowing Newt didn't value his life at all. Facing death hadn't managed to bring a single tear to his eyes. Thomas pursed his lips, the thought of it making his stomach twist. "You can't do this to us," Thomas choked out, weaving his hand into the blond's hair as he cradled his head, "please."

He knew he was being selfish. He was asking Newt to live for him. He was putting another weight on his shoulder, giving him more responsabilities, making him think he had to be there for him, but all of it was true and at that moment Thomas couldn't bring himself to lie. He couldn't pretend he wasn't terrified at the thought of losing Newt, he couldn't even stop his own hands from shaking as he held the blond close to him.

"I..." he made a pause, and closed his eyes, "I care about you too much."

The words still wouldn't get out of his throat. He was a coward.

"I killed her."

Thomas opened his eyes, looking back at Newt. The blond still wasn't looking at him, clenching the tissue of the brunet's shirt into his fist.

"I killed my mother."

Newt finally looked up, his gaze meeting Thomas' distraught eyes. The brunet kept staring at him with his mouth agape, at loss for words, barely acknowledging as Minho shot up to take a look around the corner, before quickly coming back in. "We need to leave, they're coming." he hurried them, already helping Newt to get up on his feet. Thomas immediately got up after him, not even because Minho had asked him to but because he wanted to stay as close to Newt as he could, and he only realized how pathetic it was as he snaked an arm back around his friend's waist to support him. "Enough with the touching, Thomas, we need to go."

The brunet glared at him, and his friend had to keep himself from rolling his eyes. He didn't have time to be exasperated. He rushed to the door, and was about to dart down the corridor, quickly followed by the two other, when he stopped dead in his track right in front of the doorway. Thomas bumped into him, and took a step back, about to ask him what he was doing, when he met Janson's eyes over Minho's shoulder. He was standing in the middle of the corridor, surrounded by a few guards, right in front of Minho seemed ready to pounce at Janson at any moment. "What happened in here?" the older man asked, his voice laced with fake concern.

Minho saw right through him, and he growled back that he knew exactly what was happening, his lips curling in a snarl. He took a step forward, clenching his fist. "What did you do to him?" he barked, stopping to stand beside Minho. Janson gave him an unimpressed look, and calmly asked him to step aside, ignoring his question. "We're gonna need to take Isaac with us." he added when the young man didn't move from an inch.

Minho clenched his jaw, narrowing his eyes. "I'd like to see you try." he smirked, withdrawing his fist. He was about to punch him when he felt a hand grab his arm, keeping him back. He glanced at Thomas over his shoulder and caught his eyes. "Don't keep me from doing this."

"Trust me," Thomas let go of his arm, took a step in front of Minho, "I won't."

In an instant, Thomas' fist collided with Janson's jaw, and all hell broke loose. As Janson stumbled back, a guard grabbed Thomas' arm, before being punched by Minho. The other guard joined in the fight, and, unlike the week before, it didn't take them long to stop them both. The guard that had been trying to open the door before helped one of them to handle Thomas, kicking him in the legs to put him down on his knees. Before he even knew it, Thomas was laying down on his stomach, a knee on his back to keep him down, while Minho was being held back in an armlock.

"Thomas!"

He looked up, meeting Newt's distressed eyes as a guard grabbed his shoulder, trying to pull him the other way. "Don't touch him!" he growled, trying to get up and feeling the guard's knee painfully digging into his back, right between his shoulder blades. He heard Minho shout curses at Janson beside him, trashing against the hands gripping his arms, and looked back at Janson. This one already had his back to them, walking away while the third guard dragged Newt along despite his shouts.

"I know what you did, Janson!" Thomas yelled, watching him stop dead in his track. "You really think I don't know what happened here? He remembers his mother. You gave him his memory back, and for whatever reason, you wanted him to die."

Janson stayed still for a few seconds, clenching and unclenching his fists in a vain attempt to keep his nerves under control. A deafening silence had settled in the corridor, only disturbed by the pantings. Even Minho had stopped fighting the man holding him in an armlock, staring at Janson breathlessly. The older man took a deep breath, his head hanging low, before reluctantly turning around, giving Thomas an irritated glare. A smirk crept over the brunet's face. He knew he had the upper hand on this one. He felt the pressure on his back lessen, and pushed it away, getting up with a smug look on his face. "I know what you did," he repeated, taking a step forward, "And, sooner or later, the truth will come out, Janson. Take Newt away from me, and that day will come a lot faster than it should have."

They kept staring at each other for a few seconds, as if they were trying to read each other's thoughts. The tension was thick, and everyone was waiting to see who would make the next move. A sly smirk spread across Janson's lips, and he let out a low chuckle, slightly shaking his head. Thomas frowned, taken aback, and exchanged a quick glance with Newt, unsure of what was going to happen.

"Let him go, Garrett."

The man shot him a dumbfounded glance, but let go of Newt nonetheless. The blond instinctively took a few steps away from the man, before stopping, his eyes flickering between Minho and Thomas. After a few seconds, he ducked down his head and went straight into the room, before sitting down on the ground with his back against a bed, his knees drawn to his chest and his head tucked into his arms. He wanted to disappear. He wanted to stop existing, but was afraid to die. Nothing made sense anymore and everything felt wrong. He just wanted it to stop.

Newt wanted nothing more than to run and jump right into Thomas arms, but at the same time, he wanted nothing more than to be left alone and never touched again. He wanted to hold Thomas hand and intertwine their fingers, but also wanted to bury himself into the ground and never come out again. The thought of kissing his friend obsessed him, but it still couldn't drown out the thought of picking up that gun again and putting his finger back on the trigger. Newt wanted to love, but wasn't ready to live.

"Can you leave us alone for a second?" he heard Thomas quietly ask Minho in the corridor.

He felt trapped. That was the word. Trapped. And it felt even more terrible now that he had found the right word because he didn't want it to be that, but that was the truth and the truth was never pleasant. He had had more unpleasant truths than pleasant ones lately. Alby was gone, unpleasant truth. He was depressed, unpleasant truth. He had tried to kill himself twice, unpleasant truth. He wanted to do it again, unpleasant truth. He was too much of a coward to go through it, still unpleasant. Maybe it was just how life was, maybe everyone felt that way and he was just too weak to handle it. He had already thought about that a lot. About how maybe he wasn't that different from everyone. Maybe everyone felt this bad all the time, maybe it was normal. Perhaps sometimes some people just weren't strong enough to handle it, and he was just some of these people. But it felt even more terrible to think that this was supposed to be normal, so Newt liked to ignore it. It was probably better to think he was one of a kind than to think his friends and the entire world was just as screwed up as he was.

"Are you alright?"

He turned his head to his side, still with his cheek resting against his folded arms, and met Thomas' wide doe eyes. They weren't filled with worry as he would have expected. They were just soft, affectionate, and he could only discern a hint of concern sparkling into his dark irises. The blond nodded absent-mindedly, gazing lazily at the brunet despite the storm that was going on inside his head. He felt like Thomas was his anchor. As soon as his eyes landed on him, every thought he had would quiet down, replaced by a lazy, comforting silence. Without any word, Thomas scooted closer to him, and carefully wrapped an arm around Newt, as if he feared he would scare him off. He looked back at the blond, and met his steady gaze, a slight blush appearing on his cheeks.

Thomas cared about him, pleasant truth.

"I'm sorry." Newt said after a few minutes of silence, his voice barely above a whisper.

Thomas glanced at him, but kept his mouth shut, knowing there wasn't a single word that would make it alright. He had no right to be upset over this, but he was also terrified at the thought of what could have happened if they hadn't been there soon enough. The brunet didn't know how he was supposed to feel, how he could answer, so he didn't say anything, and tightened his hold on Newt.

"I really am." he added after a few seconds, with the faintest evidence of a restrained sob in his voice.

"Stop apologizing." Thomas scolded, and then resumed with a softer, lower voice. "Thank you for holding on. Thank you for not giving up on me."

Newt pursed his lips, and pulled one arm out, his cheek still resting on the other, grabbing Thomas hand and intertwining their fingers. The brunet watched him affectionately as the blond kept his eyes on their hands. His gaze was focused as he slowly rubbed circles with his thumb on the brunet's hand, and Thomas felt like he was melting. A warm feeling of happiness was spreading inside him and he felt like the incident from not even five minutes earlier had never happened. After a few moments, Newt looked back up, their eyes locking.

"I love you."

He didn't mean to say it.

The words naturally flew out of his mouth, and he barely had time to register what he had said before Newt let go of his hand as if the touch had just burned him.

"I'm sorry, I," he felt his heart clench and his throat was suddenly too dry, "I don't know why I..."

He barely noticed as Newt's eyes went unfocused.

"Breath, Newt, come on."

The blond took another deep breath, running a hand through his hair in a distressed way. "I can't, Thomas, I can't go, I don't wanna go to the Maze." he cried out, before his breath got caught up in his throat again. He tried to inhale, but he couldn't swallow back the lump in his throat, and fell on his knees, bringing a hand to his throat. He was suffocating, he felt like he was being choked and he couldn't do anything to stop it.

"Newt, you need to calm down, please."

The blond closed his eyes and shook his head, knowing his friend's encouraging words wouldn't lead him anywhere. After another try, he finally managed to inhale, but a heavy exhalation quickly followed, and his erratic breathing was suddenly back. He felt tears prickling at the corner of his eyes, and unintentionally let out a choked sob, his hands still on his throat. Newt started feeling lightheaded, on the brink of unconsciousness, when two strong arms suddenly circled him. He tried to wriggle out of the hold at first, purely instinctively, but Thomas had a strong grip on him, almost crushing him into his embrace. After a few seconds, Newt stopped fighting it, and let himself lean into the hold, barely noticing as he slowly got control back over his breathing. He let his head rest against Thomas' shoulder, and felt himself calm down without even realizing why. After a few minutes, Newt felt Thomas loosening his grip on him, and turned around, pulling him into an embrace.

"Thank you." he croaked out, his shoulders still slightly heaving with every ragged breath.

"It's nothing." Thomas' voice was quiet and soft, as if he was treating Newt like the most fragile thing on Earth, and the blond didn't know yet if he hated it or not. "Teresa showed me how to calm someone down from a panic attack in case you ever had another one."

"Thanks." Newt repeated, his voice muffled by the tissue of the brunet's shirt.

Newt was still shaking a little, and Thomas started rubbing his arms to warm him a little. The room was cold as usual, they never really used any heater in the facility, the weather had never really required one. Thomas shifted a little to have his back resting against a bed, Newt's head still resting on his shoulder. A comfortable silence settled back between them, and Thomas found himself unconsciously closing his eyes a few times.

At some point, Newt's breath slowed down a little, and the weight on Thomas' shoulder felt heavier. The brunet was convinced his friend had just fallen asleep. He glanced down at him, a soft smile spreading across his lips at the sight of Newt's cute frown he even wore while sleeping. He carefully brushed a few blond strands away from his friend's eyes, and his hand lingered for a few more seconds than necessary on his cheek.

"I love you."

"I really don't know why I said that, it's not the moment and I-"

Thomas' frantic words were lost on his lips when Newt's lips crashed onto his. The brunet was taken aback and it took him a few seconds to respond to the kiss, bringing a hand up to gently cup Newt's face. The blond melted into the touch, deepening the kiss, when Thomas pulled Newt into his laps, snaking an arm around his waist to hold him tightly against his chest. The brunet felt Newt smile against his lips, and instantly knew it was now probably his favorite feeling in the whole world.

After a few seconds, Newt pulled back to look at him, his eyes soft and affectionate. He looked so calm and at peace, Thomas had never seen him like that since the Glade. He never wanted to see Newt's eyes stop glinting like that, and would do anything for him to keep that soft smile that spread across his lips.

"I love you too."

His voice was barely above a whisper, but Newt immediately knew Thomas heard him because of the broad smile that spread across his face. A soft chuckle escaped his lips at the sight of the dumb lovestruck expression on the brunet's face.

Maybe some memories were worth being remembered.

Epilogue:

"I think it's called the Flare."

Newt closed his eyes, desperately trying to drown out the sound of his memories. The house, the warmth, the sun, the pale shade of blue. He threw the blanket of his body, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by everything that was touching him. The house, the warmth, the sun, the pale shade of blue. He could feel a sob stuck in his throat, waiting for him to exhale just to come out, so he kept his mouth shut, pursing his lips. The house, the warmth, the sun,-

He suddenly felt an arm draping over his waist. He completely stopped moving for a second, frozen. When he came back to his senses, his first instinct was to push it away, until he felt it. Thomas' warmth against his back. Home.

Newt instantly felt his breathing slow down, as his limbs started to get less tense. He felt his body weight down again on the mattress, his chest starting to rise up and down at the same time as the one he could feel behind him. He barely felt his own eyelids slowly falling shut against his will, as he slowly drifted into sleep.

The house,

The warmth,

The sun,

Thomas.