A/N: Here it is, the second and, as of now, last chapter of this work, so I'm marking it as completed. I might come back to it in the future to add on. Many many many many many thanks and hugs to FloatingFerrets, your review really made my whole month! I'm so glad someone actually likes what I'm writing ahaha. Happy reading!

Chapter 2: Living for the daylight

Thomas didn't see much of Newt over the next few weeks. There was a lot to do to move to the Safe Haven, but that didn't mean that Thomas had forgotten about Newt. He was taking longer to recover than Thomas would have liked. Apparently, he was quite unstable from receiving the Bliss so late in his transformation, that he would relapse sometimes, but mildly. They were always able to keep him under control in his fits, but that didn't stop Thomas from hearing a distant screech from the other side of the camp that felt like a bullet in his heart.

He was ready to offer every drop of blood in his body when Teresa needed his blood for Newt. Thomas was starting to trust Teresa again as the days passed, but he looked skeptically at the amount Teresa had drawn, though she kept insisting it was enough. She said she'd update Thomas on Newt's recovery whenever she could, but Thomas refused.

"Don't. I want to hear it directly from him." Or I'll see for myself when we bury him. Whatever happens. He didn't want the hope that would come from hearing that Newt was improving, or the despair that would follow if he heard that Newt's health was deteriorating.

The first month was the hardest. Thomas didn't see much of his friends then, since they were all busy trying to help Newt. Thomas couldn't bring himself to see Newt, at first, to watch him go through the agony of recovering and would instead help Vince and the others settle in in the Safe Haven, though his thoughts never strayed from Newt. Sometimes he wondered if he was selfish to not kill Newt when he had begged him to, and instead condemned him to a life of pain and misery that wouldn't last much longer.

It was thoughts like these that frustrated Thomas. He didn't know what he should have done then, he still didn't know what he should have done now, but he felt like he would know if he really was a good friend. Thomas was no stranger to making difficult decisions no matter how much he didn't like it, like leaving Winston to die. But this was different. Thomas had nightmares about That Night, how everything felt muffled to him, how the only thing echoing through his head was Newt. Him transitioning, the unnerving blanks of sanity, the madness corrupting his beautiful face.

However, Thomas eventually realised that he didn't dread the nightmares as much as he thought he would. His one hell was also his salvation. It was terrifying to remember Newt like that, but God he missed Newt. Not seeing him in ages made it hard to remember that he was still alive, even if it was just barely. That, coupled with the guilt of letting Newt down when he had trusted him, was eating away at Thomas. He didn't talk about it at first, but his friends noticed how Thomas was becoming increasingly sensitive to any mentions of Newt.

One night, about three weeks after moving to the Safe Haven, Thomas was beginning out of things to do. He had worked pretty much non-stop to stop his mind from running away with all sorts of horrible scenarios, each worse than the last. He was sitting on the beach, watching the waves ebb and flow blankly, when Minho joined him. Thomas barely acknowledged him, trying to keep his mind as blissfully empty instead of it filling with the rage that had started growing in his mind whenever he thought of Minho, ever since Newt…

"You okay?"

"Are any of us really okay?"

"I know things haven't been the same since Newt, but the rest of us are still here for you, If you ever need someone to talk to while Newt is still out of commission."

That was the longest exchange between Minho and Thomas since Minho had been rescued, and the familiar sound of his voice made Thomas immediately feel ashamed of taking out his frustration on Minho. He must be hurting, too. It couldn't be easy for him to see Newt everyday either, not knowing when, or if, he would ever see his cold face curve into a smile.

"How do you do it? Don't you just...hate it? Not knowing, but doing it anyway?"

"Newt has a very slim chance of making it through this. But he does have a chance, and that's all I need."

Thomas stared at the sea hopelessly."I can't do that. I wish J could, but I'm just not...strong enough."

Minho leaned forward, deathly serious. "Don't you think it kills me, every time I see him hooked up to that bag of blood? Or when O see him relapse? But I do it anyway, I do it for him because he's my friend and I owe him that at least. It's what he would have done for any of us."

Thomas felt ashamed now, for running away when things got rough. Minho was right; he was supposed to stick around especially when things were tough. But it just felt so hard to physically move to see Newt, to have that kind of courage. The boys stared at the sea quietly for a while, the ebb and flow of the waves not feeling so peaceful anymore. What did Minho know what it was like for him, anyway? All of Thomas' anger towards Minho came rushing back and pounded his head.

"You know," Thomas began, not being able to control himself to sound anything but spiteful. "You were Newt's dying wish. Seeing you was the last thing he wanted to do before he...was gone."

He turned to Minho and saw that he was smiling slightly.

"Yeah, maybe. That's the kind of friend Newt was; he'd die for me." Minho's smile faded as he turned serious. "Newt would die for me, but he lived for you. It's terrible, knowing what you'll turn into one day once you've been infected. You can't say that Newt didn't want to kill himself early on so that he wouldn't transition. But he didn't. He lived for you, not me or anyone else. Don't shortchange what you meant to him."

Don't shortchange what you meant to him. Thomas didn't know how to do that. He didn't want Minho to be right, because that would mean he was being a terrible friend. It was somehow easier to hide behind the delusion that Newt didn't really care about him so much, so it was okay to be scared. But Thomas couldn't hide from that anymore.

"Minho?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"Anytime, Greenie."

—-

The next morning, Thomas went to Newt's hut. It was a bit far off from the others, inside the first of the island. It was surrounded with foliage, with flowers that shone in the warm morning sun. Thomas was starting to make peace with the possibility that Newt may die. This was a beautiful pace to die, after all, and he'd be surrounded by friends who could say their goodbyes, even if he couldn't. And, if he were gone, Thomas would love the best life he could, and wouldn't waste it away. If Newt could live for him, so could he. Somehow, not being frightened by the outcome made it easier to take that first step to help him.

Teresa was inside, adjusting the tube going into Newt's arm for the blood transfusion. She was quite surprised to see Thomas there, but was more than happy to accept his help. Thomas spent the entire day there, cleaning lab equipment, getting hot or cold compresses for Newt, and the like. Each action didn't feel so loaded with apprehension anymore. Thomas had tasted despair too bitter one too many times before, but he wasn't going to let anything ruin what he could have.

And though Thomas didn't know it, Newt was speeding along the road to recovery. Teresa could hardly believe it, and she mentioned it only to a few trusted others. But she didn't want to get Thomas' hopes up, only to let him down, so she stayed silent as Thomas visited them regularly, day in and day out, barely sparing Newt a glance for fear that he might see something he didn't recognise, not realising how Newt's heart was beating stronger by the minute, as if Newt could feel Thomas moving around him.

A month and a half later, Thomas was sitting on the beach. It was dusk, and everything looked soft and glowing, the setting sun casting a dreamy haze over the horizon. Sometimes Thomas could pretend that memories of their old lives were fading fast from his mind, and that he could barely remember what it was like to live in constant fear. That wasn't one of those times. Thomas, like many of his friends, still slept with one eye open, almost expecting all of this to be another trick, another ploy from WCKD.

Sometimes, just sometimes, Thomas wished they were still there. He didn't care about whether or not he was fighting for his life, fighting every second just to stay alive, as long as he did it with him. With Newt. It was exhausting, to always be strong, to look at the big picture for everyone's good, especially when it meant throwing away lives that were so closely intertwined with his. Teresa still hadn't said a word to Thomas, but he knew firsthand that looking after Newt wasn't cheap or easy. What if they were all doing this just to humour him? Just waiting for him to finally be able to say the words and dig his grave?

Thomas would give up anything and everything for his friends in a heartbeat. So he knew what he had to do the next morning. Talk to Teresa, re-evaluate where Newt was at, and...make a decision. For the good of everyone there.

Thomas just wished that the decision didn't create such an ache in his chest.

He silently watched the waves crash on the shore, looking like liquid fire in the intense orange glow of the sun. The glow wouldn't last long; in a few seconds, the sun would set and the waves would be pitch black as they continued to crash against the shore. Maybe one day even the waves would still, and the island would have a deathly silence hanging over it like a mist. They would probably be long gone by then, skeletons crumbling into the Earth. But Thomas was certain that it was possible, for if life had taught him anything, it was that anything that holds a pulse of purpose can, and will, die out.

Now Thomas couldn't even trust the way the waves lapped against the shore.

A few more seconds now, and the sun would dip below the horizon. Thomas looked down the expanse of the beach, wondering if the sea could be seen from Newt's hut. He tilted his head to the left, and suddenly felt the air knocked out of his lungs.

There, standing barefoot, ankle-deep in the orange sand, was Newt. His hair was a little - okay, a lot - matted, and he still had that slightly pale look on his face, but he was there. Standing. Bathed in the orange light, like the sea, but Thomas didn't know if he even noticed. Mostly because he was staring right at Thomas with a soft look in his eyes, when Thomas finally realised how long it had been since the two of them properly looked at the other, without stolen glances. There was a gigantic sea right in front of Newt, but he only had eyes for Thomas.

Thomas watched Newt walk towards him slowly while that long-forgotten sense of happiness creeped up from the abyss of his soul and grew inside of him until he felt like he would burst. But as Newt shakily sat down next to him, Thomas realised it was something beyond just joy. It was peace. It was things falling right into place in a way that they hadn't in a very long time. Newt smiled, but in a different way this time. Like all the shutters in his eyes had opened and he was daring to look for permanence in his surroundings for the first time. Thomas recognised that look. It wasn't far from the one he had whenever he looked at Newt for hope in the darkest of times.

Newt finally broke his gaze and stared at the sea, drinking it all in. Here was Newt, seeing the sea for himself, something Thomas wouldn't have thought possible ten minutes ago. And yet, he was here. There was so much to say, and yet nothing to say at all, at the same time. Where was he supposed to begin? Where was he supposed to end this time? Or was it finally a time where he no longer had to restrain what he felt?

The note. That was a good place to start. They'd make up the rest as they went along, like they did so many times before. Thomas fished out the roll of parchment that was no longer as tightly or neatly rolled as it once was. Thomas had taken it out just to feel the way his handwriting looped on the parchment paper, desperately holding on to the remaining scraps of his memory, more times than he'd like to admit. Newt didn't seem surprised to see Thomas take out the letter, and flipped through it, looking focused. He looked back at Thomas, like he was asking what he thought about it.

Thomas leaned in and whispered, "I want you to read to me what you would have had me read."

Newt's smile faded slightly. "Are you sure?"

"It's what you would have left me. Your legacy. But instead of me reading it, I'd like you to read it to me."

Newt stared at Thomas in disbelief, before reaching out and straightening the letter.

"Dear Tommy -

This is the first letter I could remember writing. Obviously, I don't know if I wrote any before the Maze. But even if it's not my first, it's likely to be my last. I want you to know that I'm not scared. I have you. Well, not of dying, anyway. One moment my heart will be beating, and the next it won't. I guess that's why I've always been a bit suicidal. But I'm scared of losing myself to the virus. I'm scared of losing my mind.

I've been watching you the past few weeks, like you've been watching me. How you used to wince at my outbursts at first. That sad look in your eyes when you look at me. Well, let me tell you - I don't care one bit for that sadness. Get rid of it as quickly as you can. If my memory only brings you pain, forget me. You've felt enough pain for a lifetime. I wanted you to hate me, Tommy. I wanted you to be able to leave me at the end, without hesitation, without looking back.

I've been losing control over the past few weeks. Even now, my hand shakes as I write. My head never stops hurting, and I keep getting sudden flares of anger that are getting harder and harder to control. But I didn't want you to see, so I buried it inside of me. I tried to be there for you as much as I could, because I know you needed me. But me forgetting about the virus didn't help, because you remembered. You stopped confiding in me, and though I was still breathing, that was when I knew I had lost you.

I've tried to stay in control for as long as I could, I tried to hide it so that you wouldn't be scared. I didn't like seeing you scared. I saw how you were crumbling with me, when you shouldn't need to. I know you, Tommy. I know you're stubborn as hell and you'll keep fighting for your friends even when there's nothing left to fight for. I know you'll keep clinging onto the idea that I will survive this, and that I haven't changed, even though a part of you clearly knows that I have. You know I've never been one to hurt, but now I'm scared of hurting those around me. I'm starting to realise that I am scared, because I have you.

Tommy, I'm scared of hurting you.

It's finally sunk in, that I'm dying very soon. Too soon. I don't want to forget. I don't want to be forgotten. So every night, I've been saying their names out loud. Alby. Winston. Chuck. And I just repeat them over and over like a prayer, and it - and it all comes flooding back. Just the little things like where the sun used to hit the Glade at that perfect moment right before it slipped beneath the walls. And I remember the taste of Frypan's stew. I never thought I'd miss that stuff so much.

And I remember you. From the first time you came up in the box, just a scared little Greenie who couldn't even remember his own name. But from that moment you ran into the Maze, I knew I would follow you anywhere. And I have. We all have. Maybe not so much in the past few weeks, and I hope you'll forgive me for that. I know you needed Newt, but I wasn't him anymore - I was something else, something I didn't even understand. Someone different. Someone who would only hurt you. But you forever and always will see me as Newty, so please forgive me if I've "offed myself." I couldn't bear for you to see me in that way. Make no mistake, Tommy, I don' t regret anything. If I could do it all over again, I would. And I wouldn't change a thing, as long as it meant that you would make it to the other side. Jorge was talking about the Safe Haven - say hello to the trees for me.

My hope for you: when you're looking back years from now, you'll be strong enough to say the same. I flatter myself in thinking that I'm asking a lot from you - that moving past me is something impossible or unimaginable. Whatever the case, please don't shut people out. I'm selfish, Tommy, and I demand that you keep letting people in to touch your heart and make you smile, and I promise that none of them will hurt you the way I have. I hope we rescue Minho in time. I hope we find a cure for what's left of this generation, and the next. I hope you're not there to watch me turn. I hope that even now, when you're reading this, that I mean something to you; anything. There are so many things wrong and awful about our circumstances, and we have every right to be outraged over the childhood robbed from us. Yet, I will keep hoping. Life's too short not to.

The future is in your hands now, Tommy. I know you'll find a way to do what's right. You always have. Take care of everyone for me. And take care of yourself. You deserve to be happy. Thank you for being my friend.

Goodbye, mate.

Newt."

Newt folded the note as tightly as he could, and placed it inside Thomas' hand.

"There. I did it. We'll never have to look at it again."

"What? Why not?"

Newt leaned in conspiratorially, and Thomas was hooked.

"Because, Tommy, I've folded it too tightly for it to ever be opened again. Might as well burn it."

It took Thomas an embarrassingly long amount of time to see the joke, and for a moment was genuinely concerned about the note never being unfolded again. He liked the idea - folding and packing away something so tightly so that you'd never have to look at it again. It wasn't the same as suppressing emotion. This was more of internalising the pain, but not letting it hurt you. Not giving it the power to unravel you.

Thomas believed that everything happened for a reason. He believed there was a reason he was sent into the maze. He believed there was a reason that he met Newt, and fell in love. He believed there was a reason that Alby died. But in his pain-riddled mind, he couldn't see a reason for Newt being infected, other than to solely cause him even more pain and suffering, as if life hadn't already doled out a large enough helping. But it was much easier to see it all now that they were out of the woods.

Thomas now believed in miracles, for as long as he could. Because sometimes it's in those last seconds that miracles happen. That still in the air as the world holds its breath as the orange sun dips below the horizon, and leaves you standing there with stars sprinkled in your eyes.