Chapter Eight

Thomas turned over again. He was drenched in sweat and struggling to calm himself down enough to sleep. He was painfully aware how much he was going to need his rest, but knowing how few their opportunities for rest would be in the Arena didn't make it any easier to sleep now. He groaned for the hundredth time, twisting the thin cover in his fists as he closed his eyes and tried to breathe regularly.

Half an hour later he was glaring up at the dim shadows on the ceiling again and trying not to give in to the scream of frustration that was perching on his vocal chords like a fat, oily bird. The more he tried not to fret the more he did, and he could feel tears of hopelessness preparing themselves to fall.

He hated the stupid fucking Capitol and their stupid people with their stupid shallow morals and their stupid, stupid yearly Games and he wanted to show them all that he was more than… More than what they labelled him.

He knew he was going to die.

He accepted it. Knew it would happen. Knew that if he managed to get Newt through the first night it'd be an absolute miracle. He knew their odds and by god they were not in his favour. The odds were never in a Glader's favour. Gladers died. Always. But he couldn't let Newt. He would just have to prove to them all, to the GameMakers, to the stupid old man who called himself their President, that Gladers were not to be disregarded. He would get Newt through that first night. He would show them. And he would keep on showing them as long as he possibly could, even if it meant…

He swallowed the sick feeling as it rose, blinked away the agonising tears. He gripped the covers tightly as if it would somehow make things better.

Even if it meant killing the tributes who put them in danger.

Because Newt… Newt couldn't die. It simply wasn't something Thomas was willing to consider, and he'd every shucking thing in his power to make sure it didn't happen. There were nearly fifty other tributes heading in with them. Forty six other tributes stood in-between Newt and freedom. Forty six children, teenagers. Kids just like themselves, most of whom resented the Games just the same as he did. Forty six other people who would be armed and many of them trained to use them. Two of them girls from their own Glader district.

And despite it all he could feel the determination and hope glowing hot in his heart. Because that was the thing about Newt. The blonde made hope possible. He was simply hope in human form and Thomas was not immune to the effects. Newt made him hope, made him believe that things could be better, that they would. There had been many a heady summer afternoon where they had lain in their field, free from everybody else and Newt had spoken wistfully of a better future, of the many little happinesses that a Glader could accumulate over a lifetime. Newt took pleasure in the little things. He was smiler in the very first degree, the ray of sunshine on Thomas's cloudiest, rainiest days. Thomas would get him through this. He absolutely had to.

He'd do a much better job, however, if he managed to shucking sleep.

It was early morning, Thomas could feel it without looking at the odd little clock that lay on the bedside table. There were few hours until his prep team would return with final preparations for his entry to the Arena. It was racing towards him at both the slowest and fastest pace, a moment he both dreaded and was desperate to get out of the way. Inaction itched him, the anticipation almost worse than the fear. He rolled over again, closing his eyes tight despite feeling wide awake and aching to pace around his room as he had for hours earlier.

There was a noise in the corridor outside of his door, and Thomas pretended he wasn't relieved to have an excuse to do something. He sat up in bed as he listened to the quiet steps, the dragging sound that reminded Thomas of the sound his fingers made when he trailed them along the wooden walls of the school hallway. He threw back his covers and stood, listening curiously to the sound. He hadn't realised he was moving until his fingers curled around the smooth brass handle of his door. Without pausing to think about it he opened the door and poked his head out into the dark corridor.

He bit back a cry of surprise when he saw the figure who was sitting by his doorway. Newt had his back against the wall and his knees drawn under his chin. He looked up at Thomas with quiet eyes and gave him an apologetic smile.

"Did i wake ya?" he whispered.

Thomas shook his head, letting out a sigh.

"I wish. Can't sleep?"

Newt returned his eyes to the wall across from him, shaking his head slowly.

"Nah. I can't shut my buggin' brain off for long enough."

Thomas gave a shaky laugh, sitting down beside his friend.

"Tell me about it." he muttered.

Newt gave him a surprisingly cheeky look from under his eyelashes.

"I can't shut my buggin' brain off for long enough."

Thomas rolled his eyes and bumped their shoulders together with an annoyed huff, but he was smiling. Newt smiled back. It was a quiet, soft sort of smile that Thomas loved. He loved all of Newt's smiles of course, who couldn't? From the beaming, blazing grin to the warm and bashful to the half-smiles when he was thinking. He realised he was probably staring but he didn't really care. He was about to be thrown to his death in an Arena full of cornered tributes. He'd stare all he wanted while he had the chance. Newt shifted beside him, leaning his shoulder against Thomas's.

"We don't stand a chance, Tommy." Newt breathed, sounding so matter-of-fact that it was almost as though he were commenting on the weather.

Thomas looked at him, taking in the tousled, ruffled hair and the brown eyes, the pale jawline and the bitten bottom lip. He sighed, leaning back against Newt and embracing the other boy's warmth.

"We have to try, Newt. We won't give in, okay?"

Newt didn't answer, looking at the wall across from them as though it could help them. Thomas turned his face properly, noting that Newt looked a little put out when he had to lift his head from Thomas's shoulder.

"Promise me, Newt. We gotta try."

Newt sighed, ran the long fingers of one hand through his hair. Thomas ached. It was a bitter sweetness that flickered when Newt did that. As painfully sweet as the distressed blonde curls looked, the fact that Newt was worrying was awful. Thomas slid his arm around him, pulling him back in.

"Promise me, Newt."

Newt looked up at the quiver in his voice, and Thomas looked back at him. Newt nodded, his eyes flickering over Thomas's face as if he was reading it carefully.

"I promise Tommy, i promise."

It would have to do. Thomas held him a second longer before he got to his feet, reaching down to tug Newt up too. His fingers wrapped around Newt's unbidden, and he pulled him toward the open door.

"Come on. We really need to get some sleep or tomorrow's going to be even more of a disaster."

Newt looked like he was going to comment but at the last minute he closed his mouth, his brown eyes meeting Thomas's defeatedly. Thomas led him into the darkened room, closing the door as quietly as possible. He wasn't sure what the rules were about sticking to their own rooms, or if there even were any considering what was happening the next day. Not that he'd care much if there were.

Newt followed him over to the wall his bed was slotted against before looking up at him with unsure eyes. Thomas stepped aside, nudging Newt toward the suddenly inviting pale blue sheets. Newt rolled his eyes but didn't argue, climbing onto the mattress so gracefully that Thomas's heart clenched hard. Newt arranged the blanket, fiddling with a corner as he waited for Thomas to join him.

Thomas couldn't stop himself from taking a second to look at the sight before him. The thought that this might be the last time he saw Newt looking anything close to safe made him want to take hold of him and never let go. When Newt finally looked up at him he tipped his head, drawing the younger boy a softly playful look, one eyebrow arching out of his familiar frown. Thomas smiled back as best he could, the moment feeling heavy and melancholy as he climbed under the blanket to lie beside his friend.

Despite everything, despite the Games, despite the impending morning and despite where they were, Thomas closed his eyes and breathed in the moment, wanting to commit everything to memory. He relaxed into the affection warming his heart. He took it all in, the sound of Newt breathing softly beside him, the faint tendrils of heat he could feel across the inches between them. He listened hard, hearing the comforting thump of Newt's heartbeat, the rustle of the cover as Newt moved his knee.

When Thomas was sure he would never forget how good it felt to be in that moment he opened his eyes and turned to look at him.

Newt was already looking back at him, his brown eyes huge and luminous in the dark. He didn't speak, and Thomas didn't either. He didn't need to. He knew what Newt was feeling, knew as well as he knew how many toes he had that Newt was as frightened as he was, as nervous and sickened by their fate. Newt met his touch halfway, linking their fingers together almost fiercely and squeezing hard before letting go. Thomas opened his mouth, grieving the touch, but Newt had rolled towards him, lying on his side and looking up at Thomas as though for permission before he rested his head on him, right above where his heart beat in his chest.

Thomas curled his arm around him instantly and Newt drew closer, relaxing against Thomas's touch as though it felt as familiar to him as it did to Thomas. Thomas found his fingers running softly through his friend's soft curls, felt Newt move his face, burrowing into Thomas's pyjama shirt. Suddenly the room didn't seem so bad, the cold walls less intimidating. As Thomas bravely rested his chin atop the blonde head he realised that he was tired. Despite how wide awake he had felt moments before, Thomas wasn't surprised. Newt was right here, warm and safe and when it really came down to it Thomas didn't think he would ever want anything else.

Thomas tightened his arm a little, delighted when Newt pressed closer to his side. He hooked one long leg over Thomas's, tucking his cold toes under Thomas's ankle. He squirmed a little in surprise, letting out a sharp hiss.

"Your feet are freezing Newt!"

He received a quiet chuckle in return as Newt just wriggled both of his feet against Thomas's warm ones. Thomas whined, but he didn't really mind that much. Newt rubbed his face against Thomas's chest and released a sound so similar to a soft purr that Thomas was reminded forcefully how much he loved him. He ran his hand through Newt's hair again, bolder now that he was sure Newt wouldn't pull away. If he was pleased by the soft hum Newt responded with, then who could blame him?

"G'Night, Tommy."

The breathy whisper made him smile as he closed his eyes to try and grab the rest that would carry him through the first day in the Arena.

"Night, Newt."