Unedited.

This side story was written before I reached the last three chapters of Tribulations so sorry for any inconsistencies that might crop up due to the time period. This side story is SUPPOSED to fall right after the last chapter and before the next chapter, hence why it's being uploaded now.

Side Story IX: Down with the Sickness

Thomas was starting to believe he had the worst immune system in the world. Newt was supposed to be the one who got sick more times than he can count, not him. Worse yet, to get sick a week before finals? It was just his luck. It was like his body had a vendetta against him this semester.

He already knew he was sick before he opened his eyes that morning. His dreams were plagued with nonsense and his body seemed to ache in a way that was beyond his muscular level. His throat didn't feel scratchy or dry, thank goodness, but his head felt hazy, like someone had turned on the blur function on a camera. He couldn't grasp the thoughts lurking in his head save for the most basic function. There was an ache behind his eyes that pulsed in time to his heart. It made him lethargic. Apathetic.

He was hungry. Exhausted.

He did not want to move for anything.

But making his boyfriends worry about his well-being was something he did not want to deal with.

Thomas forced his heavy limbs to rise. One glance at the clock told him he was up far beyond a time that was socially acceptable for him. Across the room, he gave a tender look to the softly breathing mound that was Newt's body, curled warmly beneath his sheets.

He could hear Minho's snoring just above him, the athlete not yet awake for his early morning run. Thomas struggled to move. His muscles screamed at him to go back to sleep with every step he took, his movements sluggish and unsteady. His chest felt constricted, like something were squeezing his lungs with every breath. It was uncomfortable, but Thomas was stubborn. He grabbed his bathroom necessities and dragged his half dead body to the showers.

Newt and Minho were already gone by the time he returned. He was grateful for the absence, the silence was music to his sensitive ears. He had struggled through the movements of cleaning himself and nearly panicked when the steam in the shower almost suffocated him. He wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed and sleep away the sickness.

And perhaps he would. Minho wouldn't be back for another thirty minutes and Newt often took him out for breakfast afterwards. A quick nap seemed exactly what he needed.

Thomas collapsed into his bed like a sack of flour and disappeared into the void.

"T-my?"

Thomas groaned.

"—ommy…"

Something nudged him. Shook him lightly.

Thomas tried to swat away the nuisance but wasn't sure if his muscles responded. His arms felt like lead. His chest still tight.

"Hey Thomas."

His lids fluttered heavily. Newt sat beside him, a tender yet anxious gleam in his eyes. Minho grinned down at him as he leaned into the bunk, his expression impish. Yet, like Newt, there was a glimmer of concern behind those dark eyes, one had trouble masking.

"Must have been a nice dream. You wouldn't wake up for nothing." The athlete grinned. "C'mon shank, get up. We've got daylight to burn."

"We brought you breakfast." Newt held up a bag from the cafeteria, WCKD U's mascot smiling stupidly right back at him.

It was a struggle, but Thomas managed to pass off his uncoordinated movements to still being half-asleep. He certainly felt like he was. He wished the throbbing in his head would stop.

Newt fixed his breakfast on a paper plate – an egg sandwich with an apple on the side and a bottle of OJ, still chilled.

They watched him warily as he ate, his chewing slow as molasses and his movements about as graceful as a drunkard. Minho cracked a few jokes to lighten the tension, but Thomas didn't feel like he had the energy to laugh. He merely smiled and rolled his sore eyes.

He couldn't finish his sandwich or the apple.

Newt eyed the food with trepidation.

"That's all you're eating Tommy?"

He swallowed the piece in his mouth with a grimace. "Yes," He breathed.

Newt tossed out the remainder of his plate. "You're going to get hungry later."

"Then well grab something else." Minho replied. He tossed Thomas' coat and sweater his way, already bundled up and ready to go. "Get dressed shank. We're going to the mall."

"Yay," Thomas drawled.

The harmless glare Minho shot him made Thomas chuckle feebly.

He was uncomfortably hot underneath the layers of winter clothes. Newt had insisted he bundle up. The weather was unfavorable and bitterly cold, and although Thomas was grateful for Newt's hindsight, he hadn't factored his own sickness into the equation. He was burning up.

The mall was bustling with people doing their holiday shopping. The cacophony of noise assaulting Thomas' ears made his headache pulse unbearably. He felt exhausted despite the nap, his limbs trembling from the excess use. He was grateful for Newt's presence. If it weren't for him holding his hand and urging him forward, Thomas was certain he'd have collapsed before they even set foot in the complex.

"You're sick." Newt declared the moment they stopped at a gaming store. "And don't you bloody deny it, Tommy. You're sick and you should be resting."

"I'll be okay—"

Newt's scathing glare didn't seem so dangerous beneath the hot haze of sickness. In fact, it made Thomas laugh.

The boy's eyes narrowed. "See? You're laughing after my glare. You're sick!"

Thomas leaned into the blond's sturdy frame, the world suddenly spinning. Newt draped an arm around his waist for support. "Tommy, stay with me okay? I'll get you home soon enough. Minho!"

"I'll be okay," he murmured despite the weakness in his legs. A long shuddering breath escaped his chapped lips.

Why did everything feel like it was on fire?

"Minho! We have to go."

Newt's voice came out muffled and distorted like Thomas were somehow underwater, listening in on the boy's conversation. The chaos of noise cut away suddenly. He blinked. A loud, high pitched ring sounded in his ears, filling the mall and aggravating his headache.

Thomas watched Newt turn to him, his lips moving but no words escaping. The blond pulled away, quickly vanishing into the crowd inside the store. Thomas swayed on his feet.

He was hot. He was sore.

He was exhausted from the effort of moving and now he couldn't hear. He wished the floor would stop swaying. Wished his lungs would cooperate for once and actually let him breathe instead of the wheezy, tiny gulps of air he managed to suck in every once in a while.

But more importantly, Thomas wished he'd stayed in bed and slept away the sickness.

Darkness ate at the edges of his vision. Suddenly, Thomas felt light. There was a wind in his hair, an airy weight to his sluggish, heavy limbs. For one moment, he felt like he could fly. Until he realized… humans weren't meant to fly.

The crashing weight of reality smacking into his shoulder knocked him out before he could understand what happened.

He woke up to the sight of a white tiled ceiling and the rhythmic beat of a heart monitor by his ears. The humiliatingly disappointed groan escaped his lips before he could stop himself. He buried his face behind his hands, his arms still sore and his head still pounding, but at least he could hear again.

"You have to stop getting sick Tommy."

Thomas slowly dropped his hands and gave Minho an apologetic smile. The boy's own expression seemed weak in comparison.

"You keep giving us tachycardia." He joked.

Thomas sighed. "What was it this time?"

"They're still running tests." Newt replied, looking as exhausted as he sounded. "They're going to keep you here for observations."

"Great." He deadpanned. "I'm so sorry guys. I—"

They squeezed his hands, silencing him.

"We're just happy you're awake."

"You should have seen yourself," Newt continued. There was a tremble in his hands that didn't show. "You looked like the walking dead."

"Gee thanks."

They chuckled, their mood sobering.

"Seriously though," Minho frowned. "Stop hiding every time you get sick. If you feel bad, just tell us."

"I don't want you guys to worry."

"We're going to worry regardless. We might as well know why we're worrying."

Thomas clutched their hands tightly. "I don't want to put you guys in the same situation we were before with Newt. That was horrifying. I don't want to ever have to go through that again, let alone make you both go through it."

Newt pressed his forehead against Thomas' temple, his breath warm against the boy's skin.

"Please just be forward with us, Tommy. Promise me that."

"I promise." He sighed. Newt pulled away with a reluctant smile.

"I brought us some cards." Minho fished into his sweater pockets and pulled out a pack of UNO cards. "Feeling up to it?"

He didn't, not really. His body begged him for more sleep, but Thomas was tired of missing out on moments like this. He flashed his boyfriends a genuine smile and released their hands.

Thank you for reading!
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