A/N: Hi there! Christmas is now behind and New Year is ahead. I wish you all had a lovely Christmas, and I wish you a Happy New Year! Have fun and stay safe, okay?

Here's the next chapter for you. There's something about this one that I'm really satisfied with, so I hope it will please you as well! As usual, your reviews rock my socks! I'll see you guys next year!

PS Last week I also made an ao3 acc with this same username and posted an one shot there. If you like my writing, please go check it out as well and share your thoughts!

Can't erase, so I'll take blame
But I can't accept that we're estranged

Newt couldn't find him anywhere. He had checked every single room in the Homestead, wandered through the Fields, checked the kitchen twice and even visited the Slicer's. Thomas was nowhere to be found.

Newt swept frustrated hands through his hair. He tried to draw a mental map inside his head about all the possible places he still hadn't checked. As he slowly turned around in front of the Homestead again, his gaze fell upon the expanse of the trees in the distance. The answer was almost too obvious to be true. Growling, Newt started to make his way quickly towards the shade of the trees, his legs already knowing where to take him.

His heart started to pound hard in his chest as he got nearer to the familiar place. And, right on cue, when Newt stepped over that particular fallen tree, he could make out a shape of a human body leaning against a tree few yards away. Newt's step faltered a bit as he took in the delicate profile of the dark-haired boy as he stood there, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his trousers, his head hanging low, gazing at his own feet. He looked so beautiful in the faint light shining through the leaves that the sight of him hurt Newt's heart.

As Newt draw in a shuddering breath, frozen to the spot, Thomas suddenly raised his head and looked straight into Newt. A small smile appeared on his lips that made something inside Newt crack, and then he couldn't take it anymore. He rushed forward, his limp standing out visibly, and soon he had thrown himself against Thomas's strong chest, desperate sobs escaping his throat. He curled his fists tightly into Thomas's shirt and felt the other boy's arms come around him, smoothing up and down his back.

Newt buried his face in the crook of Thomas's neck, inhaling his scent and letting the tears slowly subside. Eventually he opened his eyes again and pulled slightly away, gazing into Thomas's gentle eyes.

"Tommy, I'm so sorry for everything, I just- can you ever forgive me?" Newt pleaded, his voice weak and tears gathering to the corners of his eyes again.

Thomas gazed at him quietly for a while, sighed and averted his gaze, lowering his head. There was a troubled wrinkle between his eyebrows that made Newt's heart skip a beat, a sickening feeling growing in his stomach.

"T-tommy?" Newt repeated, his voice trembling and tears slipping from the corners of his eyes.

Thomas's hands moved from his back to his arms, rising slowly to curl around his shoulders and gently pushing them apart.

"I don't know, Newt. I barely know you."

The words hit Newt deep, twisting in his flesh like a dagger. He felt his knees buckle a bit under him and if Thomas hadn't still had his hands around his shoulders, he would've fallen to his knees. He stared at the dark-haired boy, eyes wide with shock and mouth slightly parted.

The hazel eyes looked back at him but there was no emotion behind them. They were cool and guarded, not giving out what was really going on on the younger boy's mind.

As Thomas started to ease his hold on Newt's shoulders, Newt suddenly gasped and hurried to get the words out of his mouth, "W-why are you being like this? Why a-are you holding me close and watching me with caring eyes in one moment and then staring at me with that cold, emotionless gaze in the other? What is going on?" The pain in Newt's chest twisted deeper by every word slipping past his lips.

Thomas eyed him, frowning slightly and sighing softly. He shook his head a bit, rising his other hand and cupping the back of Newt's head gently, burying his fingers into his hair and pulling the shaking boy against his chest once more. Newt stared wide-eyed over his shoulder, not quite knowing what the hell was happening.

"It doesn't matter, Newt. After all, you're only dreaming."

*.*.*

The next few days were kind of a blur for Newt. After having dreamed of Thomas and the forest, Newt felt as if he had somehow lost his footing altogether. He realised the Thomas of his dreams was just that; a figment of his imagination. He wasn't real. The real Thomas wouldn't welcome him with open arms and kiss everything okay again. Thomas in the dream had been right, they barely knew each other. Newt had no idea how Thomas would handle these kind of things but he knew the boy wouldn't just forgive him if he thought Newt was just using him. The fact that Thomas's image of him would be this easily swayed had been shredding Newt's heart to pieces all this time but he also knew how stubborn the boy could be.

But Newt could be stubborn as well. He wouldn't just run to Thomas and beg him on his knees, apologizing for the things he hadn't done. Even if that was what his subconscious seemingly wanted him to do, he wouldn't let Thomas get out of this so easily. Though, lately Newt had come to realise that punishing Thomas meant punishing himself as well.

The day after his dream Newt had been even more conflicted than he ever could've imagined and he sure as hell didn't want to see Thomas. Luckily for Newt, avoiding Thomas became much easier since the next morning Ben had been released from the Slammer and Thomas had been thrown in there instead. Yes, avoiding someone was much easier when the said person would be locked in a small room without any occupation than his own thoughts for two days.

Newt's master plan had turned out to be harder to bear than he first thought. Instead of feeling relieved and unaffected, he had this hollow ache in his chest that he just couldn't shake. It followed him everywhere and intensified whenever his thoughts slipped back to the dark-haired boy. Newt had found that mechanical, repetitive work such as chopping firewood, picking weeds and watering the plants helped his messed up and noisy mind calm down into this haze in which he didn't really make out the surrounding world and other people. That suited him just fine, too.

But the change in Newt's demeanor didn't go unnoticed by others around him. Weird, and sometimes even worried, glances were shot his way whenever Newt walked past or worked silently in the Fields.

On the third day of such behaviour, Minho couldn't take it anymore.

Newt had been tending the land for good few hours straight. He was ditching the small field where they had planted new plants the other day, digging his shovel into the dry ground again and again. His shirt was sticking to his skin with sweat, his eyes oblivious to the world around him other than the browns and greens and greys of the ground.

Suddenly someone seized a hold of Newt's shovel just as he was about to strike it down, stopping his movement abruptly. Newt's forehead creased with confusion as he turned his head toward the intruder.

"Minho? What the hell?" he growled, trying to tug the shovel away from the other boy's grasp.

"Nuh-uh, buddy," the black-haired boy said sternly, snatching the object from Newt's hands altogether. "Dude, what's going on with you? You sure look like death these days. When was the last time you took a break today?"

Newt scowled at his friend, sweeping his hand over his dirty face, exhaling heavily. "What does it bloody matter? I'm fine! Leave me alone, Minho," Newt snarled, reaching for the shovel again.

Minho stepped back, keeping it out of the blonde-haired boy's reach. "That's not gonna happen, Newt." He stuck the shovel to the ground and took a firm hold over Newt's shoulders, starting to guide him toward the shade of the trees on their right. "Come on, shank, you're taking a break right here and now," Minho smirked in an unyielding manner.

Newt had barely time to realize what had happened as his sore legs started to move. He didn't find the energy to resist as Minho walked him over to the trees and sat him down on the large rock, the burn of the sun cut off by the thick foliage above them.

Minho sat down on a smaller rock opposite him, leaning his elbows to his knees and eyeing Newt warily, a sliver of worry etched in his features.

"Now, just spit it out, Newt," the boy demanded sternly.

Newt raised his gaze to his friend's troubled eyes, feeling more exhausted than ever. He tried his best to play it off, though. "I'm bloody fine, just-"

"No, you're bloody not fine!" Minho shouted suddenly, his voice raising so that it struck Newt silent immediately. "Anyone with a working pair of eyes could see you're everything but fine! You barely eat, you barely talk, you walk with your shoulders hunched and your eyes seem to just stare into nothingness most of the time. That's the equivalent of very much not fine."

Newt's mouth drew into a thin line as he avoided Minho's gaze stubbornly.

There was a long sigh as Minho asked after a moment of silence, "This is about Thomas, isn't it?"

Newt's head snapped up in a flash, his eyes wide and a tremble climbing up his spine at the mention of the Greenie. He blinked his eyes furiously as his vision started to blur against his will, and he had to lower his gaze again.

A slow smile spread over Minho's face. "Thought so," the boy chuckled good-heartedly.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Newt mumbled, an angry frown on his face.

"Aw c'mon dude, we've all seen the way you two look at each other. Truth be told, it's kinda hard to miss," Minho smirked knowingly.

Newt growled and shoved his friend with his foot. Minho just chuckled again, an amused grin on his face.

"So, what's the problem? You like him, he likes you. It should be simple, right?" Minho urged.

A grimace took over Newt's face again after a second of lightness in his heart. All the worries, doubts and misunderstandings filled his mind yet again and his voice was full of regret as he uttered the words, "Tommy doesn't like me. He despises me."

Minho frowned at him, straightening his spine. "Now why would you say that?"

Newt felt his eyes starting to fill again as he quietly told Minho what had happened with Alby and how Thomas had burst in right in the middle of it all, and all about the fight in the woods. As he told what Alby had done, Minho went visibly rigid beside him, his face turning disgusted and then murderous, but Newt quickly talked him out of it and slowly Minho slimmed himself again, swallowing the harsh words and restraining his urge to break something. After Newt was finished, he had to try to clear his throat from the lump that had gathered there during his story, a tear slipping down his cheek. He quickly wiped it away, hoping Minho hadn't seen it.

"I'm just.. so tired all the time. I don't know what the hell I'm even doing. I just.. I just feel so empty and I can't stop thinking about him," Newt whispered, a pain clear on his voice.

Minho was quiet for a while. Then he whistled low between his teeth. "Wow. Man, you're so shucked. Shucked for good, it seems. Jeez," the Runner wondered, ruffling his hands through his hair. Newt scowled at him, irritated and a little hurt by his friend's response.

"Stating the obvious, aren't ya?" Newt spat.

Minho stared at him, raising his hands. "Whoa, easy there. I didn't mean to be a shuck-head about it. I just.. had no idea how deep you've fallen, mate." There was a gentle smile tugging at the edges of his lips. "I can see this is pretty big for you.. But you know what? You aren't the only one who's suffering. The only guy I've ever seen as devastated as you is sitting inside the Slammer right at this moment. First I thought his gloomy mind was just due to his punishment, but now I think I know better than that."

Minho stood up, crouching before Newt and putting a firm hand on his shoulder, looking his friend straight into his eyes. "Listen, Thomas doesn't hate you. He never has."

Newt stared back at him, swallowing hard under the earnestness radiating off of Minho's voice. Then a wicked smirk started to work its way onto Minho's lips.

"Tommy-boy is just as head over heels with you as-"

"Shut it! You bastard," Newt grunted, a deep blush coloring his cheeks.

Minho snickered, straightening up and crossing his arms lightly over his chest.

"Seriously, though, you two gotta get your shit together. For all our sakes. I'm not fond of looking after you two hopeless shanks being all miserable for a day more than necessary," Minho stated, his eyebrows raised challengingly.

Newt shook his head, leaning his palms to the rough surface of the rock under him. "Easier said than bloody done, that. Tommy won't even listen to me."

Minho squinted his eyes and looked at his friend speculatively, clearly pondering something inside his mind. Then his face suddenly cleared, a knowing smirk appearing on his lips.

"Let me handle this, buddy. I'm gonna get you two a chance to talk to each other in peace. Trust me," Minho winked at him. Newt was extremely suspicious about the whole turn of events and opened his mouth to protest but Minho raised his hand, stopping him.

"No buts. Minho has it all figured out. Now, let's go and get you some food. You look like you're gonna pass out any second."

Newt really didn't have enough willpower to fight Minho anymore at this point.