(no subject)
"I couldn't utter my love when it counted" Hozier's Shrike
#
Some of Newt’s things had been left behind in the berg. Left there before they left on their mad plan to get Minho back. It was a small bag that Thomas recognized the moment he’d step back into the ship, a few days after waking up for the first time, the pain still there every time he moved. It was hidden away in the same place Newt had always used, untouched. Thomas took it, hording it without telling the others, taking it back to the hut that had become his, adding it to the coat, Newt’s favorite, one that he had stumbled upon early and took without knowing how it had made it to Safe Haven. He couldn't explain why he felt the need keep those, even building a chest to store it safely away from changing weather and dirt ground of his new home. He couldn't even bring himself to open the bag for weeks, not until he woke up one night, drenched in cold sweat, the ghost of a scream in the back of his throat and ran to the chest without thinking, hands finding a familiar red scarf and hiding his face against the fabric until his hands finally stopped shaking.
He slept with it more often than not after that night.
They had spent so much time together back in the Scorch, sleeping close to each other, the weight and warmth of their body comforting, and Newt scent had become familiar and calming for Thomas somewhere along the way.
And it didn't matter that most of those where smelling less and less like Newt and more and more like him as time went by, they never became his.
#
“I’m sorry,” Minho said, drunk and fumbling with his word, the expression on his face in odd place between bitterness and kindness, “I know you and her well… you two… you loved her and I saw how she died… I shouldn't have…”
A pathetic choked up noise was all Thomas managed to say, his brain still stuck on what Minho had just said. Loved. That he had loved her. Tereza. His friend paused and looked at Thomas, drunk yet suddenly realizing this wasn't quite the reaction he was expecting. Neither of them said anything for a while, then Minho spoke up again. “You didn't even think about it.” it wasn't a question but Thomas shook his head. “I did.” he said, because he had, but he wasn't sure it was in the way Minho meant. Thomas had carefully tried not think about it since waking up on the island… just thinking about his feelings toward Tereza had been confusing and painful for reason he still wasn't quite sure he wanted to touch. Too many things unsolved, too many memories he never got back, too many things that were missing in the space between them. He carefully avoided thinking about why he never wanted to ponder on it all storing it all in a box in his mind.
He wasn’t going there. There was no point in thinking about it now.
“Sorry,” he muttered, standing up to leave because he suddenly couldn't stay there, not with Minho gaze looking at him intently, clearly trying to figure something out, “gotta… go…” Thomas continued before running away from the conversation.
#
Teresa, Thomas realized, had thought that it all went wrong because Thomas didn’t believe in WCKD, because he betrayed them. Even worse, because he had wanted to go against them from the start.
Thomas had more and more dreams lately, except, just like the ones in the Glades, they weren’t just dreams, but old half-forgotten memories of Before. It was ironic in a way, how he understood Tereza more now than he had when she was alive. She’d likely believed that if he hadn’t gone against WCKD, everything would eventually work out - at least up until she went against Janson to save him - though really, only she would ever know if she’d changed her mind in the end.
Perhaps it was where their core difference had always been. That she believed in WCKD, in what they were doing, when Thomas couldn’t recall ever having this kind faith in them. All he remembered was the constant feeling of doubt, the guilt each time he looked at the boys in the maze, the growing regrets. How he was kept in him check by the something he still couldn’t quite remember but stopped him each time his mind would go down the “WCKD isn’t good” road again.
They had been on different roads long before Thomas got himself sent in the maze but at least, Tereza succeeded. She had found a cure.
Most of what Thomas had wanted to save was dead.
#
Some of Newt’s things had been left behind in the berg. Left there before they left on their mad plan to get Minho back. It was a small bag that Thomas recognized the moment he’d step back into the ship, a few days after waking up for the first time, the pain still there every time he moved. It was hidden away in the same place Newt had always used, untouched. Thomas took it, hording it without telling the others, taking it back to the hut that had become his, adding it to the coat, Newt’s favorite, one that he had stumbled upon early and took without knowing how it had made it to Safe Haven. He couldn't explain why he felt the need keep those, even building a chest to store it safely away from changing weather and dirt ground of his new home. He couldn't even bring himself to open the bag for weeks, not until he woke up one night, drenched in cold sweat, the ghost of a scream in the back of his throat and ran to the chest without thinking, hands finding a familiar red scarf and hiding his face against the fabric until his hands finally stopped shaking.
He slept with it more often than not after that night.
They had spent so much time together back in the Scorch, sleeping close to each other, the weight and warmth of their body comforting, and Newt scent had become familiar and calming for Thomas somewhere along the way.
And it didn't matter that most of those where smelling less and less like Newt and more and more like him as time went by, they never became his.
#
“I’m sorry,” Minho said, drunk and fumbling with his word, the expression on his face in odd place between bitterness and kindness, “I know you and her well… you two… you loved her and I saw how she died… I shouldn't have…”
A pathetic choked up noise was all Thomas managed to say, his brain still stuck on what Minho had just said. Loved. That he had loved her. Tereza. His friend paused and looked at Thomas, drunk yet suddenly realizing this wasn't quite the reaction he was expecting. Neither of them said anything for a while, then Minho spoke up again. “You didn't even think about it.” it wasn't a question but Thomas shook his head. “I did.” he said, because he had, but he wasn't sure it was in the way Minho meant. Thomas had carefully tried not think about it since waking up on the island… just thinking about his feelings toward Tereza had been confusing and painful for reason he still wasn't quite sure he wanted to touch. Too many things unsolved, too many memories he never got back, too many things that were missing in the space between them. He carefully avoided thinking about why he never wanted to ponder on it all storing it all in a box in his mind.
He wasn’t going there. There was no point in thinking about it now.
“Sorry,” he muttered, standing up to leave because he suddenly couldn't stay there, not with Minho gaze looking at him intently, clearly trying to figure something out, “gotta… go…” Thomas continued before running away from the conversation.
#
Teresa, Thomas realized, had thought that it all went wrong because Thomas didn’t believe in WCKD, because he betrayed them. Even worse, because he had wanted to go against them from the start.
Thomas had more and more dreams lately, except, just like the ones in the Glades, they weren’t just dreams, but old half-forgotten memories of Before. It was ironic in a way, how he understood Tereza more now than he had when she was alive. She’d likely believed that if he hadn’t gone against WCKD, everything would eventually work out - at least up until she went against Janson to save him - though really, only she would ever know if she’d changed her mind in the end.
Perhaps it was where their core difference had always been. That she believed in WCKD, in what they were doing, when Thomas couldn’t recall ever having this kind faith in them. All he remembered was the constant feeling of doubt, the guilt each time he looked at the boys in the maze, the growing regrets. How he was kept in him check by the something he still couldn’t quite remember but stopped him each time his mind would go down the “WCKD isn’t good” road again.
They had been on different roads long before Thomas got himself sent in the maze but at least, Tereza succeeded. She had found a cure.
Most of what Thomas had wanted to save was dead.