as long as we just try to survive
Title: (comes from here)
Rating: PG13 (for cursing)
Verse: The Maze Runner
Pairing/Focus: Thomas/Newt
Summary: A cold, ghostly touch brushes the nape of his neck and Newt tenses, fists clenching and heels of his boots digging into the soft ground underneath.
as long as we just try to survive
The tremble is there - he can feel it more than he can actually hear the soft, irregular metallic clicking. A cold, ghostly touch brushes the nape of his neck and Newt tenses, fists clenching and heels of his boots digging into the soft ground underneath. Another brush and he’s too scared to exhale, let alone to move, even if only a centimetre. He’s not really sure he can take it any longer, chest bubbling with anxiety and anticipation (and, to be honest, fear).
“Will ya hurry up,” Newt wheezes out through gritted teeth, eyes squeezed shut. He knew, he knew it was a bad idea - should have never agreed to that stupid, stupid idea. And there it is, another cool stroke, this time grazing his jaw line and there’s only so much he can do not to yelp.
“I am trying, okay,” comes a concentrated mumble form behind. “Just, don’t move.”
I am not bloody moving, Newt wants to scream so, so badly, but he only allows himself another deeper exhale.
Minutes pass and his position doesn’t change, nor does the fact that he’s pretty much scared shitless. As the clicking moves closer to the top of his head, leaving more feathery touches behind, Newt is probably closer to the edge than he ever was. After some (serious) consideration he lets one of his eyes to open lightly - and is surprised. There’s actually something he can see - there are his shoes and a patch of brownish, soft grass and Newt is kind of awed, really, so he decides (“shuck it”) and opens his eyes.
“Blimey,” he whistles silently, his muscles relaxing a bit.
“I know, right,” Thomas sounds smug from behind his back. The clicking stops for a bit and Newt is sure the runner has straightened up and there’s this winning smirk plastered on his face. Newt just knows. “How is it?”
“I can’t tell for now, now can I?” Newt snorts only for the sake of staying put and not letting Thomas know it actually might have been not that bad of an idea. He can’t have him swaggering around for the next few days, making fun of Newt’s previous… demeanour (stress okay, stress, but Newt won’t stand admitting it out loud).
“Yeah, but you can tell how it is to finally see the world without having hair falling into your eyes, right?”
Newt is ready to spit out some brilliant, sarcastic remark, but Thomas starts moving around again, putting the giant, rusty scissors back into good use, so he shuts up.
When even more strands of cut hair fall down on his shoulders and to the ground, Newt doesn’t close his eyes. He’s almost ready to agree with Thomas that he was right that Newt desperately needed a haircut, but Thomas’ hand misses and there’s a shot of pain coursing through his ear and Newt shrieks and flinches away.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it’s nothing, I’m sorry-“ Thomas hurries with apologies when Newt turns around with a glare and a string of curses.
“Damn it, Thomas, I told you to hurry up, not to cut my bloody ear off,” Newt grumbles, touching his earlobe tentatively (there’s no blood really, thank god). He watches as Thomas fumbles with the scissors in his hand for a while, then takes a few steps and squats down, eyebrows furrowed.
“Do you want me to kiss it better?”
The question and Thomas’ voice sound so serious that Newt has to laugh and punch him in the shoulder; but accepts the offer nonetheless.
Rating: PG13 (for cursing)
Verse: The Maze Runner
Pairing/Focus: Thomas/Newt
Summary: A cold, ghostly touch brushes the nape of his neck and Newt tenses, fists clenching and heels of his boots digging into the soft ground underneath.
as long as we just try to survive
The tremble is there - he can feel it more than he can actually hear the soft, irregular metallic clicking. A cold, ghostly touch brushes the nape of his neck and Newt tenses, fists clenching and heels of his boots digging into the soft ground underneath. Another brush and he’s too scared to exhale, let alone to move, even if only a centimetre. He’s not really sure he can take it any longer, chest bubbling with anxiety and anticipation (and, to be honest, fear).
“Will ya hurry up,” Newt wheezes out through gritted teeth, eyes squeezed shut. He knew, he knew it was a bad idea - should have never agreed to that stupid, stupid idea. And there it is, another cool stroke, this time grazing his jaw line and there’s only so much he can do not to yelp.
“I am trying, okay,” comes a concentrated mumble form behind. “Just, don’t move.”
I am not bloody moving, Newt wants to scream so, so badly, but he only allows himself another deeper exhale.
Minutes pass and his position doesn’t change, nor does the fact that he’s pretty much scared shitless. As the clicking moves closer to the top of his head, leaving more feathery touches behind, Newt is probably closer to the edge than he ever was. After some (serious) consideration he lets one of his eyes to open lightly - and is surprised. There’s actually something he can see - there are his shoes and a patch of brownish, soft grass and Newt is kind of awed, really, so he decides (“shuck it”) and opens his eyes.
“Blimey,” he whistles silently, his muscles relaxing a bit.
“I know, right,” Thomas sounds smug from behind his back. The clicking stops for a bit and Newt is sure the runner has straightened up and there’s this winning smirk plastered on his face. Newt just knows. “How is it?”
“I can’t tell for now, now can I?” Newt snorts only for the sake of staying put and not letting Thomas know it actually might have been not that bad of an idea. He can’t have him swaggering around for the next few days, making fun of Newt’s previous… demeanour (stress okay, stress, but Newt won’t stand admitting it out loud).
“Yeah, but you can tell how it is to finally see the world without having hair falling into your eyes, right?”
Newt is ready to spit out some brilliant, sarcastic remark, but Thomas starts moving around again, putting the giant, rusty scissors back into good use, so he shuts up.
When even more strands of cut hair fall down on his shoulders and to the ground, Newt doesn’t close his eyes. He’s almost ready to agree with Thomas that he was right that Newt desperately needed a haircut, but Thomas’ hand misses and there’s a shot of pain coursing through his ear and Newt shrieks and flinches away.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it’s nothing, I’m sorry-“ Thomas hurries with apologies when Newt turns around with a glare and a string of curses.
“Damn it, Thomas, I told you to hurry up, not to cut my bloody ear off,” Newt grumbles, touching his earlobe tentatively (there’s no blood really, thank god). He watches as Thomas fumbles with the scissors in his hand for a while, then takes a few steps and squats down, eyebrows furrowed.
“Do you want me to kiss it better?”
The question and Thomas’ voice sound so serious that Newt has to laugh and punch him in the shoulder; but accepts the offer nonetheless.