one shots | newtmas

𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮- 𝟓 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫

1952 words

Thomas laid under a pile of blankets. It was 1pm. He hadn't gotten up once. Not to eat, not to shower. He stayed in bed. But carefully on the right hand side. He couldn't bring himself to lay on the other side of the bed. He couldn't let anyone else either.

But he held the pillow from the left side. He held it like it would hide him from the truth. It still smelled like the blonde. It was faded but it was still there. The faint mint with a hint of cigarette.

A tear slipped from Thomas's already sore eyes. He'd cried all morning. He fell back to sleep around eleven, but had woken at twelve, and stayed up.

He didn't want to sleep. Because when he slept he relived the moment he lost him. He heard the last words the blonde had spoken to him, the last touch from the gentle boy. Thomas couldn't keep gong through losing him. It would kill him.

There was a quiet knock on the door. Thomas didn't get up. He didn't call out, telling the person to leave. He just stayed quiet. He cried silently. No one would know he was there.

The door opened quietly. Thomas's older sister Teresa poked her head through the door. She saw him lying in bed, curled around the pillow, and her soft smile fell from her face.

"Oh Tom," she whispered as she crossed the room. She sat beside him on the bed and touched his arm gently.

He didn't turn to look at her. he couldn't.

"You're okay," she whispered. "You'll be okay."

Thomas shook his head every so slightly.

"I won't be."

His voice was raspy and broken from lack of use. He squeezed his eyes shut, attempting and failing to hold back the tears that fell from his eyes.

Teresa rolled him over, wrapping him in her arms. Thomas cried against her chest, loud, ugly sobs ripping through his body. Teresa didn't say anything. She just held her baby brother, rocking him gently.

When he calmed down a little bit Teresa pulled back. She touched his face and smiled sadly at him. "Tom..." He knew what she was going to say. And he didn't want to hear it.

"We have to pack up his things."

Thomas's heart broke a tiny bit more. it was already a shattered mess in his hollow chest. He couldn't pack up. That would mean going through Newt's things. Finding old memories that he hadn't thought of in years.

"I-I can't T," he choked out.

She ran a hand over his hair, resting her cheek against his head. She was curled around her brother, holding him, protecting him.

"You know we have to. His parents want some of his things back Tom. They lost their son. You can't hide here forever."

Thomas's bottom lip shook. he slowly lifted himself into a sitting position. He looked around the room. Newt's things were still around the room, as though he'd just gone to work that morning, and would be home in a few hours.

Thomas knew that wasn't true. No matter how bad his heart ached for it to be true, it wasn't.

"Come on," Teresa whispered gently. "I'll help you."

And she did. She helped her brother out of bed. He was sore. His head felt like a wrung out sponge. His eyes were raw and red, his throat scratched and painful. Teresa helped him to the bathroom. She waited for him while he showered and brought him his clothes.

She sat with him on the cold bathroom tiles as he broke down, looking at the old Zeppelin shirt she'd brought him to wear. It was Newt's. The one he'd warn a week before...