Limp - Newmas High School!AU

Chapter 11 - Tommy

Warnings: Cursing

Rating: 16+ (T)

a/n - I love all the nice comments you guys give me, it's literally the reason I continue this. Thank y'all. <33 Y'all are too sweet for me. Anyway, have some tooth rotting fluff to make up for the last two chapters

--
48 hours was a long time to go with leaving the house by Thomas standards, yet here he was, swaddled in blankets with the hum of the fan resonating through his small room. Thomas sat on his bed, meekly hunched over his knees, gripping the Xbox controller. Minho sat next to him, gingerly holding his own controller, looking at Thomas in worrying glances.

"Y'know you have to go back to school eventually." Minho's voice was stern but full of concern, the way it always had been. Thomas didn't say a word, or even bother to take his eyes off the television screen. Minho simply shook his head in solemn confusion.

"Do you want to talk about this or-" Minho's ramble was cut off by a sharp groan from Thomas.

"For the hundred and fifth time, no, I really really don't want to talk about this. I want to sit here cocooned in my sheets and finish this Halo campaign and then maybe move to Guatemala for a few years." Thomas dropped his controller to cup his face in his hands. Minho placed an awkward hand on his back in an attempt to provide some sort of diffusion to the situation. It didn't work.

Instead, he grabbed both of Thomas' broad shoulders, jerking his body towards him.

"Thomas. I do not care about what happened on Friday. I do care about you. What happened sucked but if you want to let it control you- YOU. Thomas Fucking Dieson, awesome athlete and all around badass dude, then fine. But I know you don't want it to control Newt."

Thomas felt his body drop at the mention of Newt's name. He had made it an unspoken rule to not mention anything about or of the senior. Not because didn't necessarily want to, but because he knew the guilt would probably eat him alive.

"Have you seen him lately...?" Thomas' voice faltered at the question.

"No, of course not. You kind of have a special talent for finding that kid when no one else can." Minho let out a relieved chuckle, and Thomas couldn't help but smile.

"Thomas, I don't care if you like guys or girls or whatever. Teresa doesn't care, Alby doesn't care, and anyone who does care isn't worth the goddamn effort." Minho said, loosening his grip on Thomas' shoulders. "Atleast...Atleast give Newt a call or something. I'm not that good at reading people, especially people I don't see, but I know that he's probably worried about you. And if you like him, then who cares what a bunch of punk ass kids think?"

Thomas laughed at Minho's sudden dad like facade, shoving him in the arm. "You are a punk ass kid, you don't get to make those judgements." He smiled. Minho climbed off the bed, tossing Thomas his phone, before gesturing to his own hand, making a fake telephone with his thumb and pinky fingers. Thomas swallowed hard, hands shaking over the screen. Minho grabbed his bag, heading for the door. Thomas felt a little abandoned, but remembered that Minho probably thought he wanted the privacy.

His thumb traced over the call button a thousand times, before his body overthrew this mind and suddenly his phone was dialing Newt's number.

He held his phone to his ear shakily, hearing the sounds of automated ringing. Suddenly, a click and a thump indicated someone picked up. Thomas considered hanging up like a scared 13 year old girl prank calling her crush, but mentally smacked himself for even considering it. This was Newt, the Newt he had grown so fondly of. The Newt that felt so real, and felt so alive, something Thomas really, really lacked in his life. For the first time in who knows when, Thomas felt like he was okay with who he was and who he would become.

His face heated up, as he felt his blood drain into his cheeks. He opened his mouth for words, but nothing but the ambience of the Halo pause menu was heard.

"Thomas?" A voice rang out from the reciever. It was fuzzy, but it was also distinctively not Newt's. It was most definitely a female's, soft and plush.

"Brenda?" Thomas replied with hesitation.

"Jesus Thomas, where the hell have you been? Jorge told me about the weird graveyard incident. Were you fucking around with spirits or something?"

"Har har. I'm fine, okay? I-" His throat tightened again. "I wanted to talk to Newt."

The other side of the line when quiet for a minute, before he heard Brenda's faint voice call out to him. Thomas heard a quiet "coming!" before Brenda's voice came back into his ears.

"So...just, um. Be cool about it okay?" Brenda nervously whispered.

"What does that mean?" Thomas asked.

"I don't know." She laughed. The phone was passed on with little inbetween, and Thomas sat as his stomach started trying to escape through his mouth.

"Yeah?" A familiar accent spoke to him. Thomas had a feeling Brenda didn't tell Newt who was on the other line.

"I'm really sorry." Thomas blurted out before he could stop himself. Even though he couldn't physically see Newt, he could feel his warm smile flutter across his face, his golden brown eyes lighting up into his imagination.

"I-I don't know what I was thinking, it was stupid and I shouldn't have left you like that, especially since th-there were so many people and-" Thomas' babbling came out like a wave of regret, not slowing down, no matter how many "Thomas"'s Newt tried to interject.

"Thomas!" Newt finally managed to break his guilt fit, before he lost his mind. Thomas swore he could hear him laughing.

"I forgive you."

It was so simple and brief, yet his whole body flooded with a warm comfort, turning his cold blood hot again.

"You shouldn't." Thomas replied.

"I know. But I'm going to anyway because I like you a bunch." Newt replied.

Thomas felt like everything could go wrong at this moment and he'd still be able to smile. It was so dumb, and so juvenile, yet he couldn't help but replay the phrase in his head, on repeat like a broken record.

I like you a bunch.

It sounded so lame and so cookie cutter, but Thomas couldn't have been bothered to care, even a little.

I like you a bunch too. He thought to himself.

"Let's get out and do something. I know you're probably dying to see me, after Friday." Newt laughed, sarcasm tinging his words.

Thomas rolled his eyes. "Or just dying." He added "So tonight at 6. Let's talk or something, I dunno."

"Okay Tommy."

There it was again. Tommy. He almost forgot how the nickname sounded on his lips, the homeliness it filled him with. He forgot how much he liked it, how much it made him feel so...

loved.

Minho was right, he was a dumb teenage girl.