Dylmas/Newtmas One-Shots

Newtmas - Mr. Brightside vs. Car Radio

Hey, so I know that I haven't posted in a while, but my focus has been more on my story (I Write Sins Not Tragedies). If you haven't already, please go check it out! It's a Newtmas AU.

Also, the short story One Call Away will be finished, at some point, but I don't have the inspiration to continue it at the moment. Anyways, enjoy this One-Shot! <3

Based on: Mr. Car Radio (A YouTube mashup of Mr Brightside by The Killers and Car Radio by Twenty One Pilots). This song is amazing! Seriously, I recommend listening to it whilst reading!

3rd Person POV

"-it doesn't work like that, Newt." Thomas snarled, his eyes rolling.

"Tommy, please! Let me just explain." Newt pleaded, his hands clasped in a praying motion as he stepped closer to Thomas.

"No, Newt! You don't get to explain! I know perfectly well what happened. Don't treat me like some idiot." Thomas spoke, his voice lowering. As Newt had taken a step forward, Thomas had moved back. He didn't mean to, but he did it anyway.

All Thomas really wanted was for Newt to wrap his strong arms around his small frame and whisper comforting words into his ear - assuring him that everything was okay. He wanted Newt to brush his soft lips against his own, their eyelids fluttering closed as they savoured the moment.

But that didn't happen.

"I-I just need some time." Thomas attempted to speak calmly but his voice came out in a hoarse whisper.

Newt didn't reply. Instead he stood still, nodding his head as he watched Thomas slope up the stairs of their shared house. He remained stood in the same position long after he heard the echo of their bedroom door slam shut, his breathing slow and shallow, tears forming in his eyes. But he wouldn't let them fall. He didn't deserve to cry.

This was his fault, and therefore it wasn't his place to cry. Thomas was the only one with the right to let any tears fall from his eyes. Not Newt.

Silently, Newt stepped into the lounge, his body sinking into the side of the cream couch on the far side of the room. He sat, staring out of the window opposite him, in utter silence, watching the night settle around the city. The sky gradually darkened, turning from a dusty, navy blue to a bottomless black, small stars twinkling gently. The streetlight that stood in front of the window flickered on, the soft orange glow illuminating the street that ran passed their house.

Eventually, Newt laid down, his back hitting the soft cushion. His head rested on the armrest, one arm slung above his head, his hand dangling off of the edge. His other arm rested on his stomach, rising and falling with each breath.

He closed his eyes, willing sleep to come, but it never did. His mind now racing through every mistake that he made, he sighed, slowly opening his eyes to stare blankly at the ceiling above him. It was dark in the room now, the only source of light being the streetlight standing outside since he hadn't bothered to shut the curtains. Even so, his eyes soon adjusted, focusing on the marks on the once clean, white ceiling as his body and mind was consumed by the overwhelming regret that ran through his veins.

Similarly to Newt, Thomas lay in his bed. In their bed. He couldn't sleep either, no matter how hard he tried.

After a minute or two, Thomas rolled onto his side, pulling out the draw of the bedside table on Newt's side. His hand ran through the familiar objects in the draw, a few loose batteries, a packet of tissues, a box of paracetamol and an old, broken phone. Amongst the random objects, Thomas' hand fell upon what he was looking for.

A photo album.

Thomas held back a sniffle as he ran his fingers over the old, leather cover, his index finger tracing the gold design the ran along the edges.