hold me close, but not too close~newtmas

Chapter 1: Fragmented Beyond Repair

It was a recurring nightmare that woke him.

A scream clawed its way up his throat, scratching against him, begging for release. Thomas had no option but to scream, startling his friends in their small cabin. Violent shudders coursed through his body as he pulled his knees into his chest and bowed his head. His shaking hands gripped his hair roughly, pulling at it, but Thomas barely noticed it.

He was too consumed by fear.

He felt sick. Everything was wrong; the way his sweat soaked clothes stuck to his skin, the sudden, unbearable heat in the cabin, the tattered blanket wrapped around his legs like a vine. Even the sound of his own breathing sent Thomas' head spinning. It was too fast, too shallow. His lungs burned as he tried to gasp for air.

He was vaguely aware of his friends now trying to get his attention, gently calling his name, coaxing his head out from between his knees, even putting a reassuring hand on his back which was now dripping with sweat. Ever so slowly, Thomas lifted his head, eyes frantically scanning the people around him.

A wave of relief washed over him as he realised it was only Minho, Gally and Frypan. Of course, who else would it be? Certainly not...

But Thomas couldn't let himself finish that thought.

Minho's voice eventually reached him through his panicked heavy breathing, instructing him to breathe deeper, to breathe slower. His hand clamped his shoulder blade, stilling him from attempting to move, forcing Thomas to keep his attention on him. The grip wasn't supposed to be menacing, nor did it feel as such, but it kept Thomas focussed on Minho.

"Just keep breathing, Thomas. Focus on your breathing."

Thomas tried not to let the feeling of his t-shirt sticking to his body distract him – he really tried – but it was too much. He let out an involuntary whine, feeling embarrassed, and in a haze, peeled it from his body. He tossed it to the ground, running his hands over his face as he inhaled a stuttering breath.

Minho continued to talk him through breathing exercises while Gally fetched him a bottle of water. Thomas gratefully pressed the bottle against his lips, his sweating and shaking beginning to ease as he took small sips of the cool liquid.

Eventually, Thomas' breathing evened out, returning to normal. He wasn't sure how long it had taken to calm down but, like most nights, he imagined it took quite a while and, judging from the exhausted looks on his friends faces, it was still early in the morning, hours before sun up.

"I..." Thomas tried, his throat raw and aching.

"It's okay, Thomas," Frypan spoke, offering a small smile. Hesitantly, he reached out and placed a careful hand on Thomas' knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

They were used to this by now but it never stopped them from leaping out of their beds instantly to be by Thomas' side. It had almost become routine. He didn't want for his friends to have to see him like this; screaming and crying in panic, hyperventilating, sometimes thrashing about in his sleep before Thomas himself woke up. He'd apologise over and over again in a blur of gasping for breath, and again when he was calm, tears rolling down his cheeks, but his friends would always brush it off, hushing him with a gentle "there's no reason to be sorry."

But Thomas couldn't help feeling guilty, despite the countless times they told him not to.

On his most endless nights, Thomas would curl himself into Minho's chest, aching for comfort. Minho, thankfully, provided that for Thomas. He would carefully run his fingers along Thomas' arms, sometimes brushing them through his hair. He'd wrap his arms around Thomas, pulling him in close – but not too tightly – and kept his sleepy gaze on his friend, staying up with him as long as he could before he drifted off into a much-needed sleep.