I could've saved you| tmr

shade of brown

Newt shakkily took the box out of the floor. Dusting it off. He carefully opened the box with a click. Inside there seemed to be letters and— a picture. He took the picture out and smiled. Thomas was standing next to Newt. Newt was wearing a flower crown, much like Thomas was. Tears rushed down his cheeks at the fond memory. It seemed like ages ago, but it was only a year ago. They had gotten a camera and Senna had taken that picture. Thomas smiled so brightly, brighter than a star that somehow was lost in Newt's memory, it reached his eyes and made it so much more beautiful with that.

Newt landed om the bed with an 'oomph', carefully laying the picture besides him, cherishing it. Newt pulled a letter out of the box, which he had laid in his lap. He opened it and started reading. The handwriting didn't seem Tommy's, but he couldn't quite place who's handwriting it was otherwise. 

My dear Emerald, this song is for you. 

Then Newt understood; it was a letter from Senna. Why would Thomas share such a private thing with him? Not dwelling on it any longer he started to read the lyrics, and recalled Senna singing it to Thomas once, when the boy had fallen asleep during a bonfire and he had carried the brunet to his room in the strong and safe arms Thomas seemed to love. 

There was another letter in the envelope it came with, this time Newt recognised Thomas's handwriting. 

You're so sweet, Sen, it still surprises me how you care for me, even after everything. They're right, I am a fag, I am a worthless waste of space, I am fat and I am everything they say I am. I love you with all my heart, but it would be better if I left you alone, for this way I shall no longer be a burden to you. I know you watch if I eat, I know that you tend after my self-harm, I know you tend after my health, because you seem to care I let you. I care for everyone in here, you, Minho, Newt, Fry, Julius, Christopher, Leon, William, and so many more. I think I finally see who was named after who, since Gally said that we were named after historical people. You were named after Ayrton Senna, a formula 1 driver, or so my memory supplies. I know you always wondered. I think Minho was named after Benjamin Franklin, I mean the Min part would make sense. Newt is named after Isaac Newton, Fry (Siggy as his 'real name' is) is named after Sigmund Freud. Julius after Julius Ceasar (was kinda obvious), Chris was named after Christopher Columbus. Leon after Napoleon and Will after William Shakespeare. I wonder how you all think of me once I have done this... 

Newt frowned. What was Tommy planning? And why had he scratched out so many things, unreadable now, fueling Newt's curious nature. He was afraid, but shouldn't be. After all, Thomas was dead--he immediatelly dropped the letter in shock. How could he think that? He couldn't bare to read further. Instead grabbing another letter and opening it, wiping tears furiously away. He didn't want to cry, he might ruin a letter, or worse; the picture. He would never forgive himself if he did that. Not that he has forgiven himself for letting him die. Wait, no not 'him'. T-- why was it suddenly so hard to say the nickname he has used ever since he knew the boy? Or  his name at all? Why was the air suddenly tighter and heavier, filled with grief and pain? Why isn't it only his pain filling the air, why can he feel the brunet his pain too? 

Once he lifted the letter he saw a journal, and a small box that looked like one of those things that holds contact lenses, of which Newt may or may not have forgotten the name. He also saw the dreamcatcher, not a dreamcatcher, but the one Newt had made for him, when his nightmares and nightterrors got too much. 

Newt smiled hesistantly, he reached his hands towards Thomas dreamcatcher in his palms. He started to ramble, "I made it for you. I know you have these horrible nightmares and terrors and I just thought it might help. Senna said you might like it, but I wasn't sure, and I just hope you will. You don't have to like it and you also don't  have to take it, it is just a thought I had one night. I swear I wasn't listening like a creep to you sleep and dream or Senna calming you down. I totally wasn't jealous when I heard him calm you down that quickly. I mean, why would I? You're not my boyfriend, not that I would mind but--oh my bloody god I said that outloud didn't I? I'll stop talking."

Thomas looked with amusement at the other Runner, he smiled and it reached his beautiful eyes. Senna stood besides him and didn't hold a single piece of anger in his eyes, like Newt thought he would, instead it had understanding in them; 'He's hot and cute and all, I know.'

Thomas took the dreamcatcher and his eyes twinkled, making Newt's stomach do a flip. "It's beautiful. Thank you, Newtie." Tommy was somehow the only one who got away with that nickname, Thomas pulled the taller boy into a hug and Newt smiled.

Newt couldn't help the tears from falling as he hugged the stupid catcher closely to his chest. He carefully placed the catcher next to the picture after a few moments. He pulled the smaller box out and carefully opened it. Inside he  saw two brown contact lenses. Exactly his shade of brown.