You Expect Me To Carry On? (A Newtmas Fanfic)

Chapter Four: Doubt

A/N:
Hey guys, so I know the pace is kinda slow rn, but something Newtmas is gonna happen in the next few chapters I promise.... *ooooo*

Shocked, silenced, Thomas stared dumbfound at Minho's back as he walked away.

He had never thought about the letter before- well not in that way- or considered the fact that Minho didn't get one.

Despite his regret and worry for his friend, Thomas couldn't help the tiny flash of excitement.

Newt picked me. He wrote to me. Maybe he-

He stopped himself.

No point in going down that tunnel again.

Whatever Newt's feelings for him had been, now he would never know.

Deflated, Thomas nodded at Frypan and Sonya, who were blinking in confusion at the outburst, got up and walked away.

Well, it started as a walk anyway.

His pace quickened, and soon he was running, sprinting, desperate to get as far away from what had just happened as he could.

His feet pounded along the sand, he ran with the edge of the water along the coast.

The feeling of running was that of panic, that feeling that something was chasing him, and yet strangely comforting.

If he closed his eyes and focused on the rhythm of his pace, he could almost put himself back in the maze.

He could almost hear Minho's heavy breathing from his left, feel the anticipation and fear that was written in the ever-darkening sky, see the stone walls and twisting ivy in he his eyelids.

He forced himself to open his eyes, stop, and turn back to see how far he'd come

At least two kilometres, maybe three.

Shuck. Thomas thought.

His spontaneous sprint had got him tired, he was out of practice, and he really, really didn't want to run all the way back.

So he set off at a slow, begrudging pace, eyes down at his feet.

After about 5 minutes, he seemed to have made no progress.

The camp looked just as far away as ever, in fact, it seemed to be moving further out of his reach, laughing at him from the distance.

You shank. he thought.

Defeated, he sat down on a discarded piece of driftwood a few paces back from the water.

Just a couple of minutes. he said to himself

I just need to get my breath back

But he was tired... really tired.

The nightmares had broken through his sleep schedule, punctuating each hour with another bad dream.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept through the night.

As he sat, listening to the gentle sound of waves lapping against the sand, he felt his eyes droop.

His head dropped gently onto his shoulder, and he didn't even try to stop it.

Part of him wanted to just let go, fall asleep and lie there until the tide crept up and carried him out to sea.

It sounded peaceful.

Thomas felt the gentle wetness already soaking through his trainers.

He didn't care.

He let himself go, and fell asleep.