Newtmas Fic Collection

searching for love in the heavens above (and it showed me more than one)

A/N: This came out of my brain half-formed one morning and then spiraled into me putting Thomas through the ringer and making him talk about his feelings and process things he never got the chance to process before. Because let's be honest, would Thomas really immediately realize his feelings for Newt once they got to the Safe Haven? Or would he be totally blind to them before someone pointed them out to him? I think it'd be the latter.

Rating: T
Word Count: ~5,800

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Summary:
Thomas only ever finds himself wanting to kiss Newt when he's drunk and feeling needy.

It doesn't mean anything. Unless it does.

Or: Thomas being absolutely oblivious to his feelings towards Newt, and it takes some serious shoving to get him to realize them.

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"Newwwttttt," Thomas drawled affectionately, plopping down beside his favorite person, smiling widely. He was half a jar of Gally's horrid alcohol down and feeling fantastic. He was warm and happy and now, sitting next to Newt who was smiling his perfect crooked grin at him.

"Hi, Tommy." Newt replied, amusement in his voice.

"This stuff is disgusting." Thomas raised his jar to show him, pulling a dramatic face.

Newt laughed and shook his, reaching for the jar. "And yet you've drunk half the bloody bottle. I think it's time you quit for the night."

Thomas frowned, pulling the jar close and wrapping his other hand protectively around it, "I've seen Minho down an entire jar in an evening an' be totally fine."

"That's Minho, he can handle his liquor. You, on the other hand. . .less so." Newt reached again for the jar and Thomas let him take it with a pout. He set it down on the opposite side of him, out of reach.

"'M not that drunk."

"I saw you just a moment ago tell Frypan you could make a better stew than his. You challenged him to make some right now, until Minho grabbed you before you could get yourself punched and sat you down over here."

"Mm," Thomas replied noncommittally, having been distracted by counting the freckles on Newt's face as his pale skin shone in the firelight from the bonfire that was beginning to dwindle. Lately, he'd been finding himself increasingly distracted by Newt. It was in the little things, like the way his hair ruffled in the breeze, or the way he laughed at a comment Minho made, or the way he smiled – god his smile. Like now, aimed at him, curved up into a grin, watching him watch him, his eyes dancing over his face. He swore he could feel prickles of warmth heating his skin as Newt looked at him.

"You alright, Tommy? You look a tad. . .dopey." Newt asked, bringing Thomas back to center.

"Whaddya mean, dopey?" He asked, hearing his voice become defensive.

"You're staring at me with a grin on your shucking face, it's creepy." Newt chuckled. "'N' 'sides, you look like you're about to pass out, so I think it's time you get to bed."

He was adorable when he was protective of him, Thomas thought fleetingly, another smile tugging at his lips and a drunken chuckle escaping them.

"Will you walk me back?"

"I'd worry for you if I didn't." Newt rolled his eyes, and got to his feet. Thomas looked up at the hand outstretched and he took it, clinging tightly as he swayed, suddenly dizzy now he was on his feet. He leaned into Newt's side as they stepped around the benches and exited the warmth of the bonfire. Faintly, he registered a whistle coming from behind them as Newt slipped an arm around his waist to keep him steady. He was warm, and Thomas couldn't keep a smile off his face at the contact. He wanted more, now that they were well away from the fire and picking their way through small cabins to get to his own; and turned to bury his face in Newt's shoulder.