"And sometimes ignorance is the best way to deal with your heart, what it does not know will not kill it."
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The worst thing about chemotherapy was probably the fact that he couldn't stay up long enough to read, to look at Newt, to talk to Newt, to tell him how much he loves him and why he can never leave. The time for Newt to abandon him was over according to Thomas he was stuck with him. When he was awake Newt was always there, he often wondered if the blond ever left the bed because he would never truly know for sure. He knew that when he was awake, he would hear the soft tones of his raspy voice reading Thomas one of his favorite books. Often times, Thomas would have to remind him of the pronunciation of a character's name, Velaris and Rhysand being one of the most common things that Thomas would have to correct him on.
He often found himself not even listening to the storyline, his mind focused on the rasp in his voice, the sound of his deep accent put his mind in a trance and then when he felt himself drifting off to sleep, it was the sound of his heartbeat, the soft thumps in his chest that sent his mind further into oblivion.
His mother was there in those minimal moments in which Newt was absent, always coaxing him to eat something whether it be crackers or oatmeal, anything bland that would help sooth his aching throat and combative stomach. Then, on his really good days, he went downstairs and joined his mother on the couch with Newt close by his side. His evident weight loss made him constantly cold, his fingers and toes were permanent icicles and he found himself living in Newt's clothes. They had become increasingly baggier as the weeks went on, so much that he couldn't even will himself to look in the mirror. He was afraid of the outline of himself that may be looking back at him.
Images from his last round with chemotherapy were burned images in his brain, because his eyes had sunken in and he knew that if he didn't have a shirt on he would be able to see every rib and every vertebrae in his spine. He didn't want to deal with that again.
When he was in Newt's arms, he knew that if he died right then, it would all be okay.
Newt
Exhaustion was something that was becoming harder and harder to hide every passing day. He laid in bed when he would usually get up, and slept when he'd usually awake. Thomas, he knew, would never notice this. He wouldn't notice his sudden hair loss, and he wouldn't notice that sickly look that had come screaming across his features. His parents, on the other hand, were not so easily convinced. It was lie after lie that he fed them, and he knew that sooner or later he would have to tell them the truth whether they knew it already or not. Let's face it, they're not stupid, they know what a sick kid looks like and he was almost positive that they were just humoring him when he told them that he was just tired, that his leg was just sore from his prosthetic, and it just kept getting more imaginative as the days continued.
"Newt?" he had been up late that night for some water in the kitchen, he didn't think that anyone had been awake quite yet.
"Oh, sorry, Jess. I was just getting something to drink." he told her softly, his throat was still raw from his earlier bathroom trip.
"It's okay, hun." she said, pulling her robe tighter around her body. She leaned her shoulder to the doorframe much to Newt's dismay and tucked a strand of her disarrayed hair behind her ear. "You doing okay, Newt?" she asked. Newt sipped at his water, the coolness of the liquid kissed his burning throat.
"Yeah, mostly." he said plainly. "It's hard watching him go through all of this." he shrugged. Jess stayed quiet and Newt had that feeling of dread coming over him again. He knew that she knew now. She had to know.
"How's your mom doing?" Newt set down the glass, the sound of it on the countertop was deafening to him in this moment.
"She's doing okay, I guess." he shrugged, putting his body weight on the hands that held him up against the counter. He didn't really know how she was doing, or what she was doing. She wasn't exactly an open book when it came to emotions, but he knew that she was doing better than he was. Despite how she was toward him, she was always there for his treatments, was there to hold his hand and then despite everything, Teresa was by his side sometimes too. There was a long silence that followed this, and he desperately wished that Jess would just go back to bed so he could retreat himself.
"Newt," he flinched when her hand touched his bicep. He hadn't even heard her approach him. "are you doing okay? You seem.. different lately." her voice was soft and warm, it provided the comfort that he wished his own mother would give him. He couldn't help the tears that welled in his own eyes, and he knew that despite his own efforts, his arms started to tremble.
"I..." but his words caught in his throat, he didn't have the voice to speak the words he wanted to say. Because they didn't need to have two sick teenagers in their home, didn't need the burden of having another potentially dying boy in their midst.
"It's okay," she mumbled, pulling his tall lean frame into her embrace. Despite the fact that he towered over her, he nuzzled his head into her neck and cherished the warmth she gave him.
"You're sick, aren't you?" she asked softly, her deafening voice echoed in the empty kitchen. His throat was raw with emotion now as he held back the tears that threatened to leak down his cheeks. His trembling body betrayed him though, and Jess rubbed his back comfortingly and gently hushed his silent sobs.
"Does he know?" he asked, sniffling. Jess sighed and pulled away, holding him in front of her by his biceps.
"No, dear, he doesn't." she had a look of pity in her eyes as she took in the sharp starved edges of Newt's face. "How's your treatments going?" she asked softly, but Newt only answered in a sad shrug, his head dipping between his shoulders.
"You're strong, Newt." she told him, a sudden firmness coming over her voice. She motioned to the table for them to sit down and Newt limped over, his skin suddenly becoming overly sensitive as he sat down. "Do you want some coffee? We can talk about this." and despite his overwhelming urge to go lay down, he agreed.
"When did you find out?" she asked, setting a cup down in front of him and taking a seat herself.
"A couple of months ago, I think." he replied, holding the warm mug in his icy hands. "I felt an ache in my leg, I thought I was overworking it. I tried to ignore it." he sighed. "They took me in for a scan a few weeks ago and-" he closed his eyes, mentally willing himself to finish but he couldn't find the words. How was he supposed to tell her his true diagnosis?
"It's okay." she said softly, reaching over to rest her hand comfortingly on his arm.
"It lit up. It's spread to my lymph nodes, my lungs-" he choked on his words. "I'm so stupid." he didn't want to look up at her, didn't want to see the pity that no doubt swam in her eyes.
"Newt, you're strong. You can fight this." she squeezed his arm, but his mind drifted, he wondered what would happen during his next visit to the hospital.
"Thank you." he murmured. He wondered if she really believed this.
a/n: hey guys!! sorry it took so long to update this was literally probably my first day off in about two weeks!!
