Perspective

New Perspective

Many Newtmas stories are told by the lovers themselves. As said in Jennifer's Body, we need a new perspective.

The timeframe is pretty vague/ambiguous in some parts, but very specific in some parts. Just a one-shot full of angst. Based on both the books and movies, although I own neither.

~

Minho wasn't sure when it happened, although everything that happened over the past couple months has been sort of hazy and a bit blurry. With everything blending together and constantly being on the run, there was no time for trivial things, such as romance. He had been sure that there would be no such beautiful- he supposed love was beautiful, considering that was all he'd ever heard- things blooming, if they ever chose to bloom upon the ruined planet again. Perhaps he'd gotten to busy thinking about everything in a negative light, forgetting that even darkness had a sliver of light. Maybe it was because Minho has closed his mind- and heart- to things as foolish as love, considering that Minho wouldn't let anyone touch him or try to form something romantic with him.

Minho liked to think that he was clever and observant. He, indeed, was very clever and had been given his (former) position due to his intelligence. Minho had noticed the things he'd been taught to notice, the things W.I.C.K.E.D considered essential and worth instilling in him. So, Minho has noticed the blurs that moved too fast for anyone else to see. He saw the shifting of the walls in the formation of a pattern that he couldn't understand. He picked up different patterns and schedules, from the ones in the maze to the ones in the Glade. Minho was observant and a quick learner.

But nobody had ever thought it important to teach him about romantic gestures. He noticed the way that Thomas's hand brushed ever so softly against Newt's fingers, but there was nothing important there- surely Minho would notice if there was. Minho noticed the way that Newt smiled; the smile was softer and more sincere than the one he reserved for everyone else. The soft laughter, the gentle handholding, the kisses placed on foreheads and cheeks, the flower giving, and all these other gentle gestures didn't escape Minho's notice. He just figured that they were unimportant and not meaningful.

Everyone in the Maze needed companionship. Everyone needed a friend, especially a close one to share one's feelings with. There was no one to help them sort out the burdens they carried or the increasing amounts of weight they had to push. The boys had always taken the extra weight without being allowed to get hurt, so it only made sense that they would seek out each other's companion. They needed the emotional support, to know that they were doing good in a place that felt like it was made to break them. Everyone needed someone. Although Minho would never admit it, not ever, he'd always needed the companionship of his fellow runners.

Calm, rational Newt seemed like the perfect person to keep companionship with the wild, untamed Thomas. Newt was the image of rule abiding, whereas Thomas was unruled and ready to fight everyone. They would balance each other out, a perfect middle ground for both of them. Minho had always assumed that they were working together to help the other become a better person, and he supposed he was right, in a strange way. They had helped each other to develop into better people, bringing out the best in each other, but they had never been just friends.

Minho wasn't sure how to define them. What were they to each other? The closest term that Minho has ever discovered was lovers. Lovers, two people who were in love and loved each other. He'd read the term in a book, although he could not remember any of the fine details- the characters, the plot, the setting, or even the ending. The only other words that rang a bell was exes, but that word left a bitter feeling in the back of Minho's throat for some reason.

The word exes brought back vague images, ones that moved too quickly for Minho to grasp. He could see a beautiful woman with tears streaming down her face, a face that seemed overly familiar. He could see a man, not handsome or beautiful like the woman, shouting and raising his hands. He heard vague words- son, divorce, my, please- that made no sense, although it was rather challenging considering that he had not idea who either of those people were. Something about her seemed familiar, almost as if he'd seen her before. It did not matter, but Minho knew that they were exes- not lovers.

Thomas and Newt went everywhere together, at least since the Maze. And Minho had this feeling that they would never be separated again. Minho knew that they would never leave each other, as there was no Newt without Thomas or Thomas without Newt. It was too late for either of them to escape love's entanglement, and they would have each other until the end. Not until the end of W.I.C.K.E.D's trial, but until the end of their lives. They were together, and Minho doubted that would change.

~

Minho and Brenda had been trusted with getting the cure to Newt, who had chosen to go with Thomas. With her slender body and quick speed, Minho thought that Brenda would have made an excellent Runner. She moved with lethal grace throughout the blazing city, seemingly unbothered by the flames that threatened to consume them or the hollow screaming in the distance. She ran as thought she were fleeing from a terrible monster that only she could see, and Minho didn't wish to stick around and find out if the streets were filled with monsters.

Everything had been beautiful in this place, at least before the fire stared. He thought of a place, of a city named Troy, that had met a similar fate. He wasn't sure where the city had been or why it had burned to the ground, only that he'd been told the story by someone at W.I.C.K.E.D. He supposed that everything burned in the end, even the shiny skyscrapers and thin pavement filled with cracks. It was rather fitting, really, that W.I.C.K.E.D. would go up in flames, although Minho hated the guilt that flawed at his stomach when he heard children screaming.

"Come on. I think I've found them," cried out Brenda, although her voice sounded far away. She pulled her shirt over her face, likely to block out the thick smoke that was threatening to choke Minho. She grabbed his hand, determined not to loose anyone else.

Minho's heart leapt, and he hated that it did. It'd been so long since he'd had his hand held, and he hated that this was how he responded to such a sign. He had thought he would be able to live without contact, simply because he'd been telling himself that for so long. He wondered if Newt's heart did that when Thomas grabbed his hand. Minho then remembered that he wasn't in love with Brenda, and she wasn't in love with him- hallelujah. They ran along, trying to escape the harsh world around them.

"Thomas, I have the-" Brenda's voice fell silent.

Minho peered from where he stood behind her, feeling bile rise in his throat. His knees buckled under what felt like the weight of the world, although he knew that he wasn't the one who had to sacrifice their whole world. It wasn't fair for him to be sick or feel overwhelmed- at least, not right now.

Thomas was kneeled on the ground, almost as if he were in the middle of something holy- praying, thought Minho. The only difference was that he was clutching Newt's body in his arms, sobbing as if he had been completely ripped apart and poorly put back together. The sobbing was heart wrenching, almost to the point that Minho covered his ears. Thomas seemed completely oblivious to them, only focusing on cradling Newt's body with utter reverence. "My brave Patroclus," muttered Thomas.

Patroclus? Minho remembered reading a story with him in it. Patroclus died for Achilles and... oh.

Newt hadn't died for war, nor for Thomas's safety. Thomas had killed him, because Newt was turning into a Crank, becoming something he never wanted to. Thomas must have chosen to honor Newt's last wishes, and Minho thought it was better that Newt went out seeing the face of someone he adored. It was right, even if it hurt Thomas a bit. Minho figured Thomas would have hurt more if Newt had died without Thomas, alone and hopelessly lost without his beloved.

"Let's go," said Thomas, his breath shaky. He picked up Newt's body, beginning to carry him. "I have Newt to bury. And I have W.I.C.K.E.D to crush."

Minho and Brenda nodded, but they were both thinking the same thing. 'The Thomas that loved Newt is gone, and Thomas died here too.'