𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥 - TMR AU, Thomas

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

My parents have a thing for naming their kids after historical important people.

Newt is the first born child, and that's what they got the idea from, since my father's last name is Isaacs.

Isaac Newton, with his theory about gravity.

Then, me. After Rosalind Franklin. A British chemist who was so important that we still use and expand the information she discovered.

Lastly, our little sister. Sonya Levien is a Russian screenwriter. Sonya Isaacs.

I'm not sure what to think of my name, though. Rosalind is the most historical thing ever and I don't like it. I'm not sure about Rosa either. Rose, maybe?

Could've named me Tulip or Dandelion. Blossom, which Newt often teases me with, or Hyacinth or Iris or— you know it.

But I'm grateful for my family. My mother is a sweet woman. All us kids have gotten her gene of being kind and caring. We've got her personality, our father's looks.

Blonde hair, baby face.

Unfortunately, I've been a little less cheerful after Newt decided to make good use of Isaac Newton's gravity.

I probably should stop joking about that too, yet I can't help myself, because I have to make the bad seem good.

Though the hospital isn't cheerful either.

I'm sitting next to fifteen-year-old Sonya, waiting until our parents are done attempting to speak to a very angry Newt.

The walls are white. Not beige or off-white, just purely white. Now, if it would've had more of a tint in it, it wouldn't have been so depressing, but that isn't the case. I distract myself from that unsatisfying thing by seeing it from the positive side, like, as I said, I always do.

I can see kids gets escorted out of the hospital. People in this hospital are getting better. Doctors are improving.

But it all leads me back to Newt. A part of the reason why he's done this, all starts in the hospital, where a few months ago, his best friend died.

Alby and I weren't close or anything, but he was with Newt. Apparently, cancer had been running through the boy's family for years. I remember overhearing Alby sniffing in Newt's room and telling my brother something about how he's scared for his father to die. But after all, he was gone before his father. 

I wince and Sonya flinches when there's a yell. I can't hear the words that follow, but I'm sure it's Newt. He's been yelling every time someone tries to communicate, and I understand that.

His attempt failed. He's alive, which makes him unhappy and angry because... he's, well, alive.

"Maybe you two can talk to him." Mom stands in front of us with tears in her eyes. The sight physically hurts my heart. She blinks a few times, trying to stop herself from breaking, and swallows. "Only if y'all want to."

Yes and no.

Yes, I'd love to see Newt and be there for him. No, I'm afraid I'll also break down.

"Okay," I end up saying. My hand already reaches for Sonya's. "Nya, you wanna come, too?"

She nods. There's a weak agreement that leaves her mouth before we enter Newt's room. I maybe should've knocked, but all the other times I did, Newt sent me away before I even got that chance to speak.

I squeeze Sonya's hand as we walk inside the room, the door closing behind us. No one speaks. I feel my stomach do a flip at the chemical smell inside of this room. My heart skips a beat when I look up at Newt's pale face, and I force a smile.

"Hi," I say quietly. Sonya and I sit down on the chairs next to his bed. Once I'm more relaxed, I allow myself to inspect his face better.

Newt's usually messy but very clean hair is now a bit greasy. Darker circles contrast his pale skin and his cheekbones are hollow, lips dry and chapped. I can't see his leg, it's under the sheets, but I know it's broken and can't be fixed. Not even by the doctors.

Newt will forever walk around with a limp. He landed horribly wrong. The doctors did their best, but no operation was able to heal his leg completely. He won't be in too much pain, but still, the limp.

"At least you can skip PE now," Sonya blurts out. Three seconds later, her face is red and I'm afraid Newt's gonna yell again.

But he doesn't. Instead, he surprises both of us by letting out a chuckle, which soon turns into a whole laugh. Bright, with squinty eyes, and curved up lips.

Once he recovers, he smiles at us. "Thanks, Sonya."

"I— sorry, that was a bad—"

I nudge her side with my elbow. Newt's not being sarcastic and he's not faking his laughs either.

"For what?" She then peeps.

Our brother readjusts himself on his bed, propping his still covered leg up. "For acting normal." A short pause. "Everyone is acting like I'm some sick dog since the moment I got here. Mary, one of the nurses, is okay, but it's her job to make me feel okay. So thank you, Nya."

Sonya blushes as she looks down. Obviously, she's a bit hesitant right now, and I don't blame her for it.

"She's right," I agree. The words come out louder than I expected, but still soft because that's just how my voice is. "How're you feeling though?"

"Better now two bloody twats entered." He cracks a smile at us.

"We're not twats!"

"Right, you're gleaming angels with golden hair and holy morality."

All three of us smile, then a silence falls. I look down at my hands, fidgeting with them a bit, though I know I shouldn't. If I do—my ballet teacher says—I have a chance I might start doing it during a performance and that'll cause distraction.

"We're gonna move," Newt suddenly says. It shocks me so much my head shoots right up at him. "To the US," he adds.

"What?"

"They just told me," he continues. "Mom and Dad, I mean. Apparently it's been on the schedule for a while, and after this whole situation they're sure about it."

"The US." I bring a hand to my forehead, not sure what to think of this. The US is way different than the UK. We're different than Americans. The US is enormous.

But it's not like I have a million friends here. We already moved about two years ago, and in that time, I never got very close to anyone so maybe it's not too bad.

As long as I can join ballet in the US, too.