Welcome To The Media (Dylmas AU)

1. True Colors

TW: Slight homophobic slur
**Heavily unedited because I'm trash**

Thomas' pov

A blinding flash went off in my face. I blinked heavily, pushing forward as more cameras went off in my direction.

"Thomas! Rumor has it you'll be starring as Newt in the Maze Runner Movie!"

"Hey, give me a smile, Thomas!"

So many voices, so many cameras. They all want something from me, like I'm some monkey in a circus.

"Oh my god, he's so CUTE!"

"Thomas, raise my babies!"

Ugh. Stupid Americans.

I pushed through, more than slightly agitated at this point. Could they get out of my way so I could just get my damn coffee?

I heard a dozen reporters shouting my name, trying to pull a reaction. I kept my head down, shoving people out of my way, careless to whether I was being rude or not.

I avoided the cracks on the sidewalk (don't wanna hurt my momma's back) as I walked, trying to focus on anything but what the reporters and journalists shouted. I knew they intentionally said stuff to try and upset me, but I refused to give them that satifaction.

"Yo, Sangster, don't you think you're a little too thin to play a muscular character such as Newt?"

"Is it true you're a fag?"

I grit my teeth, and any remains of peaceful serenity found on my face instantly vanish. I become hard, my distinctive scowl etching itself into my jaw. I allow no emotion to show as I stride towards the small cafe, now within eyesight.

Finally, FINALLY, I stepped inside my destination, the smell of warm cakes and fresh coffee filling my nose. It's a beautiful cafe, small booths outling the perimeter and decorative plants adding to the classic decor. The manager notices the commotion outside, her eyes widening a tiny fraction. Slowly, she comes towards me, where I am trying to push the door closed to keep the crowd out.

"Out! Get out! Let the poor boy alone! Get out before I call the police!" she threatens, and slowly the crowd dwindles, until only the bravest (stupidest) reporters remain.

I stand in front of the door for a moment, trying to compose myself. When I finally turn on my heel, the managers still stands there, like she expects a thank-you.

Instead, I grumble, "Can't I just get some freaking coffee without being followed around?" Then I strode to the front of the rather long line for food, leaving the manager gaping at the back of my head.

"You're welcome!" I dimly hear her shout.

The complaints of the customers behind me disrupted the peaceful atmosphere. At first, I paid them no heed, simply trying to read the menu instead. As time stretched out, I was aware I was making the line restless and angry, a terrible combination.

Turning around, I took off my sunglasses as though revealing my identity, hoping to apease the crowd. Some people gasped, though you'd think my entrance would have been enough of a clue to realize I was famous to some degree. I gestured to myself, simply saying, "I'm Thomas Brodie-Sangster. I do what I fucking want."

Someone mumbled sarcastically, "And I'm pissed off, nice to meet you Thomas Sangster."

No one seemed satisfied, so I smiled a lopsided grin, and like a ripple effect, the crowd was more accepting to my actions. I watched until the tension in their shoulders had eased and the fire in their eyes had died out before turning back to the counter. God damn, I am good.