"Sonya's going to come by soon," Thomas tells him during one of their daily walks.
"Oh?"
"Yeah, she's going to do some redecorating." He chuckles. "Can't say she's much good at it, but it'll be nice to have some color in the house, since... you know."
Newt glances at him. "You told her?"
"Newt, she's your sister. Of course I told them."
He looks down at the ground. "Does anyone else know?"
"No. I thought... it should be your decision. In case you wanted to release it to the world à la Press Conference."
"I'm sure millions of people would be interested in an Alzheimer's letter from an old, retired actor."
Thomas manages a weak smile. "Well, anyway. I do think you should call Minho, at the very least."
"Hmm." For some reason, it had never crossed his mind to inform anyone else. And even now, the idea seems completely unappealing.
He knows why. But he doesn't want to admit it to anyone. "I'll consider it," he says.
They continue to walk.
: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :
Newt spends an hour or so staring at the phone that night, Thomas' words echoing in his head. He needs to know. He doesn't want to tell him.
But he should.
He finally picks it up, and, after several moments of stumbling around hunting down his number and instructions on how to make international calls-which he needs Thomas to help him read-he tentatively begins to punch in the buttons.
A clipped voice answers. "What stupidly shuck-faced person would call at this shucking hour in the morning?"
Damn. He had forgotten about the time zone difference. "Your bloody shuck-faced best friend, I suppose."
"Newt?"
"Did I wake you up?"
"Yeah, but..." A pause. "It's not like you to display such stupid judgment in the timing of calls. So this must be important."
He winces at his words. "That's what I wanted to talk about, actually," he says cautiously. "My 'stupid judgment', as you so put it. S-something's come up, Minho."
"What is it?"
"I..." I have a disease with no known cure that will strip me of my ability to form memories, make rational decisions, understand language, and, in the end, live on my own.
He shudders. He can't say that to hin-because if he does, then he'll want to fly here and visit, and her last memory of him will not be of Newt, the brilliant, gifted theater actor but of Newt, the degenerating, dying man. And he doesn't want that.
"Newt?"
He should tell him.
But he won't.
"I drank too much last night with Tommy."
He can hear Minho snort on the other end. "You two still drink? This is why I'd hate to leave the two of you alone in one roof. Remind me to throw all of the alcohol in your fridge the next time I come home from Korea."
"I'll have to keep that in mind."
There is silence for a moment. And then: "Is that all?" Minho sounds suspicious.
"It, ah, made me ill."
"Well." More silence. "I trust that if you called for something stupid like this, you would certainly inform me of other important happenings in your life as well, yeah?"
YOU ARE READING
MEMORY • newtmas au
Fanfiction❝ What did they find? ❞ Thomas looks back at him, and there is anguish clearly written on his face. ❝ You have Alzheimer's, Newt. ❞ His breath catches in his throat. Alzheimer's. ❝ There's no cure for that, ❞ he says. ❝ No, ❞ the other whispers, an...
