《Newtmas Oneshots》

Blood

I love the Scorch Trials game, I find their character descriptions so funny! Newt's is definetly true though
(Dylmas)

Thomas's POV

I was walking home from work, Fall Out Boy blasting in my ears as I stepped to the beat. I was working the last evening shift at the coffee house I work at for now while I'm at college to study to become a doctor. Anyway, I've always hated the late shifts because I don't like walking alone at night. One of my friends have gotten mugged before on their way home from work. I've always felt uncomfortable ever since I was told about that.

I stumbled over an uneven chip in the sidewalk, barely catching myself before I made contact with the cold pavement. One thing cought my eye mid-fall. I saw some splotches of deep crimson splattered around. I squatted down and tapped it with my fore finger. I winced when I saw that it was still wet. I wiped off the liquid and made sure of one thing: it was blood. I looked around and saw some more splatters of dark red down the sidewalk.

"Someone must be hurt," I thought.

I decided to track the trail of blood in hopes to find whoever was injured and help them. I followed the splatters that seemed to be getting heavier and redder, if possible, with each step. The blood drops led down the sidewalk and then turned into an alleyway between two buildings.

"Hello?" I called out softly into the darkness.

I was greeted by a small shuffling sound and a quiet groan of pain. I ran a hand through my blonde hair nervously before stepping into the alley. My light footsteps echoed off the walls, making me even more nervous. Eventually, the quiet groaning for louder and louder until I saw who the noise was coming from.

A guy who looked to be around my age was leaning against the wall. He had dark brown hair and he was pretty toned. I would be said he was cute if he wasn't coated in blood. A wound was noticable on his right bicep and his shift was torn on one side. He was favoring his left leg, so he must be hurt his leg too. I slowly approached the man.

"Hey, are you all right?" I asked softly, not wanting to shock him.

His head shot up and he stumbled back, falling onto the ground. He breathing became ragged and uneven and he started shaking.

"Woah, calm down. I just want to help." I said in my most soothing voice, plus my accent helps.

His breathing calmed down a bit, but I could tell his guard was still up.

"W-who are you?" He said in a hoarse voice.

"My name is Thomas. I just want to help you."

"W-why?"

I chuckled slightly, "Because I want to."

He nodded after a moment's hesitation. He let me come up to him and help him up. I wrapped his good arm around my shoulder and wrapped my arm around his waist, keeping him balanced. He said that he didn't want to go to the hospital, so I decided to take him to my apartment. It was just around the block anyways.

We got there after a while and I helped him up the stairs and into my room. I sat him down on my couch and ran to get a first aid kit. I went back I him and set the kit on the table next to the couch.

"I never asked, what's your name?" I said, trying to start a conversation to get out of the awkward silence.

"Dylan." He replied shortly.

I nodded and took out some supplies from the kit and started treating his arm wound first.

"How did this happen?" I asked. " If you don't mind me asking."

"I don't really want to talk about it." He said hotly.

I nodded again, not wanting to provoke him to much. I applied pressure to his cut and he gasped in pain.

"Ow!" Dylan winced. "Hey, be careful!"

"Sorry, just keep still."

He stayed silent throughout the treating of his other cuts. After I finished, he sighed and dropped his head.

"Thank you." Dylan said quietly. "I can't believe that you picked up some random beaten-up stranger off the streets, took him into your home, and started treating him. That's unlike most people."

"Well, I'm not like most people." I shrugged.

He stretched his good arm and flexed. I couldn't help but find myself staring. He was muscular, and I bet he had a six pack under that torn up shirt.

"Do you want to take a shower?" I asked, pulling myself out of my thoughts. "I can give you some fresh clothes too if you want."

"Sure." He nodded.

I pointed him towards the bathroom and set up some of my clothes for him. They would be a bit small on his thicker frame, but it'll have to do. He took a quick shower, and came out of the steamy bathroom. I blushed at the sight. He had a white towel wrapped around his waist and another around his shoulders. His chest was wet and his hair was spiked up. Turns out I was right, he did have a six pack. A six pack that put my toned body to shame.

"Where did you set those clothes?" He asked.

I coughed before squeaking out, "R-right over t-there."

"Ah." He responded.

He picked up the clothes I laid out and headed towards the bathroom. Before entering he stopped and smirked at me.

"Like what you see?" Dylan chuckled.

I opened my mouth to retort, but no sound came out.

"That's what I thought." He smiled charmingly and shut the door.

I huffed and plopped myself down on my couch. Dylan came back out and I blushed again. My shirt was to tight on him, so I could see every muscle outlined. He sat on a chair and just stared at me. I squirmed a bit under his watch.

"You're cute." He said out of the blue.

"W-what?" I blushed.

"I'm gay. That's why I was beaten up. A bunch of homophobes found out and one thing led to another. You must know what it feels like too. You're also gay, right?"

"W-why do you guess that I'm gay?"

"By the way you were staring at me earlier." He answered simply.

"I'm bi actually." I said, crossing my arms. He raised an eyebrow. "But I prefer guys, yes."

"Nothing to be ashamed of, cutie."

"E-excuse me?"

"You have a boyfriend?"

"No, I-"

"Well," he interrupted. "That's all I needed to hear."

He got up from the chair and walked over to my table where a pad of post-it notes were sitting. I stood up and walked after him. He grabbed a note and a pen and scribbled something down on it.

"What're you doing?" I asked, trying to see what he was writing.

"Here," he said, handing me the note. "My number."

I gazed down at the note and blushed. When I looked up again, he was already heading for the door.

"Wait! Where are you going?" I asked.

"Home. I gave you that so you can call me sometime. Later Thomas. Thanks again."

He kissed my cheek and went out the door. I stood there, my hand to my face and my mouth wide open. I came to my senses and looked down at the note and smiled. I would definetly be giving him a call.

Happy Valentine's Day!

~October