Dylmas/Newtmas One-Shots

Newtmas - Dark Paradise

By request!

Lana Del Rey - Dark Paradise (requested by RachelleYong and sangsterriggs

3rd Person POV

The blazing sunlight shone through the thin crack in the blackout curtains that covered the large, gothic window. A small slither of light cast across the bare floorboards of the room.

The room was almost bare. Untouched panels of slow rotting wood held the weight of the rare visitors of the house itself, sharp nails, twisted and bent, sticking out at random angles. Large shadows loomed high above in the corners of the room, instantly dimming the only source of natural light. The walls were stripped; a single portrait hanging proudly above the only useable piece of furniture. The bed.

The bed stood alone in the empty room. Linen sheets that were no longer white but more of a greyish colour hung dangerously off the edge of the bed. The frame was sturdy, but showed it's age - the once cream paint now peeling at the edges.

Inside the bed lay a boy.

His blonde hair was ruffled, eyes closed in a blissful yet troubled sleep, a subtle frown resting on his forehead. One arm stuck out from under the thin covers, curling above his head. Long, black lashes fluttered sleepily as he woke up - gradually.

Within a few minutes, he was fully awake. His body now slipping out from under the linen sheets, flinching at the harsh, cold air of the room. Rubbing one hand over his eyes, a small yawn escaping from his mouth, the boy rose to his feet and slowly made his way across the room. He was careful not to step on any nails, having already memorised the pattern of the floor.

Truthfully, he hadn't been here long.

Four or five months? He hadn't exactly counted. A life alone wasn't much fun, not that he had ever believed that it would be. None of this was his choice. It was his fate. And fate cannot be changed.

*flashback*

Newt laughed. A sweet, melodic laugh. His lips curved into a wide smile, teeth shining brightly. His head leant back, eyes crinkling at the sides like they did whenever he smiled. He was perfect.

"I love it when you laugh." a voice beside him spoke, love and affection laced in the words. But the person was blurred, their facial features almost unrecognisable.

*end of flashback*

Newt sighed, annoyed that he was not able to identify the person from his memories. It was like he knew them, but, he didn't know them.

Slipping out of the room, he made his way down to the wide spaced kitchen. Unlike the bedroom, the kitchen consisted of high wooden arches and decorated skirting boards. A fairly modern fridge stood against one wall, joined by a row of varnished counters that were gradually wearing out. The floor was a smooth sea of oak wood panels, neatly shined and sanded. Lastly, a dusty, black chandelier hung by the ceiling in the middle of the room. No other sources of light could enter the room.

Newt wore a classic Victorian-Gothic style outfit: a tight-fitting, black jacket; white, open collar shirt and black, leather trousers. The look was completed with a chunky, silver ring and a slightly rusted chain that was attached to his belt loop. His hair was now gelled back. He was the combination of sophistication and rebellion.

The odd thing was, he didn't recall where his unique fashion sense originated from.

*flashback*

He stood in front of the tall mirror in the changing room, his unfamiliar reflection staring back at him. He was wearing a crisp black shirt, the top two buttons left undone, and leather trousers clinging uncomfortably to his skinny legs. This wasn't his usual choice of clothing but he would do anything for his boyfriend.