Infinite: Newtmas & Dylmas Oneshots

3// Remember

3//

Genre: Angst/Fluff

Pairing: Newtmas

A/N
okay so this story will probably be confusing if you dont read this sO PLEASE READ THE FOLLOWING NOTE:

this story is in the format of present/past experiences. everytime you see the writing in italics, it's thomas in the present, as an old man. everthing in regular font is the past, told from Thomas's pov. OKAY ENJOY

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Thomas's POV

"Dad, what's all this?"

Looking over the glasses perched on the end of my nose, I glanced over at my daughter, Natalie. In the dim lighting of the darkening room, I watched for a moment as she sifted through a small, cardboard box, her long blonde hair falling across her face. Her brown eyes turned to me, looking expectant.

My eyes fell to the box, and for a second, all I could do was stare. I immediately knew what it was, and I could practically feel the memories tied to it beckoning me forward. I gasped, my old heart skipping a beat despite myself. With more agility than a man my age should have, I leapt to my feet, stumbling to where my teenage daughter sat.

"Where--where did you find this?" I asked, kneeling down beside her. My hands moved to brush over the different array of items scattered within the cardboard box in front of her, the movement all but a feathered touch.

Natalie looked guilty, refusing to meet my gaze. "I was looking for Mom's sweater in your closet, and I saw this on the shelf. I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself."

I disregarded her apology, my thoughts too trained on the box and its contents. I hadn't seen all this, the pictures and pins and old memoirs, in years. I had barely spared two seconds of thought to any of it since then, but now that it all lay before me, it was like having my past shoved right under my nose.

"It's some old junk from my childhood," I said in an offhand voice. But despite my careless tone, I couldn't help but pick up each individual item with tender care, smiling softly as I reminisced.

Natalie looked down into the box as well, picking up a cracked pin. "This stuff all looks broken," she muttered, not realizing that she held a fragment of my heart in her hand.

"It's not broken, just very old," I replied, my voice lowering fondly. "I was just a little older than you when I collected most of this."

Natalie nodded. She scooped up a worn picture in her hand, wiping away some dust that obscured her view. Silently, she stared at it, her eyes looking as though she was calculating something, or as if she was trying to solve a difficult problem.

"Dad, who's this?" she finally asked, handing me the picture.

I let out a breathy laugh, my eyes searching the picture as if reliving the memory. It was from my senior Prom.With my hair styled neatly and a broad grin on my face, I looked nervous, if not slightly uncomfortable.However, Natalie's small hand wasn't pointing at me in the photograph, but at a blond haired boy standing next to me.

"That," I said, unable to stop the pained and wistful smile from curling on my lips, "is Newt Lahey."

<----- <----- <----- <----- <-----<----- <-----

Looking up at the towering bronze doors, I couldn't help but gulp. Music drifted out onto the driveway, a dull pounding that paled in comparison to the sounds echoing indoors. Dimly, sounds of laughter and screams breached through the music and was audible from where I stood, surrounded by my friends. I pulled at the hem of my suit, wishing I had decided to stay home after all.