Break-Ups (Newtmas Short Story) (COMPLETED)

VI (final chapter)

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Newt dreaded meeting up with Thomas.

He hated it; he hated himself for it. He hated that they hadn't spoken for four weeks and he hated that he didn't really want to. He hated himself for being so afraid.

But most of all, he hated how much he hated Thomas.

After all, how could he? How could he just walk out, throw away their years of friendship, all over a budding crush? How could he leave when Newt needed him most, when he was falling apart and needed someone to rely on? Newt thought he knew Thomas, but this was not his best friend.

He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. He was falling apart. He hated himself for that too. He wished he could get a grip on himself, but he was still so confused, so hurt, so horribly alone.

Newt looked up when the bell to the coffee shop rang. His heart stuttered in his chest at the sight of his best friend, framed in the doorway with light seeping in around his thin frame. In came the breeze outside as Thomas stepped in, shivering with his hands dug deep in his pockets. His shoulders were hunched, probably to protect himself from the cold, likely to protect himself from the world. Casting his eyes down to the table, Newt withheld a small whimper. He forced himself to look up as Thomas's footsteps began to approach, but the action pained him in a way far deeper than physical turmoil.

As their eyes met, Newt gasped.

If he thought he himself looked to be in poor form, Thomas's condition was a thousand times worse. Deep bags rested beneath his eyes and the familiar chocolate brown of his irises was dark and heartbreakingly sad. His hair was a ruffled mess and his clothes hung loosely around his body. But the worst part was the resignation on his face, as if his every breath whispered defeat and his every blink sang out his pain.

Newt knew that Thomas had been the one to invite him out today, and yet he still felt like he should leave now before Thomas hurt himself anymore. He looked away and blinked back tears--tears he wished would go away--and took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Hi," he greeted, trying to sound confident and upbeat and like his world wasn't falling out of focus around him.

"Hi," Thomas greeted in the same forced tone, and it was wrong, so fucking wrong because they had been best friends for years and this wasn't them and yet it was because Newt's heart lurched and Thomas stiffly sat down across from him, pretending as if the silence between them wasn't absolutely suffocating.

"How are you?" Newt asked, and then silently chided himself. Those weren't the words he wanted to say. He kept his gaze glued to his lap, hating the tension that encased them.

Thomas paused and Newt waited and the wind began to blow hard outside the windows, almost shaking the glass. Newt knew he needed to look up if he wanted to fix things with Thomas, but his eyes seemed insistent in following the patterns inscribed on his worn out jeans.

"I'm okay," Thomas eventually replied, and Newt's heart probably broke right there, right with the smallness of Thomas's voice, the insecurity, the loss.

Newt nodded, mostly because he had no idea what to say. He resented this, resented the fact that Thomas had stupidly fallen in love with him and that he had stupidly ended up hurting them both in the end. Outside, the wind seemed to blow even harder.

There seemed to be so much distance between them and Newt was falling apart. He wanted to reach across the table, wanted to scoop Thomas up in his arms, wanted to hit him for being so stupid, wanted his best friend to be happy, wanted his best friend to be hurt. It wasn't healthy. None of it. He gulped and avoided Thomas's eyes, afraid to meet his gaze and break into tears. Why couldn't things be normal again?