Born Again

Chapter eighty two

The funeral was held a few days later.

Thomas didn't go.

He didn't want to hear dry, empty words about how "Teresa lived a happy life" or how she "died too young".

He didn't want to feel responsible again. Not just because of the dreams, but because she died saving him.

Teresa deserved more than a few empty words. Thomas didn't want to go experience that.

He sighed, rolling over on his bed to face the wall.

"Hey, Thomas."

Thomas looked over his shoulder to see Minho and Newt walk into his room.

He turned away. He didn't want to see anyone right then. Everything still hurt too much.

"We brought you something," Minho said, sitting on the edge of his bed.

Thomas didn't respond.

"Tommy," Newt urged, his voice surprisingly soft considering his condition. "Come on."

Thomas sighed and sat up, facing his friends. "What?" He asked, his voice sounding raw. It felt as if he hadn't spoken in years.

Newt looked at Minho. "Show him."

His friend swung the backpack off his shoulder and opened it.

"Here," Minho said, handing Thomas a large, flat stone and a carving knife.

Thomas held it in his lap and looked up, confused.

"Like in your dreams," Newt explained. "You carved Teresa's name to honor her memory. We thought you would-"

"It was my idea, actually," Minho corrected.

Newt rolled his eyes. "Whatever. It was your bloody idea to get the stone, yeah, but I was the one who reminded you about the dreams."

Minho stuck out his tongue as a response.

Thomas ignored them.

Losing Teresa hurt too much to focus on anything else. And, on top of that pain, every night since she died, Thomas had the dream of Newt dying.

Over and over again. One way, then the other.

A dream had never repeated so many times before. He knew it was closer than ever.

"Tommy, are you even listening?"

Thomas looked up at Newt, tuning back in to reality.

"Sorry," he said, placing the stone on his bedside table. "I'm just tired. Thanks for the stone, but I'm gonna get some rest."

Thomas laid down on his stomach again, turning his head away from the two.

After a few seconds of nobody moving, Thomas sighed.

"I'll see you guys later," he said, trying to not sound annoyed but hoping they got the message. He just wanted to be left alone.

Thomas closed his eyes, deciding to ignore them even if they refused to leave.

Unfortunately, his plan didn't work when Minho moved to lay on top of him, crushing his lungs. He wrapped his arms around Thomas' chest in the most uncomfortable hug Thomas had ever experienced.

"Minho," Thomas croaked, trying and failing to squirm away. "I can't . . . breathe."

Minho ignored him, resting his face on Thomas' neck and grinning.

"Come on, Min," Newt said after a moment. "I want a turn."

"Fine," Minho relented. He rolled over onto his back, still holding Thomas. "There you go."

Thomas took in a gasp of air before groaning as Newt climbed on top of him.

"Newt," he whined, trying to push him off but to no avail. "Please don't . . ."

Newt ignored him, somehow managing to wrap his arms around Thomas' waist and lay down on top of him.

"Guys," Thomas complained. "Do you really have to?"

Nobody responded.

Thomas sighed and stopped struggling. When Minho and Newt set their mind to something, there was nothing he could do to stop them.

After a few seconds of comfortable (or uncomfortable in Thomas' sake) silence, Newt spoke up.

"Well, we've had this conversation before, Tommy," he said, lifting his head to look at Thomas. "Do we need to have it again?"

"What conversation?" Thomas asked, trying to squirm into a sitting position but Minho wouldn't let go.

"The one about what your friends, or Teresa, would want you to do."

Thomas sighed, giving up on getting away.

"I'll take that as a yes," Newt said. "Tommy, you know-"

"No," Minho interrupted. "Shuck, no. I've heard enough of that depressing klunk for a lifetime. Thomas here knows it, don't you Thomas?"

He gave Thomas' chest a hard squeeze, implying that he'd squeeze harder if Thomas disagreed.

"Yeah, okay. Ow!" Thomas complained. "It's okay, Newt, I know the conversation. Teresa—Ow!—wants me to be happy and everything. Ow! Okay, Minho, stop!"

Minho snickered and loosened his grip. Thankfully it was enough for Thomas to push free from his grasp. 

He sat up, gently shoving Newt off before sliding off of Minho onto his bed.

"Thanks, but I'm done," he stated. "I really couldn't breathe, you know." Thomas glared at his friends but he couldn't put any real anger behind it.

Minho sat up, smirking and Newt moved to sit in front of Thomas.

"I'm serious, you know," the older boy said. "I don't want to see you so glum anymore."

Translation: I only have little time left to live and don't want to spend it with you when you're sad.

"Yeah, I know," Thomas said, guilt washing over him. "I'm sorry. You're right."

"Does that mean you're good?" Minho asked, sitting up.

Thomas shot him a glare that quickly melted into a sad expression.

"I don't think I'll ever be good," he answered quietly.

Newt put a hand on his knee. "But you'll try?"

Thomas nodded through a sigh. "I'll try."

The older boy smiled. "That's all Teresa would've wanted from you."

He looked down at his lap, feeling his eyes fill with tears as he nodded again.

Minho leaned over and squeezed his shoulder, though it was a bit too hard to be comforting. "Well, as fun as this is, Thomas, I think we'd all be happier with some ice cream."

Newt grinned, nodding. "Yeah. What do you say, Tommy?"

Thomas wiped away his tears and smiled. It felt nice.

"I say," he answered, shooting them fake glares again. "Ice cream sounds a lot better than you guys crushing my lungs."

Newt laughed and Minho responded by tacking him with a hug again.

"Minho . . ." Thomas complained before Newt climb on him as well. "Not you too, Newt."

He groaned at their lack of a response.

And, though Thomas would never admit it, he actually enjoyed what his friends did to cheer him up.