What is it about you that has commandeered my brain? - stilessstilinskii

"I still can’t believe you have the hots for the barista." Teresa snorts, looking over at him with a cheeky grin on her face from the passenger seat of his run-down, rusty jeep.

Newt sighs, currently driving them both to their designated study-cafe. Since they’re broke college students working minimum wage jobs to pay the already over-expensive rent in California, they sadly live in a crappy studio apartment that isn’t suit for their studying. Due to the amount of distractions.

As much as they hate the small, cramped living space at first; it’s become their home and safe place. Having lived there for the past year, everything was slowly transforming into their comfort.

Usually, living with one person in such a small space without even a wall of privacy half the time would drive him insane. But considering it’s with his best friend since freshman year of highschool, he’s loved every moment of it. Sometimes, Teresa could be a right pain in the arse, but that’s just one of the many things he loves about her. He could list of the things he adores about his best friend for days.

If it’s her enthusiasm about small things, her soft smile and comforting words, her cooking for one is absolutely incredible and her intelligence will always impress him. And he basks in the way she always somehow smells of apple cinnamon and vanilla. He hates to admit that her mixed array of perfumes has become one of the many smells that brings him relaxation.

And he appreciates her more than anyone. His parents aren’t the most caring and they don’t show up often. His sister, Sonya, is of course the sweetest girl he’s ever met; but she has her own life. Her own girlfriend and her own concerns he doesn’t want to pile onto that with his own misfortune. So inevitably, he sticks to Teresa.

She’s become his rock and she can read him like an open book. She calms the storm in his mind with her words, and eases the beast with her touch. And vice-versa. Whenever she’s stressed over her grades, he’s always there with a cookie and a hand on her back.

He’s no where near as smart as the ravenette, but he tries.

Teresa is probably his favourite person, and he’s forever grateful that she was assigned to be his tour-guide on his first day of highschool.

When he first met her, he was waiting outside the principal’s office and he had almost bitten his nails down to the stump. He was a quiet, shy, 5’11 fourteen year old from England. He towered over his peers who had yet to go through their pubescent growth spurt, and when Teresa Agnes marched up to him with a brooding expression and her arms crossed over his chest he assumed the worst.

He always liked to tease her for that. The fact that they met during her tacky, emo phase where she tried convincing everyone she was edgy and mysterious. But then again, she’d stuck by him during all of his cringey teenage phases.

He thinks he’ll always stick by her. And her for him. Because she has Newt, and Newt has her. Always there.

So, when she’s teasing him for his small — he insists it’s just a teensy-tiny— crush, he can’t find himself to be seriously mad.

"Oh, zip it, Resa. I see you ogling at the one with muscles." Newt scoffs, keeping his eyes on the road. Even if it means missing out on the face that goes along with Teresa's overdramatic, offended gasp.

"Uh! That’s just me appreciating what’s infront of me, I like boobies. You, however, have this look in your eyes when you stare at that dork. What’s his name? Taylor? Travis?"

"Thomas." Newt immediately corrects, his cheeks dusting pink when he realises that was her goal in the first place.

"See! You remembered his name! Oh, isn’t that sweet! Admit it, you wanna get in his pants." Teresa’s teasing smile never leaves, poking at his bicep as he pulls into the parking lot infront of the Cafe.

"One, I just happen to glance down at his name tag every time we talk. Two, it’s not sweet, it’s totally normal. Three, I do not want to get in his pants." Newt rants as they collect their bags from the back seats and all the way towards the glass front door.

"Sure, Newtie." She pats him on the shoulder before pushing open the door, her features softening as she basks in the heavenly smell of her second favourite place in the whole universe.

"You go order, I’ll get us all set up." She takes his backpack off his lone shoulder, stacking it ontop of hers. Pressing the palm of her hand to the ball of his shoulder, lifting herself up on her tiptoes and pressing her lips to his cheek briefly.

"Thanks, Resa." He mumbles, watching his best friend walk towards their un-claimed claimed booth in the far corner.

Her hair is long, black and wavy down her back. She’s wearing a pair of thrifted, low waisted jeans with a bedazzled apple in the back-pocket. She her black thong showing in the whale tail fashion, clinging to her hips with a cropped white-tank top that’s layered with a wine-red cropped jacket.

Newt, as gay as they come, openly appreciates and admits how gorgeous Teresa really is. He’s shocked how she doesn’t have girls clinging on her arms, but he assumes most can’t compromise with her dedication to her grades.

He tugs his eyes away from his friend, who now has her glasses propped up against her freckled button nose, flicking through books splayed out across the table and towards the counter. His whole body warms when he sees the infamous brunette staring back at him with a small smile.

His small red visor hat with the words ‘Runner’ in hand-stitched calligraphy pushed his mop of untamed, brunette hair down on his forehead and it makes him look as aloof and adorable as his personality is. He’s staring at Newt with his big, hazel bambi eyes that make Newt’s knees weak.

Under his red apron with the same cursive words upon the centre, he’s wearing a plain black quarter length-shirt that’s tight on his muscular arms that has such an effect on the blonde he doesn’t want to deep dive into. A simple pair of jeans hug at his legs and Newt does not stare for long because he knew he’d have a problem if he did.

Newt shakes his head free of his one-over look on Thomas and finally walks over towards the counter, smiling softly.

"Hey, Tommy."

"The usual?" He asks, already scrawling names down onto the plastic cups with his scruffy handwriting that always makes Newt smile.

"Yep." He pops the ‘P’, glancing back at Teresa who’s sending him a knowing glance. He childishly sticks his tongue out at her, and she of course sticks hers back at him. He chuckles lightly, turning back to Thomas with the entertained smile lingering on his face.

He doesn’t take too much notice on how Tommy’s demeanour faltered slightly.

"I, uh, never got to ask; when did you two get together?" Newt is taken aback by the question, raising his eyebrows; them disappearing into the shag of his own lengthy dirty blonde hair.

" ‘Scuse me? " Newt asks, his smile amused as ever. He had always been asked this question by strangers, but he had never expected Thomas to ask.

"You and, uh, Tessa, is it?" Tommy seems awkward, the bottom of his shoe making an annoying ‘tap tap’ as he nerves his foot against the marble floor.

"It’s Teresa. And, God, no. Not even if you paid me." Newt snorts, suddenly deciding that the menu infront of him was so interesting.

"R-Really?" Thomas’ voice had this hint of hope and surprise, his usual bubbly and excitable demeanour had flown back into play and Newt is beyond relieved.

"Tommy, I’m just going to be upfront with you, I’m the gayest bloke you’ll ever meet. Unless, if you consider Teresa staring at pictures of Eva Longoria; then that’s the gayest thing you’ll ever see." Newt laughed at his own words, soaking in the look on Thomas’ face if he ever needs to reminisce on the top ten funniest moments in his life in the future.

"Oh! Oh, my God, I’m so sorry! I had no idea, God, Minho’s gonna be so disappointed— sh*t, I’m sorry." Thomas sputters like an old, dingy car engine that won’t start and Newt’s laughter becomes louder. He shakes his head, beaming at Thomas.

"The look on your face is priceless, Tommy. It’s fine, alright? We get asked that all the time. ‘Spose some people can’t process a dude and a chick being best mates." He leans on the counter slightly, Thomas’ cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"Maybe. I’m still sorry. But, hey, that’s good news for me." The corner of Thomas’ lips tug up in a small smirk, finishing the absentminded making of the coffee.

Its Newt’s turn to pull the priceless face.

His features contort with confusion, his brain taking its sweet time to process Thomas’ words as the two take-away cups are slid across the counter. Newt is still staring helplessly at Tommy before the brunette waves his hand infront of his face.

"Just because you’re pretty doesn’t mean you get them on the house. Pay up." Thomas holds out his hand, and Newt needs to know where this new-found confidence has sprung from.

"I — uh — yeah." Newt pulls a tenner out from his back pocket, placing the crumpled note in Thomas open palm.

The brunette takes the money and places it in the register, the smug smile never leaving his face. Bastard. Newt never got this flushed infront of people, even if they were relentlessly flirting with him, he kept his cool and even flirted back! But for some reason, when Thomas spoke the words with his honey-sweet American accent Newt short circuited.

He didn’t know if he wanted to punch the cute barista for that or pull him in by the straps of his apron and kiss him senseless over the counter.

"Thanks, Newt. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?" Thomas raises a hopeful brow, and Newt nods, taking the two cups in his hand; his brain finally catching up with the rest of his body.

"‘Course, Tommy. Same time." He sends him a smile, hoping his cheeks aren’t as flushed-hot as they feel, and slowly walks back to the table.

There are textbooks spread out across the table, two in a pile in the far corner while three are all open, lapping over eachother with little sticky-tabs clustered around. Teresa somehow made room for her own book, scribbling down notes hastily. And yet somehow, her writing is neat as ever.

"Resa, I think he flirted with me." Newt sets down the cup infront of her, staring off into the distance, still in thought.

"What?!" She exclaims, shooting up from where she was engrossed in the spread of books. "He what?!"

Newt shushes her, holding his finger to his lip as he glances around the coffee house. In all fairness, it’s not busy. There’s only an odd few people scattered around, all on laptops with cold coffee situated next to them. And the customers that do come in usually take to go.

"Say it any louder I don’t think my folks back in Brighton heard it!" He hisses, his voice set into a loud-whisper. Teresa puts her hands up in mock surrender, leaning in with a teasing smile on her face.

"So, are you sure he flirted with you? Or is he one of those ‘Just hot and talking’ people?" She used fingers to air quote, skeptical. Newt shook his head adamantly.

"He called me pretty. And he said that me being gay was a good thing for him." Newt recalled, Teresa’s skeptic look turning shocked. With her eyebrows raised and her jaw slightly slacked.

"Hold on, how did you just casually mention your gay?"

"You might wanna add him to the list of blokes who think we’re a couple." Teresa groans at his answer, throwing her head back and resting on the back of the booth.

"You're kidding!" Newt shakes his head, a fond smile on his lips. "You shoulda’ seen his face when I told him, Tess! It was blimmin’ brilliant." The two shared a laugh, Teresa taking a sip of her bitter coffee.

"So, he was definitely flirting with you, huh?" She goes back to her studying briefly, waiting for Newt’s reply.

"Yeah. I think so. And you know what’s worse? I froze up. Became a blushing mess and said nothin’ but stuttering bullsh*t." Newt mumbled, picking at the lid of his cup. It didn’t help when Teresa started laughing again.

"It’s not funny!" Newt hissed, trying to get Teresa to calm down. But she just started up again, covering her mouth with her hand to even try silence herself.

"I’m sorry, I’m sorry! It’s just so funny that you’re nervous over someone. You! You have an ego higher than us on a Saturday afternoon. You never choke. You must really like him." She shook her head, making Newt sigh and squeeze his eyes shut as he banged his head against the wall behind him.

"I barely know him! All I know is he’s really hot, doesn’t go to College, he’s eighteen, he has a weird obsession with sitcoms, he has a younger brother and he loves karaoke." He recalls their little conversations while Thomas makes their coffee over the past month, which all mostly consist of Thomas rambling.

"’I barley know him’ my ass! Look, Newt, you have a crush on him, even a blind man could see that. And don’t bullsh*t me with your ‘It’s just because he’s attractive’ nonsense. You like him. Genuinely." Teresa leans across the table, taking his hand in her own.

He lets her, clinging to her just as tightly as she holds onto him. A soft expression graces his features as he fiddles with their fingers, happy with the warmth his favourite person gives him. The small gesture comforts him, letting all his worries roll off his shoulders like small pebbles.

"I guess." He mumbles, still staring down at their held hands across the table. Their rings are clashing against one and other, and Tess’ warm hands are contrasting with his cold ones. But it’s fine. Because it’s her.

"You know." Teresa corrects, squeezing his hand in tow, "Hey, look at me." He pulls his eyes off their hands, looking up at Teresa’s face.

She has a genuine smile on her face, looking at him with such adoration that makes Newt forever grateful that she was his school guide after he moved across the seas to Sacramento.

"I know you, Newt. Just once, stop pushing people away and accept the fact that you’re not a burden. Accept the fact that people love you and want to be with you." He tilts his head slightly, smiling.

"I accept you." He comments, that makes Teresa scoff; however her lips betray her as her smile widens.

"That’s because I gave you no choice, Newton. Also, look at me! I’m irresistible!" She took away her hand from his, using both her hands to showcase her body.

"Pfft. Yeah, right." He rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his sweet coffee.

She promptly kicks him under the table.

"Think about what I said, though." She raises a challenging eyebrow, as if to say ‘I’ll know if you don’t’ and he nods shortly.

"Great! Now," She goes to the pile she’s shoved off to the side, grabbing Newt’s literacy textbook, "Study your ass off."

Unbeknownst to Newt, as soon as he turned around to walk towards Teresa with their coffee, Thomas’ confident stance faltered and he looked uncanny to a deer caught in headlights.

He whispered out a panicked string of curses, bolting towards the door behind the counter and pushing open the employee break room.

Once he opens the door (More like stumbles through with more power than intended) the other two eyes of the employees fly towards him.

Minho — his best friend of three years and his beloved roommate — has his feet kicked up on the circular table, a packet of chips in his hand as he laughs at something the other employee, Aris, jokes.

Aris is fairly new to the job, unlike Thomas and Minho who had been working there since it opened. Minho being the nepotism baby he is, he barely works due to his parents owning the little stand-alone coffee house.

"Dude, you look like sh*t." Minho snickered, observing Thomas’ panicked state with no seriousness, "Did you get a stuck up rich ladies coffee wrong again?"

"Aris, go. Your turn." He tugged off his apron, flinging it at Aris who dropped his muffin to catch it.

"Jesus, Thomas, I just took my shift —"

"Go! Please." Thomas begged, looking over at Aris with that look in his eyes that he knew no one could say no to.

"f*cking hell, Thomas, you’re dangerous. Saying no to you is like kicking a malnourished, wet sopping puppy dog." Aris mumbled, tugging tight on the apron and stealing his own visor hat off the rack.

"I love you—"

"Oh, zip it." Aris scowls, with no true malice behind it, pushing open the door and letting it swing shut behind him.

"Shuck, man." Minhos voice brought him back to reality, "What the shuck happened to you?" He smiled, loving this more than he should. Dick.

"I flirted with Newt." Thomas slumped down in the seat opposite Minho, piling his arms atop of each-other and resting his head in his forearms.

Minho’s amused laughter roared through his ears, making Thomas groan. Minho always seemed to take great joy in Thomas’ pain and suffering.

"No way! What did you say? Did you embarrass yourself? Oh, I’m gonna have a field day when watching the tapes — "

"The tapes have audio?! Is that legal?" Thomas’ head whips up from where he snuggled in on himself, almost giving himself whiplash.

"It’s a grey area — Don’t try get outta this, buddy." Minho held up an accusing finger, pointing it Thomas’ way.

"Well, firstly, I wrongly assumed he and Teresa were a couple." Thomas cringed at himself, "But then he told me that he was ‘the gayest bloke you’ll ever meet’ and so was Teresa, and I —l

"Woah, stop. Teresa’s gay?" Minho sat up, pulling his legs down under the table and looking at Thomas confused. "As gay as the day is long."

"You’re kidding me! Dude, she’s so hot, though!" Minho whined, and Thomas sent him a warning glance. "I get why you were jealous over her."

"I was not jealous — that’s not the point! I stupidly said his gayness was good for me and then I called him pretty." Thomas flopped his head back down into his head in shame, Minho bursting out into laughter again.

"Oh, dude! This — this is f*cking priceless! Your life is just one big joke." Minho held his chest, causing Thomas to tug the hat off his head and throw it at Minho’s chest in retaliation.

"Uh— Ow!" Minho winced, offended. Thomas smiled, stealing his chips from across the table. "You provoked me."

"Whatever, dude. How did Newt react?" Minho sighed, leaning forward to steal his packet of chips back. Thomas groaned, rubbing his hands down his face.

"He just stared at me, dude! And he was like— totally different. He’s usually so cool and collected and sarcastic andhot.Oh, my God, I’ve told you how attractive he is, right? His hair is literally golden. Like, how is that possible? And it seems so soft! What do you think he uses? And he always has on these cool graphic t-shirts and baggy jeans. And smart, too. He’s always here studying and I’m a highschool dropout working in a coffee shop owned by my rich nepo baby best friends parents! Not to mention they pay for our rent! He’s so out of my league, Minho. And I probably just scared him off." Thomas ended his rant by falling into his hands, groaning loudly.

Minho sighs, looking down at Thomas’ sympathetically. Minho is not one for serious situations. He always tries to lighten up the mood with a joke to change the subject, he’s not good with touchy feel. Despite his parent’s richness, that’s all they were good for growing up. Ignoring him and his feelings and making it up with dollar bills.

Just as Minho goes to open his mouth, Thomas shoots back up, startling the Asian. "And did I mention he’s British?! His voice is so attractive. Oh, my God, Minho. I’m totally screwed. I barely know anything about him! He usually just listens when I start to ramble and, my lord, is he good at it. Sometimes I can just pretend I’m in a museum and I’m talking to a statue. I’m rambling again, aren’t I? Minho, please stop me before I start rambling about his eyes. Holy sh*t, Minho, his eyes — "

"Oh, for the love of — For the dignity of both of us, shut up!" Minho cried out, smacking the palm of his hand on the wooden table. Thomas jumps back, before he falters again and rubs his hands down his face.

"You’re so, totally gone for this dude." Minho laughs amusedly, looking at Thomas with a fond smile. Thomas spreads his fingers, letting his hazel eyes shine through the gaps. He nods sheepishly, his cheeks flushed hidden under his palms.

"Thomas," Minho starts, fiddling with his fingers, "You’re not out of his league. Have you seen yourself?" Minho asks, making Thomas scoff and shake his head.

"No, I’m serious! You’re hot, man! Smokin’ hot. If I wasn’t straight I’d definitely tap that — " Minho was cut off by Thomas kicking him under the table, the two chuckling lightly.

"For what it’s worth, Tommo, he was probably flushed because he likes you back. That’s textbook." Minho threw a couple of chips in his mouth, before he exploded out his seat startling Thomas.

"Dude, what the —"

"I’ll be your Barney!" Minho smiled, and Thomas’ eyes widened. "What?!"

"I’ll be your wingman! Your bro and sh*t. You know, you love that Sitcom. We can do ‘Haveee you met Thomas?’" Minho smiled maniacally, and Thomas stood up, placing his hands on his shoulders to calm him.

"Minho, that’s horrible—"

"Oh, my God! I’m even like Barney!" Minho cut him off again, laughing. "This is perfect. Please let me be your wingman. I should buy a suit—"

"Minho!" Thomas yelled, smacking his friend upside the head; finally capturing his attention. Minho let out a squeak, going to cup the back of his head.

"Please shut up. We’re not doing a Sitcom inspired wingman stunt. And on that matter, you’re not gonna be my wingman! I think I actually like this guy, Minho. I don’t need your crude ways of ‘helping.’" Thomas explained, taking his hands off Minho’s shoulders, itching at his wrist.

A nervous tick he’s had since forever, along with averting his eyes from Minho’s as he stares flushed at the circular wooden table. He and Minho are never with seriousness, always using humour to divert the situation or using their dark and twisted ways of comforting the other.

But instead, Minho sighs and placed his own heavy hand on Toms tense shoulders. He rolls the ball of his palm against his collar in a small attempt of comfort. And it actually works, loosening Thomas’ shoulders and making him look up at his best friend.

"As much as I was excited about being the Barney to your Ted, Tomboy, I get what you mean. You seem serious about this dude. I haven’t seen you like that since Rachel." Minho internally scolded himself for bringing up that old wound, but Thomas only seemed to shrink into himself ever so slightly.

Progress, Minho noted.

"I am serious, Min." He mumbles, his lips forming into a soft smile. "I think he’s the one." Thomas’ smile turns into a tiny smirk, dropping the reference in there subtly.

Even though he said it to reference he and Minho’s favourite Sitcom, he might’ve meant it just a little bit.

"Jesus, you really are my Ted. And he’s your Robin." Minho laughs, clapping Thomas on the shoulder while going back to lounge in the uncomfortable wooden seats.

Thomas cringes, shaking his head before walking over to the vending machine in the corner and digging around in his jean pockets for a quarter.

"Ew, no. I’m more of a Marshall, anyway. And even if I was Ted, he wouldn’t be my Robin. He’d be my Tracy. Or, if he was my Robin, I’d be Barney." Thomas explains, punching in the buttons for the packet of skittles.

"God, sorry. I forgot how geeky and nerdy you get about the ‘correct’ ships." Minho tries not to recall the endless hours of lectures he had to endure from Thomas when the brunette first introduced the show to Minho.

"And I’m Barney!" Minho scoffs after awhile, earning a guffaw from Thomas who shook his head with a smile before flopping down onto the black leather couch pushed into the far corner.

"You’re not Barney, man."

"Then who am I?" Minho questions, and Thomas looks in thought for a second before a teasing smile makes its way to his face.

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Thomas wonders if anyone else gets to experience this. Newt is probably — no, definitely — the most beautiful person Thomas had ever seen. His hair was golden, some strands dirtying with the time and others sun-bleached carrying white-ish hues. Thomas yearns to know what it would feel like, his own fingers carding through what seems to be the softest hair he’s ever laid his eyes upon.

When the sun is revealed by the clouds, the rays shining through the window of the coffeehouse and bleeding wistfully into the side of Newt’s face Thomas’ breath gets trapped in his throat. If Thomas assumed Newt was ethereal before, the being before him was otherworldly. The light of the sun gives the left side of his face a celestial glow, his pale skin revealing fair angel kissed freckles doting his cheeks and nose.

Thomas secretly pinches himself underneath the table, unbelieving that someone could be that breathtaking. Even while ugly laughing over imagining him himself belting out the lyrics to Gwen Stefani, Tom adores it.

Newt doesn’t even to notice the way Thomas is looking at him, distracted by trying to stop his own roars of laughter. The way Thomas is full on praising every atom in his facial structure.

"Okay— Okay!" Newt suppresses his laughter, now only arriving in spaced out giggles, "If it helps your utter shame and embarrassment, me and Teresa memorised Bring me to life by Evanescence as a duet in sophom*ore year." He paused for a moment, looking up at Thomas.

Thomas’ once adoring and soft expression shifted the moment Newt mentioned the rock song into pure amusem*nt and bewilderment.

"And we still can." Thomas gasps, his mouth turning into a circular shape as he staggers out something akin to a scoff and a laugh.

"Oh, my God. I am so taking you and Teresa to my favourite karaoke bar." Thomas smiled widely, relishing in the look that took over Newt’s face. Wide eyed and blushing.

"What? No way!" Newt disagrees, "Also, we’re not twenty one, how do you already have a favourite bar?" Newt always found it astonishing that he had to wait an extra three years than he did in England.

"A guy Minho is friends with works there, he sneaks us in." Thomas grins proudly, sitting back in his seat, tapping his fingers along the edge of the wooden table.

"Didn’t know you were such a rule breaker." Newt snorts sarcastically, and Thomas rolls his eyes. "Hey, I did drop out of High-school."

"Oh, yeah. Highschool dropout who works in a coffee house, such a turn on." Newt jokes, and Thomas smiles teasingly. "I turn you on?" Newt’s eyes widen marginally, swatting Thomas on the hand across the table.

"Oh, slim it, Tommy." Newt scoffs, "That was a serious question apart of our game, Newton. I think you should answer it truthfully and honestly." Thomas’ once noble grin has turned up into silly smirk.

"Atleast buy me a drink first before asking if you turn me on." Newt diverts once again with a joke, taking a long sip of his coffee. Using the cup to shield his cheeks from where he knows they’re blushing from the heat that’s spread across his entire being.

"Okay, I will." Newt pauses at the latters words, taking the cup away from his lips, "At the karaoke bar tonight, it’s a Friday so I know you don’t have class tomorrow."

Newt places his cup back down on the coaster, his eyes casting downwards onto the copy of The Bell Jar dropped infront of Thomas on the table. He toys with his bottom lip, biting at the skin, contemplating.

On one hand, this seemed too good to be true. The hot, sweet, rambling, hyper, not to mention hot barista he had been gawking at for weeks seemed to be asking him out on a date. But on the other, that means the hot, sweet, rambling, hyper, hot barista would hear him belting out the lyrics to any Paramore song Teresa could convince them to play.

He weighs out the pros and cons, but all the questions he had in his head fade away when he finally meets Thomas’ eyes again. The hot sun catches the Americans honey glazed iris’, showing the raw, authentic beauty of them. Hazel meets brown and brown blends wonderfully with the green outer shell. His eyes display mixtures of emotion that claw at Newt’s beating heart.

Hope, fear, inquiry and something Newt couldn’t quite read. All his intent on declining were whisked away, and he crumbled under the brunettes gaze.

"Sure, Tommy." Newt whispered, his lips pulled into a delicate smile. All the fear vanished from Thomas’ eyes, replaced with contentment and loving.

"Great! It’s a date." Thomas winked — Oh, my God, he winked. Sliding out the booth and walking a few steps, placing a firm hand on Newt’s bicep. "Bring Teresa."

And then he started to walk away, leaving Newt staring at the place he once stood. Beaming and blushing, Newt started to laugh airily in disbelief. Until it came down on him that he had no idea where the bar was, what is was called or what time.

He turned around in his seat, ready to go ask, when clearly his move was interpreted and he heard a shout from the counter. "Read your cup, dummy!" Thomas was there, back in his visor hat and apron — how long was Newt zoned out for thinking about Thomas?

Flushed deeper for a whole new reason, Newt picked up his cup and swirled it around in his hand; finally reading the words in black sharpie his brain didn’t think to read earlier.

’4 Newt<3 — here’s my number :)’

His eyes stayed glued to the heart for a few moments, before looking down and seeing Thomas’ number in his unruly handwriting.

Thomas had taken into consideration his whole plan beforehand, knowing he would need his number. So much for turning down Aris’ suggestion.

Newt tried to go back to studying, but he physically couldn’t focus knowing that hazel eyes were burning into the back of his head every time he moved a finger across the keyboard. So after a whopping fifteen minutes of doing nothing, he sipped the last drops from his cup and packed up his things into his backpack. Including the empty cup, he stashed that away with care so the writing would still be readable.

Despite his apartment being the last place he would like to study at, the multiple distractions seemed way more easier than being in the same room as Thomas.

On his way out, he was stopped by said distraction with a hand grasping his wrist.

"I have one more question." Thomas smiled, and Newt turned around; trying not to think too hard about their proximity.

"Mhm?" Newt tried to keep his gaze on Thomas’ eyes, but every passing second Newt found it more difficult not to just look a few inches downwards.

"Do you like olives?" Now that was definitely not what Newt expected. Or hoped. But then again, Thomas was an enigma, and he loved that.

"Uh, yeah. I like ‘em. Why?" Newt asked, and Thomas’ smile only grew wider. "I just needed to know if this would be worth it." Thomas looked down at Newts lips, the blonde copied the action.

From what he gathered, Thomas’ lips were slightly plumper than his. Pale pink, circular and inviting with the way his tongue darted out and wetted them nervously.

"How does me liking olives make it worth it?" Newt whispered, swallowing thickly. As much as this moment made his insides swirl all warm, gooey; it also made him rightfully confused.

"Long story. I have one more question." Thomas moved closer, his voice dropping lowly, his eyes trained on Newt’s cupid-bow lips. Newt’s heart started beating faster, and Thomas — with his hand still on Newt’s wrist — would be a fool not to notice the uptick in his pulse.

Newt nodded, not trusting his vocal cords due to the tightness in his throat. Almost simultaneously, their eyes looked back up to meet. Thomas was shorter than Newt by two inches, and the sight was breathtaking. He looked through his eyelashes, and his free hand ghosted up Newt’s arm and landed soft on his shoulder.

Thomas started to toy with the collar of his flannel between his fingers, his eyes looking down at his own fingers with the fabric between them. His fingertips brushed faintly against Newt’s neck and the anticipation of Thomas’ dragged out question almost killed him.

"Can I kiss you?" Thomas’ words were whispered carefully, almost inaudible. But his face, so close that Newt felt his warm puffs of air, he heard it blissfully clear.

Newt brought his hand, the one that wasn’t being held by Thomas, and rested it delicately on the cusp of his neck and shoulder. Thomas studied his every move, and reacted when Newt nodded gingerly with a small smile.

With a tug on his wrist pulling him forward, their noses bumped together and Newt urged his head to tilt upwards by soothing his thumb up towards his jaw. Their eyes fluttered shut and their lips ghosting over one another’s, their hot breaths ghosting together in anticipation.

Thomas releases his hold on Newt’s wrist, and swiftly clasped his other hand on Newt’s jaw and pulled him closer to where their lips finally met in the middle. Newt breathed in deeply, contentedly.

His hand that was floating, unknowing, now made home on Thomas’ hip, smiling into the kiss. He tucked his index finger into the loops of his jeans, pulling him closer and flushing him against him. He used his hand to angel Thomas’ head to the side, the visor hat brushing against his forehead.

Thomas’ hand traveled from his shoulder and into his hair that he longed for, carding his fingers into the soft hair at the nape of his neck. It was just how he dreamed it, despite looking unbrushed and unkept all the time, it was soft and fragile to touch. The long-ish strands seeped through his fingers, his nails scraping against Newt’s scalp gently.

Newt hummed into the kiss, trying to pull Thomas impossibly closer. But when he soon remembered they were in a public coffee house — and his need for oxygen — he reluctantly pulled away slowly, not far, but just enough to get air flow.

"I’ll see you tonight?" Thomas mumbled, his lips leaving a fleeting touch to Newt’s own as he spoke. Opening his eyes, their eyelashes intertwining as they stared into eachothers soul.

"Yeah. Definitely." Newt smiled, Thomas’ hands slipping from his body as he pulled away. Soon the only touch between them was Newt’s hand on his neck, that only left for a moment before he pulled back the visor hat off his head.

Thomas watched adoringly as Newt used his other hand to brush his fingers through his own hair, before planting a feather light kiss on the crown of his head. Thomas’ mouth was opened ever so slightly, not saying a word as Newt placed his hat back on his head. "Sorry. Been wantin’ to do that for a while."

"Yeah. Me too." Thomas responds dumbly, smiling up at him, his cheeks dusted rosy. Newt shook his head amusingly, patting Thomas on the shoulder.

Thomas watched him walk away with the cocoon of butterflies that had waited weeks to erupt flutter around his stomach, their wings vibrating against the lining causing a pleaser hum throughout his body.

Minho was definitely right when he said he was so gone for Newt.

Almost two minutes later he got a text, and he opened his phone that sat snug in his back pocket to read it. He smiled warmly when it was from an unknown number, and the sentence that came with it only made him smile even wider.

You never told me what the olive thing was about?

"You kissed him?!" Minho shrieked, whipping around from where he was styling his hair in the mirror; facing Thomas who sat giddy on the latters bed.

As soon as their shift ended, Thomas had told Minho that Teresa and Newt would be joining them to The Glade — And also that they were going to The Glade tonight. Minho didn’t complain for one second, the upbeat, relaxed bar was his safe haven, aswell as Thomas’.

But what Tom failed to tell Minho until the last second, was that he and Newt shared a very brief kiss in Runner’s. Although it didn’t feel as short as it was, to Thomas, that soft touch of lips lasted days. Weeks, months years — an eternity.

When he flapped his fingers back and forth like wings — another stimulus he picked up — he could still feel Newt’s delicate, fluffy golden locks. He could still feel the buzz on his lips, a ghost of his love. And the ecstasy that flew through his veins never faltered, only stilling and leaving a giddy tingle in a sheet over his body. Especially on his forehead, where his fingers had briefly brushed against when he moved his hair out of his face to press the firm kiss to his forehead.

"Yeah. I saw him go to leave and I don’t know I acted on impulse." Thomas shrugged, scratching at his wrist as he made eye contact with Minho in his mirror.

"What a shock!" Minho smiles sarcastically, chuckling softly when Thomas flips him off in return. "Did you ask if he liked olives?" Minho asked, knowing his friend.

"Yeah, he loves them." Thomas smiles, and Minho lets out a cheesy grin as he turns around and leans against the stack of drawers with a laugh; folding his arms over his middle.

"I’m impressed, Tomboy. He seems to tick all the boxes." Minho then started to laugh to himself, amusedly, the same Newt had done when he pictured Thomas singing.

"What?" Thomas questioned, self consciousness digging its wicked fingers into the grooves of his brain.

"Did you seriously geek out about How I Met Your Mother before kissing the poor bastard? And continue to do so over text once he left?" Minho tried repressing his laughter, but the situation deemed itself too hilarious to not.

"In my defence, he asked. And you know me, I can’t seem to shut the f*ck up."

"Understatement of the god damn year." Minho mumbled, yet Thomas heard it as if he was speaking right beside his ear. He scoffed, standing up.

"Also, I let him rant to me about the book he’s reading." Thomas ran his fingers through his untameable hair, against Minho as they stared at their reflections.

"It’s honestly quite depressing." Thomas says, "It worries me." His pin-straight lips turn into a frown, Minho raises an eyebrow; fixing the buttons on his dark purple button down.

"Why?"

"Because," He sighs, dropping his hands from his hair to his hips, "Based on what he told me, it’s super depressing." Thomas says, pausing for a second, "As in; the woman who was writing it wanted to die. Killed herself a week after publishing by sticking her head in an oven." His voice is quiet, and his mind thinking repeatedly over what singular thought clouded his mind.

"And why does that worry you? He’s into dark sh*t, so what?"

"The thing is," Thomas huffed at Minhos dismissal, "he sounds like he relates to it, Minho. The way he talks about it it’s like .. he understands." His voice is defeated, sadness and the familiar need to protect seeps into his veins and bleeds out into his mouth; staining his teeth and weaving into his words.

"Thomas," Minho begins, seemingly noticing the brunettes deflate, "You don’t need to worry about that. Not now, atleast. And definitely not right before this double date." Thomas scoffs at that.

"How many times to I have to remind you that she’s a lesbian? No co*cks, especially not yours. Boobies, Minho, boobies! Does she have to walk out, dressed in red, orange, white, pink and purple just to get it through your thick skull? Or does she have to be physically inside of a girl?" Thomas’ words drip with exhaustion, tiredness and straight up annoyance. Minho rolls his eyes.

"I’m kidding. I know she’s into chicks, and not my dick — Hey, look! I’m a poet and I didn’t even know it!" Thomas shoves his shoulder, eliciting a laugh out of him.

"Okay! What I’m saying is, I won’t make any moves on her. I’m a respectful gentleman. But it’s nice to see you’re so protective of Newt’s best friend." Minho smiles, grabbing his cologne from the futuristic looking side table.

"He cares about her more than he seems to care about himself. It feels like an obligation to protect Teresa, too." Thomas explains, "Also, she seems pretty cool."

"I bet. But, seriously, Thomas; don’t worry about him. I’m sure it’s nothing. I just want this night to be perfect for you. You’ve been miserably pining over this bastard since you first laid eyes on him." Minho laughed at his own words breathily, placing the cologne back down after spraying himself.

Thomas blushes at his words, no matter how painstakingly true they are, he’s still embarrassed how he let himself fall so fast he’s already overprotective and worrying about Newt’s every move.

"So, push that worry down, and let’s have ourselves a f*cking great time and burn our throats raw singing." Minho fixed the buttons on Thomas’ black henley, brushing his shoulders clean.

"Okay." Thomas sighed, closing his eyes and calming himself, "Let’s go." Thomas started to walk out of the room, knowing Minho was following and made his way towards their kitchen and leaned against the modern counters & pulled out his phone.

we r heading out now! :)

Thomas puts his phone back in his pocket after sending the message, hearing Minho yell from the front door that he’s about to leave without him. Inpatient little sh*t.

He pulls his hoodie off the rack by the door, slipping it on as he slides past Minho, scowling. "I was just texting him to get moving, don’t get your panties in a twist."

Minho laughs without any trace of humour, rolling his eyes and locking the door. They live on the sixth floor, so they pack themselves into the reasonable sized elevator as they started talking about who was the worst customer today. Just to drown out the sound of the forever haunting elevator music.

When Thomas slides into Minho’s BMW, his phone pings in his pocket. Doing up his seatbelt with one hand, he pulls his phone out to check the notification. ‘Newt<3’ is in bold letters and he unknowingly smiles to himself.

Me and Resa just walked out the door. ( She sure takes her damn time.) Anyway, what do we do when we get there? Not to sound like a prude but i’ve never had to sneak into a bar. Being of age in England and all.

Thomas laughs softly at his inexperience, hearing the sound ofSilver Springsby Fleetwood Macplay quietly from the speakers of Minhos car.

wait by the side of the bar and we will b there as soooqn as possisble!! :P

He gets another message quickly complaining about his spelling — ‘Can definitely tell you dropped out of school, Tommy’ — and agreeing to what the message was actually was about. The rest of the drive is filled of Thomas and Minho singing along to the lyrics of I Love It by Icona Pop, Sexy Drug by Falling In Reverse and Party In The USA by Miley Cyrus.

His and Minhos music taste consists of their favourite songs from the 2010’s to the 90’s. From Pop to Rap to Indie; their music taste doesn’t falter from that small decade. It’s usually old pop songs that you’d hear in clubs during that time, and despite the amount of complaints from their friends to listen to new, trending songs they adamantly refuse.

No matter how many times Aris, Brenda and Alby call them cringe.

"You look like you’re about to sh*t yourself." Teresa comments, smiling a sh*t eating grin as she leans against the brick corner-wall of the bar. Luckily, the bouncer hadn’t noticed them sneak around to the side nor questioned them.

"Shut up, I’m nervous." Newt sighs, taking another drag of his cigarette. He runs his hand through his hair for the umpteenth time, letting the smoke sit in his lungs for a moment.

"Yeah, I can tell. Why?" Teresa questions, plucking the cigarette from Newt’s fingers and wrapping her lips around it; staining the stick with a rim of red lipstick.

Newt blows out the grey smoke, watching as the cold air whisks it away into the night sky with ease. He leans his head back against the wall, tapping his foot and scratching as his nails. Teresa watches him expectantly, flicking the ash off the cig.

"I can’t believe I’m on a date with him, T. It’s crazy and I’m totally gonna screw it up." Newt sighs, quickly taking the cigarette back and taking a deep inhale; not caring about the lipstick stain that now rubs a faint red tint onto the inside of his pale lips.

"You’re not going to screw it up, Newt." Teresa calms, placing her hand on his shoulder, rubbing her thumb against the soft fabric of his baggy black hoodie.

For someone who was technically on a date, Newt didn’t exactly look the part. Baggy jeans with small rips, a plain white, loose shirt with a red flannel; and his hoodie pulled over the top to shield him from the crisp, autumn air.

He did try and brush his hair, but he soon regretted it when it fluffed up more than usual and kept its long shag. Teresa tried to help, putting half of his thick hair into a ponytail on the back of his head but he quickly took it out. He knew his hair was long, it curled around his neck and warmed him during the cold times; but it didn’t mean he loved the way Teresa played with it any chance she got.

Teresa on the other hand, had on a pair of low waisted, flared jeans, a belt covered in little gemstones that hung loose on her hips and her pink thong on show. While she had on a crop tank-top with three strawberries in the centre and her signature wine red cropped jacket. It shows off the black piercing in her navel.

Newt is almost 100% sure Teresa is going to end up going to some girls apartment because he knows how hot she look. He’s just glad it won’t be to their apartment, as he’s once again, almost 100% sure that nobody could have sex in their cramped apartment and their single beds.

"He’s, like, totally inlove with you based of what you told me. " Teresa smiles up at him, and Newt can’t fight back the smile that climbs onto his lips.

"I guess you’re right." As he speaks, the smoke slips from the barrier of his teeth and rolls out his lips and fades into nothing; curling into the sky. "I don’t think I could screw it up if I tried." He smirks.

"Ugh, sometimes I forget how big your ego is. I don’t need Thomas to fill it any more or you’ll be insufferable." Teresa recoils from him, snatching the end of the cigarette and taking the last intake you possibly could before stomping it out on the ground with her heavy Doctor Martins.

"He’s already done that, Resa. He’s so sweet. And hot. Have I said that yet?" He teases, smirking down at her and relishing in the pure disgust on her face. "You’ve said that too many f*cking times! I get it! You want to be in his pants." Teresa clamps her hands over her ears childishly, and Newt just laughs.

"I love you, Resa." His words are soft, blending into his breathy laugh as he wraps both his arms around her neck and pulls her into his chest.

She mocks protest for a short while until she soaks into the hug, wrapping her arms around his middle and resting her cheek against his sternum. "You’re still a dick." Her voice is muffled by Newt’s hoodie, and he nods in agreement resting his chin atop of her head.

"I know." He smiles, "It’s my best feature." Teresa shoves him away at the innuendo, making a sound of disgust that’s overthrown by Newt’s bubbling laughter.

"Gross!"

"What did Newt do now?" The two jump, seeing Minho and Thomas walking up to them with grins on their faces.

"He made joke about his penis." Teresa complains, the grossed look never leaving her face as she looks anywhere but Newts sh*t-eating face. "Oh? What about?" Minho asks, smirking at Thomas.

"He said his penis was his best feature! Which is gross! And not true!" Teresa groans, almost whining childishly. Newt just shrugs an arm around her shoulder.

"Thomas can be the judge of that." Minho nudges the brunette with his arm, and red hot blush scorches Thomas’ cheeks. Teresa finally laughs, looking up to see Newt’s wide eyed and pink face.

"Let’s just — let’s just go in." Thomas mumbles, shoving past Minho, grabbing Newts hand and walking them further into the alleyway. Teresa and Minho trail behind them.

"So how exactly are we getting into this place?" Teresa questions, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth. When of course, Minho decides to swing an arm around her shoulder.

"Well, pretty lady, our friend is a bartender here and she sneaks us in." Minho smiles down at her, akin to the cheshire cat, which makes Teresa scoff and turn away.

"Great." She notes, rolling back her shoulders to give Minho a subtle sign she doesn’t want his arm there. He just smirks and looks away; the little sh*t.

Thomas looks behind him and shakes his head, pulling Newt closer by his hand to whisper into his ear; "I’m so, so sorry if Minho makes Teresa uncomfortable. He knows she’s a lesbian he just likes being a dick."

Newt follows his eyeline, noticing Teresa’s arms are still hugged around herself and her head is turned and faced away from Minho while he is rambling about something or other; urging Resa to look his way. Newt rolls his eyes, his eyes meeting Thomas’ with a now softer look.

"She’s a big girl, Tommy, she can handle herself. And if Minho is really making her uncomfortable she could easily kick his ass." Newt speaks with a fond smile, looking infront of him; the alleyway pretty long and goes quite far back.

"Really?" Thomas’ tone says he doesn’t believe it, "Minho’s practically a body builder." Thomas snorts, and Newt turns and gives Minho a one over before shrugging.

"You underestimate Teresa." He says simply, and offers no backstory to his words, as they’ve arrived at the slick black door around the back of the bar. Through the thick bricks he can hear the booming of music, and the shrill sound of drunk voices looming over it.

Thomas knocks in a rhythmic pattern and they wait approximately twelve seconds before the door swings in, the music now loud in their ears and before them stands a girl. About 5’3, with short brunette hair tied into a bun with a few strands framing her face. Tan skin, big brown eyes and long eyelashes. She’s unmistakably gorgeous, and when he turns to look at Teresa, she seems to agree.

She’s staring at the bartender with wide eyes, and pink lays beneath her freckles; and immediately — and aggressively so — shoves Minhos arm off from around her shoulders. The bartender is wearing tight black jeans and a matching black button up, and as Newt squints his eyes he sees her name tag reads Brenda.

"Hey, Thomas." Brenda smiles, her voice drips in a warm, smooth hispanic accent that’s been ever-so-slightly watered down by her time in America.

Her eyes trail towards where Newt and Teresa have subconsciously herded together, and he notes how her eyes linger on Teresa for a longer moment necessary. And the way her smile turns up when she looks her over. "I see you’ve brought friends." Her gaze lingers on Teresa, and Teresa’s lips smile sheepishly.

"Yeah! This is Newt — my date — and this is Teresa, his best friend." Newt blushes at the casual mention of him being Thomas’ date, giving Brenda a smile.

Teresa, on the other hand, stupidly raises her hand and waves at Brenda as if she isn’t a foot infront of her. She has a shy smile on her face, very different towards her natural charm and boldness. Newt doesn’t think he’s ever seen her this sheepish before.

"And I’m here? You didn’t even say hi to me, Brends!" Minho complains, and Brenda just shrugs, not caring. "You annoy me." She responds simply, before turning back to Thomas; ignoring the way Minho scoffed.

"Come on." She tilts her head back, already beginning to walk through the dimly lit back, and the four immediately follow. Brenda leads them down a corridor, before pushing open another black door that leads them to the bar.

Once inside, Newt takes a look around and is pretty awestruck. Multiple records and CD’s hang on the wall as decoration, along with plaques and posters from different bands and singers. The walls and floor are wooden planks, all rustic and worn in. The walls are maroon while the floor’s a light linen. In the far corner, there’s a stage — again, made from wood — with two microphones and a projector behind it.

Beside it has a desk with a laptop connected to two speakers that stand either side of the wooden stage, and their other friend Alby sits at the spinny seat; smiling amusedly as a drunk man sing ‘What’s My Age Again?’ by Blink-182.

Around the edges of the bar sit booths, all cushioned and red, with mahogany tables and coasters in the shapes of vinyls. Dotted around the centre is a few circular tables ranging from two to four seats around them. And then, of course, where they’re standing is the bar with five stools spread across and two mixologists already working hard.

The two send weary looks towards them, but Brenda just gives them a warning look and they just go back to making the fruity co*cktails and passing out cold bottles of beer.

"I reserved you guys a booth when Thomas told me you were coming." Brenda turns around, giving them all a smirk as she once again leads them towards a small booth in the back of the bar.

Newt assumes she did that so nobody could really get a good look at them and notice their slightly youthful faces. Newt thanks her silently, as he’s well aware of his angel face that usually gets grandmas pinching at his cheeks.

Brenda plucks a little ‘Reserved’ sign from the centre of the table, moving out the way so the four can slide into their seats. Newt and Teresa slide into the side facing away from the stage while Thomas and Minho choose the latter. Thomas and Newt are opposite each-other beside the wall. .

"So, what can I get ya?" Brenda takes out a notepad from her back pocket along with a green pencil, amusing her friends with her lack of professionalism.

"I’ll just have a beer." Minho orders, winking at Brenda in the process. That guy seems to flirt with anything that moves, and seems to lack a gland in his brain where shame should be stored.

"Disaronno and diet co*ke." Thomas smiles politely, and Brenda shakes her head and grins because, well, he orders the same thing every time.

"Do you do mudslides here?" Teresa requests, and Brenda smile softens as she looks up from the paper; a certain something twinkling in her eyes as they connect with Teresa’s piercing blue ones.

"They’re not on the menu, but I think I can make an exception for such a pretty face." Brenda flirts, writing down Teresa’s order. But not before letting her eyes linger across Teresa’s whole face and body; making her interest known.

Heat consumes Teresa’s cheeks as she sinks down slightly in her seat, looking over at Newt with wide eyes. He just stared back at her with raised, proud eyebrows.

"And for Thomas’ gentleman?" Brenda jokes, earning a glare from Thomas as Newt fumbles to scan over the menu again.

"Blue lagoon." He states, handing the menu over to Brenda. She takes it graciously, sticking it under her arm as she scribbles down Newt’s order.

"I’ll be back in a jiff." She then walks back over to the bar, and suddenly all eyes are cast on Teresa.

"What?" She asks, looking between everyone’s faces. From Newt’s proud smile, Thomas’ wide eyes and Minhos wide grin. "Is my lipstick smudged?"

"No, you idiot! She was totally flirting with you!" Newt flicks her shoulder, "Go up to the bar and flirt with her." Teresa scoffs at his words, shaking her head.

"Maybe once I’ve gotten alcohol in my system." She says, looking over her shoulder at the bar. Her eyes linger on Brenda, and especially her rolled up sleeves showing off her toned arm muscles as she shakes the shaker in the air.

"She is really attractive." Teresa sighs, placing her head in her hands on the table, leaving Thomas confused.

"So? Why are you upset? She’s hot and into you isn’t that a good thing?"

"Yes, but I don’t have time for dating right now." Teresa frowns, and Newt all but groans and slaps her across the shoulder, catching the other threes attention.

"That is such bullsh*t, Resa, and you know it. You’re just scared. So, when your mudslide gets there, try not to get a brain freeze, chug it and go flirt with her!" Newt advises, and Teresa looks at him completely unimpressed. "Hypocrite." She whispers, looking him dead in the eyes.

"Shut up." Newt shoves her sillily, finally glancing back over at the two other boys on the opposite side of the table.

"I agree with him, Teresa. You should totally go for it. But not before you and Newt give me a little show." All three eyes turn to him with their eyes wide, their minds in the gutter and Thomas’ dignity in there with it.

"No! N-No! Not — you guys are gross! I meant Newt told me that she and him could sing Bring Me To Life by Evenescence and I wanna hear it before you do any of that flirting!" Thomas flushed from embarrassment, stumbling over his words as the others just laugh at his misery.

Except for Teresa.

"You told him about that?!" Teresa squeaks, turning back to Newt with shame clear on her face. "Yep. And once we get properly pissed, we are doing it!" Newt smiles, looking behind Teresa’s head to see Brenda walking over with their drinks on a platter.

"No way." Teresa states, "I’ll bet you $50 that I won’t do it there’s no way in hell." Newt just gives her a look. She shakes her head stubbornly; "No."

The next day, Teresa ends up giving him $50. Because after her Mudslide comes a p*rnstar Martini and after that a round of Jägerbomb shots for the table. And, suddenly, Newt and Teresa have slipped off their hoodies and are standing — unstably, for that matter — behind the microphones as Alby gets up the karaoke version of Bring Me To Life.

"I’m so excited for this." Thomas slurs his words, because he, too, is three co*cktails and a shot into the night, and stumbles to pull his phone out his pocket to record the trainwreck.

"They’re gonna suck so hard!" Minho laughs, his breath wafting of cheap beer as he leans close to Thomas. The two laugh drunkenly, the intro to the song filling the room and multiple eyes dart towards Newt and Teresa on the stage.

It doesn’t take long for Teresa to start singing into the microphone. Admit-ably, her voice is good. Slurred with the alcohol in her system, so it’s definitely not at its best. And especially with the slow of the song in the beginning, and the way she keeps giggling whenever she glances back at Newt beside her.

The shame and self consciousness that would be eating the duo alive disintegrates with their sobriety, and when the chorus comes along and Newts deep, drunken voice swoops into Thomas’ eardrums; he’s all captivates and flushed. Teresa and Newt seem to be only singing to eachother, staring at eachother as they yell the lyrics back and forth.

They look to be having the time of their life and Thomas is so glad he decided to record this. Because when Teresa goes to sing again, Newt turns towards Thomas and in the light shining from the ceiling, Newt is illuminated in a white glow. His cheeks are red, his breathing is taking its time slowing down and he gives Thomas this lopsided out of breath grin. And then, Thomas is really glad he brought out his phone.

If he zooms in on Newt half the time, nobody has to know.

When the song ends, Teresa and Newt crash into eachother and he spins her around with one arm wrapped around her back and the other still clinging to the microphone stand. Their laughs are heard through the speakers, and little claps can be heard from around the bar.

Minho whoops from beside him, holding up his beer in a ‘cheers’as Thomas stops recording and starts to cheer along with Minho. The two stumble down the stage, falling into the booth with heavy breathing and dumbly wide smiles.

"How’d that do, Tommy? Live up to your expectations?" Newt slurs, placing a hand on Thomas’ cheek and leaning close for comfort.

Thomas learnt very quickly that when Newt was drunk, he was extra affectionate and bubbly; a striking contrast to his regular personality. His voice gets groggier and way more accented. He speaks like he just came from England, using words that Thomas is sure he’s never heard before.

Thomas knows that himself drunk is giggly, blabber-mouthy and tragically lustful. That last one only comes along when he’s a good five co*cktails in. Lucky for him, he’s only had a whopping three.

"Definitely! You looked really hot!" Okay, maybe that last shot got him a little further than he expected. Newt raises an eyebrow, a sickly sweet smile making its way to his face; the kind that crinkles his eyes at the sides and makes him look irresistibly gorgeous.

"Aww! Thanks, Tommy!" Newt practically coos, placing his other hand on his other cheek and sloppily kisses him on the lips. Thomas practically melts, his hands balling a fist into Newt’s t-shirt and the other looping around his jeans belt loops.

"G-Gross!" Minho mumbles through a hiccup. Sadly, as Minho hates to admit, when he’s drunk he’s loopy, spaced out and almost falling asleep in his chair most of the time.

However, Minhos quiet protest goes unless as Thomas continues to kiss Newt hard, his hand making its way up to the back of his head and holding, pulling him impossibly closer. The table infront of them is a curve ball, and soon Thomas’ neck becomes undeniably uncomfortable so he pulls away. A small whine falls from the parting in Newt’s lips, and Thomas thinks himself and his groin won’t forget that for a while.

"Dude! Let’s go sing!" Minho lazily grabs at Thomas’ arm from the other end of the table, and Thomas lights up. "f*ck yeah!" Thomas nudges Newt’s side to let him out, and the blonde does so with a giddy smile.

"You’re gonna do so — so good!" Newt cradles Thomas’ face once again, and his beautiful brown eyes are almost fully taken over by his dilated pupils. Newt stared at Thomas like he hung the stars, his thumbs rubbing gently down his cheekbones.

"I f*ckin’ know I will!" Thomas laughs airly, leaning up and capturing a quick kiss on Newt’s lips. "You just watch!" Newt’s smile only widens as he watches Thomas and Minho jog towards Alby.

"You’re so, stupidly inlove." Teresa comments, surprising Newt as she walks up from where she had somehow managed to sneak off to the bar.

"Oh, bugger off." Newt scowls, taking the drink from Teresa’s hand and inspecting it; he knows he hasn’t ordered it before.

"Resa.. what is this?" He asks suspiciously, sitting down next to her. She just smiled sweetly, sipping at her Mudslide.

"Oh, uhm, just a Disaronno and Diet co*ke. You know, the thing Thomas was drinking earlier." If Newt was sober, he would’ve easily detected the stifle of laughter in her voice and the way her smile was way too wide.

But, in his current state of blissful joy and inhibition, the colour of the drink is close enough to the colour of what Thomas ordered. So, in his current state of blissful joy and inhibition, he takes a sip. And in retrospect, he should’ve cared when he could barely taste the Cola and more so a combination of bitter alcohol, but he didn’t.

All Newt registers it that it tastes surprisingly good, and he doesn’t think to question the sh*t-eating grin that pulls along Teresa’s lips and casts his eyes up towards the stage where Minho and Thomas stand before the microphones.

Newt almost burst out laughing when he hears the intro music toKiss Me Thru The Phone by SouljaBoy,gaping in shock when Minho and Thomas start — very badly — belting out the lyrics.

As he sings, Thomas points and stares at Newt with a dopey smile on his face. And Newt things it’s the stupidest, cringiest most sweet, silly thing anyone has every done for him. He laughs as he amusedly watches, sipping happily on his drink.

He’s so distracted by Thomas he doesn’t even notice when he finishes the drink, and his vision is way more impaired and everything seems more calming and slow. A lazy smile spreads across his face as he watches Thomas and Minho bow infront of the audience who claps for them.

"That was so bad!" Teresa beams at them, giggling with whipped cream spread across her lips, and the two smile down at her; sliding back into their seats.

"Why thank you, M’lady!" Minho lays an arm around the back of the booth, and Teresa can’t find it in herself to care or shove him off her.

"I think we did pretty good, huh?" Thomas turns to Newt, who seems off in his own world as he stares dizzily into the side of Thomas’ face; his head tilted to the side like a golden retriever.

"Oh, my God! I know what — I know what I need to do!" Newt yells, snapping out of whatever day dream he was having as he stared at the side of Thomas’ face.

Thomas notes how his accent — if possible — got even stronger and his body language is more gangly; his movements lazy and his smile dazed.

"What are you gonna do, Newtie?" Teresa asks, almost expectantly, smiling up and Newt with a sneaky smile. Newt just beams, leaning down and capturing her cheeks between his hands.

"Oh, Teresa. Sweet, sweet, innocent, beautiful, Teresa." Newt shakes her head back and forth, leaning close and smiling down at her so giddily it’s sickeningly sweet. "I’m gonna go sing!" He places a chaste kiss on her forehead before pulling away and looking at Thomas.

"And it’s for you, you fit bastard!" Newt grins, leaning forward and pressing a quick, yet passionate, kiss to his lips.

They all watched slightly dazed as Newt stumbles towards Alby, bumping into bartenders, tables and chairs on his way.

"Oh, my God. I’d forgotten how much he’d drunk." Teresa bursts out into laughter, waving her hand in the air to try console herself. "Oh, God, Teresa what did you do?" Thomas asks, concerned.

"I — I told him that I got him a Disaronno and co*ke but I got him a Long Island Iced Tea!" She spills, and it takes them a while but the others burst out in laughter when realising how much alcohol Newt had just consumed in a small three minutes.

The guilt that Teresa fills easily fades away when the beginning of Wonderwall by Oasis starts playing through the speakers and Newt screams the lyrics into the microphone. All accented and deep, and maybe it’s because it’s his fourth drink, but it’s hot. Thomas knew very well what a British accent did to him, even before Newt, and with the alcohol swooning through his system it had become stronger.

Newt ends up staying up there for a while. Refusing to come down until he’s belted out the lyrics to — what he claims — ‘British Bangers.’Which just include: Mr. Brightside, Sweet Caroline, Song 2 and Don’t You Want Meuntil he’s successfully dragged down by Thomas and into an empty corner out of sight.

"Did you like my singin’, Tommy?" Newt asks, voice all broken and gruff from singing, and Thomas just responds by smashing his lips against the blonde.

Seeing him use his lips against the microphone for fifteen painstaking minutes as he sung was almost torture, every single song enunciating the beauty of his accent and his authentic self played with something deep inside Thomas and after that final song he couldn’t help himself. He hates to be such a stereotypical American, but that accent does wonders.

In all fairness, none of the songs were relatively ‘sexy’ except from that one by Blur, but Thomas managed to find anything Newt did somewhat attractive. And all the drinks in his system did him justice.

Now, Thomas wasn’t one for making out in public, despite their first kiss being inside the coffee shop. So he pulls back with all self control, still in Newts personal space and his forehead rested against his. There’s enough space between them for Thomas to lean up and push back Newt’s sweaty blonde fringe from his forehead.

"You wanna get out of here?" Thomas whispers softly, eyes wide with lust, his hand firm against the junction between Newt’s jaw and neck and brushing through his hair; fixing it from where he tasseled it from all his jumping around when singing.

Newt holds Thomas by the nape of his neck, one hand fiddling with the opened buttons on his henley, staring in a trance at the dark hair that slips past the hem. He licks his lips before replying.

"I don’t usually put out on the first date. Especially when they’re not my boyfriend." He looks up at Thomas, who’s staring at him like he’s a fallen angel from above. Like he painted the stars with the tips of his fingers and sketched the sun and moon with his paint slicked brush.

"Well," Thomas swallows, his eyes trained on Newt’s well-kissed lips, "It’s a good thing I really want you to be my boyfriend." Thomas whispers, and Newt hears it perfectly. As if his state of drunkenness is muffling his words, and as if music isn’t bouncing off every surface in the place.

Suddenly he feels as sober as a nun, and he’s crashing their lips back together and pressing their bodies together like it was the solution of the universe. Like had had just figured out his lifelong destiny, kissing Thomas like it was his last day on earth. The kiss goes from rough and passionate, from sweet and soft.

Newt kisses him gently a few times after he fully pulls back, looking up at Thomas with pure, gentle unsaid love swirling in the lust-sick iris’ of his dark eyes. "I’d be a bloody twat to say no, Tommy."

The need since they first met — the need Thomas felt to kiss him until his lungs begged for air, until Newt forgotten about anything expect him — rushed back and curled into a hot ball of lead in his stomach. Everything around him came crushing down, every ounce of self respect left him as he met Newt in the middle of a firm press of lips.

He learned every inch of Newt’s mouth, noting it down and storing it into a section of his brain, every crevice and how warm and good it felt against him. He memorised the tempo and vibration of every sound he made against his skin as he kissed down from his cheek to his neck.

"I’m .. I’m gonna call a cab." Thomas mumbles, his left hand fisting into Newt’s hair as he sucks a mark onto the nook of his neck. Newt just nods, slipping his soft fingers up Thomas’ shirt and rubbing gentle circles into his hipbone.

Thomas almost forgets what he’s doing, leaning his head against the wall behind him. Until Newt’s low voice vibrates against his earlobe reminding him to ‘Call the bloody taxi.’

Their insecurities and worries stay gone when they pile into the back of the cab, forgetting all about seatbelts when they pull and tug onto each-others clothes, sloppily making out, only stopping for Thomas to tell the poor, blushing boy his address.

It stays that way out the car and into the lobby, pushing eachother against the walls of the elevator all tongue and teeth as they wait to arrive to Thomas’ apartment. The alcohol blurring everything together. The way Thomas runs his hand through Newt’s hair as he kisses and licks down his neck, his hand exploring down south as he pins him against the door of his bedroom; not even making it that far before he couldn’t resist.

The way Thomas gains strength and pushes Newt away far enough to kick open his own door and drag Newt towards his bed by his t-shirt fisted into his hands, pulling him against him on the bed. Thomas remembers the way Newt trembled underneath him, how he breathed heavily above him and how he kissed down all the way from doting on his forehead to kissing against his navel teasingly.

Every sound, every touch and every sweet nothing exchanged between them is savoured as Thomas sinks into the plush pillow, his fingers curling into his soft bedsheets as he makes noises he wasn’t even sure was humanly possible as Newt kisses against his earlobe.

He remembers the way Newt scratches down his back achingly as he touches him, and the facial expressions are permanently etched into his mind. Practically framed in gold against his skull, moulded in precious porcelain in the deep crevices of his brain.

But, the soft kisses and warm touches shared after are the most intimate. Silent and pure, smiling giddily wrapped in the afterglow, running their hands down each others sides as they stare lovingly into each others eyes.

Thomas melts at the view of Newt going towards his drawers, picking out baggy, black basketball shorts and a long Spiderman sleeping shirt. Thomas just tugs back on his Calvin Kleins, sitting up and pushing his legs over the bed. Newt smiled over at him and walks between his legs, craning Thomas’ head up to look at him by placing his hands softly behind his neck.

"You’re so beautiful." Newt praises, mumbled, running the tip of his index finger from one mole to the other, and Thomas stares up at him with adoration clouding over his vision.

Thomas can’t even fathom up any words to describe how he feels, because nothing seems good enough. Nothing could describe the pull and squeeze of his heart anytime he sees Newt — thinks about Newt — there’s no single word in the english dialect that could describe Newt, Thomas thinks. He’s more than the language, he’s more than anyone. He’s extraterrestrial in his beauty, that nothing could work.

So, instead, Thomas just leans up and connects their lips; hoping to convey everything he’s feeling in his mind through that. Hoping that every thought and feelings bleeds through their connected lips and touch.

He wakes up to Newt sleeping deeply on his stomach, his arms wrapped around one of Thomas’ pillows on his double bed. His face his squished against the pillow, and Thomas doesn’t think he’s ever felt so happy.

Thomas feels so giddy in his wake he doesn’t even realise his pounding headache. Or the fact that he and Newt left Teresa and Minho at the bar, and the fact that his and Newt’s phones have been left with a shared amount of missed calls and frantic text messages.

His most recent one is from Minho, reading: ‘Nevermind, came in and saw you ugly shanks curled up under the blanket. Gross. Smells of sex in there, so better spray some deodorant and have a shower baby! Congrats on getting some!’

Thomas makes sure to slap him upside the head as soon as he takes a long, cold shower.

Newt and Thomas are dating for four weeks before the inevitable. And by ‘the inevitable’, Newt means that question that he always tries to avoid for as long as he can. They’re cuddling on Thomas’ bed, topless and under the covers. Doting over each others features when Thomas manages to get to his legs. And that’s when.

"Hey, Newt? How did you get your limp?"

That damn question. Newt visibly freezes, his hand stopping suddenly from where it was rubbing against Thomas’ side. And, obviously, his face contorts with the discomfort he feels in his chest because Thomas notices. Thomas always notices.

"I’m sorry — I just — wanted to know? f*ck, I’m sorry, I’m too curious for my own good. You don’t have to tell me, not if you don’t want to." Thomas apologises quickly, stumbling over his own words.

He almost sounds sad towards the end, as if his voice is saying ‘You don’t trust me.’ And Newt breaks. Newt loves Thomas so much, so much it almost scares him sometimes. Because they’ve known eachother so little, yet it feels like their souls have been entwined for years.

So, maybe one day he’ll tell him about the bridge. About the note, and the pain and all the suffering that came with it. Maybe one day he’ll tell Thomas how the wind felt whipping against him as he took that deep breath, final step and fell.

Maybe he’ll even try to explain what it feels like to hit hard, wet, jagged rock. To feel — to hear — his bone snap and pierced by brutal cobble. How the water washed ashore against the pebbles his head laid against, and how his last visions before the blackness was his own blood mixing into the clear, milky water of the salty stream.

Maybe one day he’ll tell Thomas about waking up in the blinding hospital surrounded by beeping, drug-induced contentment and giddiness and the broken faces of Teresa and Sonya.

Maybe one day he’ll tell him about the eternal pit that formed in his gut when he was told he would never walk the same again. Looking down at his mangled and bruised up leg, the other bandaged all the way up to his thigh in a white cast and being propped up high; Maybe he’ll even tell Thomas about how learning that fact made him wish he was successful.

Maybe one day he’ll tell him about the time he laid in his hospital bed, his head curled into his sisters lap as he weeped. His younger sister soothing him like he was the youthful, silent tears falling down her porcelain cheeks as she told him how ‘Bloody glad’ she was he stayed.

But there were more positive things. Maybe he’ll tell Thomas about how Teresa never left his side. How the girl slept curled up like a kitten in the soft, maroon sofa-chair in the corner of his room. About how he stayed in that bright white hospital for weeks, Teresa never letting him bore.

Board games, playing cards, television, colouring books and long, comforting conversations. Ones where Teresa promised Newt many things once he was free from the casts’ grasp. Teresa crying, clinging onto Newt akin to a Koala to a bamboo trunk, blubbering about how much he meant to her.

Ones where Teresa scolded him like the loving mother he wished he had, and ones where he wished she would just leave him alone. Those were most unlikely. The occasional chat where Newt reassured Teresa how deeply and truly he cared for her. How she saved him for as long as she could, beating off the unforgiving claws of the darkness for as long as possible before it utterly consumed him that one night.

Maybe he’ll tell him about the times where he and Teresa would play pranks on the doctors. How they giggled as they placed snake-in-a-can almonds on the front desks. How Teresa pushed him around in his wheelchair, going way too fast for any of the Doctors liking, making horrible impressions of a car engine as she swung them around sharp corners.

How she and Newt laughed loudly through the echoing halls of West County Hospital for two weeks before Newt’s leg was suited for crutches. Maybe he’ll tell Thomas about how he hugged Teresa bone-crushingly tight after he walked properly after multiple excruciating sessions of physio. How Teresa cried proudly and openly into his shoulder, rubbing his back in relief.

Maybe he’ll work up the courage to tell him about how she still arranged his pills, decorated them in butterfly stickers in a little pot in a cabinet above the microwave. How she lays them out beside his Snoopy coffee mug every day.

One Anti-Depressant, one Mood Stabiliser and two Xanax. Every day in the morning like clockwork. Maybe he’ll even tell Thomas that he was the inspiration for Teresa to take up psychology to become a therapist, to try help people before they end up in Newt’s situation.

But, for now, he decides to let that all slide. He pushes down each memory that threatens to chew its way through, scratching and whining to bleed into his chest and spread pain like wildfire.

His eyes meet Thomas’, and he just leans in and kisses him softly slow. He decides to just say f*ck it, because he’s been in so much pain for a good portion of his life, he deserves something good.

"I think I’m bloody in love with ya, Tommy." Newt whispers against his lips, and Thomas’ eyes graciously widen. "I know it’s soon, but — "

"I think I’m in love with you, too." Thomas whispers back quickly, "I love you so much." And he forgets about his earlier question, drowning in the sensation of Newts lips against his.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that. How he can kiss, touch, hug and admire Newt anytime he wanted. Even if it meant getting scolded by Minho for slacking off, or lectured by Teresa for distracting him during their precious ‘best friend time.’

But every single yell from his friends was worth it for the soft laugh and the warm smile that Newt gave him every time.

Everything was worth it for Newt, he figured.

Eventually, their ‘I think I love you’s turned into ‘I love you’s, and eventually, Thomas found out the real reason Newt had his limp. Nothing changed, absolutely nothing. Thomas didn’t treat him differently, he wasn’t overbearing, he wasn’t too protective and he wasn’t treating him like a glass figure that could break at a too-hard touch.

The only thing that changed was that during their good morning texts, Thomas reminded him to take his medication. And Thomas spend some days over the courses of months simply laying on Newt’s twin bed when an episode hit, pressing his front against Newt’s back with his hand brushing through his hair and sweet whispers into his ear as he pressed soft kisses to his skin. Using the pad of his thumb to wipe away tears and to help him eat, wash and get school work done.

Newt never felt so f*cking loved.

And, eventually, Teresa worked up the courage to go back to that karaoke bar. She, apparently — in her words — walked right around the back, copied Thomas’ special knock and as soon as Brenda opened the door pressed their lips together in a brief kiss. “And that was history!” Teresa tells them lovingly.

(They soon learned from Brenda that Teresa had done that, but forgot to mention her total freak out after and how she tried to run away, but ended up running into the brick wall and Brenda had to fix her up before kissing her better.)

And, Minho, was forever the third wheel.

What is it about you that has commandeered my brain? - stilessstilinskii - The Maze Runner Series (2024)

FAQs

What is the point of The Maze Runner series? ›

The ultimate goal of the Gladers is to find a way out of the Maze. To do so, certain Gladers called "Runners" venture into the Maze every day, to map it in an attempt to find a pattern in the Maze that would lead them to find an exit.

Get More Info Here ›

Who is Stiles in The Maze Runner? ›

Dylan Rhodes O'Brien (born August 26, 1991) is an American actor. His first major role was as Stiles Stilinski in the MTV supernatural series Teen Wolf (2011–2017). He achieved further prominence for his lead role in the science fiction Maze Runner trilogy (2014–2018), which led to more film appearances.

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What is the whole summary of The Maze Runner? ›

The story is set in a distant future, where a group of teens are mysteriously teleported into a giant, stone maze. Not only has their memory been cleared, but they also have no indication as to why they have ended up in this position and what means they must take to escape.

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Does Stiles Stilinski have PTSD? ›

The teen show Teen Wolf depicts a character named Stilinski (Stiles) who suffers from anxiety. Throughout the show, Stiles suffers from panic attacks resulting from PTSD and General Anxiety Disorder.

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Is Maze Runner ok for a 12 year old? ›

I'd recommend this series to readers 12 and older. Also, it is mostly appropriate for young readers. There is no profanity or sex, but there is a large amount of violence and gore, especially in The Scorch Trials, The Death Cure, and The Kill Order.

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Is Maze Runner 4 coming out? ›

Due to its current development status, Maze Runner 4's release date is unknown. Disney has never given the film a date on its schedule, even though the studio has releases mapped out through 2027. This might mean that the earliest Maze Runner 4 could be released is 2028.

Who did Stiles kiss? ›

Re-watching Teen Wolf and it hit me, stiles has kissed more girls than Scott. Scott's kissed Allison, Kira, Malia and Lydia (that one season one ep). Stiles has kissed Lydia, Malia, Cora(Hospital CPR), Kaitlyn ('Do you like boys? ' girl), and that one childhood friend who wanted to has sex with him.

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Who is Stiles wife? ›

In 1981, Stiles met Patricia McDonald at Punchlines where she was a waitress. They married in 1988. They have three children.

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Is Stiles a vampire? ›

Stiles is a vampire. In fact he's name is Mieczyslaw Mikaelson and he is an Original vampire. His past is one of the things he regrets the most, he was a ruthless monster, and let's not forget about him being a ripper.

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Is Maze Runner finished? ›

The Death Cure is the third and final installment in 20th Century's Maze Runner movie franchise.

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Is Maze Runner book ok for kids? ›

Who's (meant to be) reading it? Teens (ages 12 – 18) are the target audience, although many adults are reading these books right along with them. What's it about? It's one overarching story broken into three separate books, each with its own plot: The Maze Runner, The Scorch Trials, The Death Cure.

How did Maze Runner end? ›

The ending reveals that Thomas escapes with a vial of the cure for the Flare virus, but it becomes symbolic rather than crucial, as many survivors are already immune and no one is capable of harvesting the cure.

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What does Stiles have in his brain? ›

When Stiles was possessed by the Nogitsue he presented with many of the same symptoms as his mother with the terminal condition frontotemporal dementia. Frontotemporal dementia has an hereditary element, but it missed a generation in Stiles. This was proven when he had a brain scan which was negative.

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Who had a crush on Stiles? ›

Erica eventually reveals that she had a crush on Stiles for years, but just like Lydia didn't notice Stiles, Stiles didn't notice Erica.

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How smart is Stiles Stilinski? ›

For this reason, Stiles has good intuition that contributes quite a lot for he is generally referred to as the "brains" of the pack along with Lydia Martin. He is able to distinguish and recognize patterns with ease. When Kira was kidnaped, he was the first to decipher the clues and etc.

What is the main lesson of The Maze Runner? ›

The result of the research was there were some educational values in the "Maze Runner" novel found, it was never given up, self-confidence, friendly and be polite, love, forgiveness, optimism, help each other and responsible as a human society. And the most occurred was never give up and optimism.

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Why did Thomas create the Maze? ›

Thomas tells the Keepers that he and Teresa were manipulated into designing the Maze because they share the gift of telepathy. He convinces the others that he and Teresa are now in as much danger as them, but he knows the way out. Thomas tells them in order to escape, they have to jump through the Griever Hole.

What caused the virus in Maze Runner? ›

This virus was created by the Post-Flares Coalition as a means of population control. With most human society bound to fall in a state of disarray after the apocalyptic 2136 Solar Flares, the Coalition took it upon themselves to create the Flare Virus to painlessly kill the survivors.

Why was Thomas Blood the cure? ›

It is eventually revealed that Thomas' blood contains a unique enzyme that can destroy the Flare virus [2]. In "The Death Cure" film, Teresa, one of the main characters, uses a small fragment of Thomas' blood and observes under a microscope that it snaps a dark-red vein with the virus in it, effectively killing it [2].

What is it about you that has commandeered my brain? - stilessstilinskii - The Maze Runner Series (2024)

FAQs

What is the point of The Maze Runner series? ›

Is Maze Runner book ok for kids? ›