feel something ー a newtmas fanfiction

ch. 5

Thomas opened the door to find his aunt sitting at the counter, a coffee in hand.

"There you are," she stood from the stool and wrapped her arms around him, kissing his cheek.
"Where'd ya go, buddy?"

Thomas sat on the couch behind the stool she sat on before. He only looked at her.

"Let me guess...is it your spot?"

"My spot."

"Your spot," she smiled. "You know," she started making hand gestures. "The grass...the lake..the trees and the..."

"Ghosthouse."

"The Ghosthouse."

Thomas nodded slowly. "I go every night, Aunt Kim."

She sat down next to him, passing him a water bottle. "Why though, Thomas? Why that place..every night? I mean, there are better views in the city, especially the ones where you can actually see the whole city. Where you go, you're sort of staring at nothing. And for Christ's sake we're talking about a place known as 'The Ghosthouse'."

Thomas only shrugged and sipped his water.
"I like it. It's quiet. It's different."

Kimber raised her eyebrows. "We've got to get you some friends. I mean Thomas, it's summer. You're going to be a senior after this, you know. Summers won't really exist after that. You gotta put yourself out there and meet new people. You can even meet people who'll..go to The Ghosthouse with you if that makes you happy. You're supposed to be partying and hanging out way past curf-"

"I know."

"Listen Thomas...I know that what you went through..."

"I know."

"It was a lot; it was really a lot. But I-"

"I know."

"You have to move on, Thom-"

Thomas stood from his seat and headed straight for his room. He knew. He didn't need to hear it again. He knew he was weird. He knew what he had to do. He just couldn't. No matter what he tried, he couldn't. Aunt Kim, she only meant good, but no matter what she intended, could never understand that he just couldn't.

He changed into a navy t-shirt and gray sweatpants, then crawled into bed. His room was different than the one he had in April. Not only was it a different house entirely, but it'd went from a messy teenaged boy's with band posters and clutter everywhere to a neat, untouched guest room with two pictures on the wall. Him and Minho and him with both his parents.
    Thomas has changed a lot since then. He had seemed so bright and full of life in both pictures. In the photo of Minho and him, he had his hand ruffling the asian's quiff with a playful grin, while he only looked back at him in shock.
    Trina loved that photo, and Mark did too. It'd "sum up our relationship," they'd say, and it did.
    In the picture of him and his parents, Thomas was young. He was 7 years old, and on his father's shoulders. Thomas had fat cheeks and almost a bowl cut at the time, but his smile was the same as the one next to Minho. Trina was in the bright green grass, laughing just as brightly at Mark who made a goofy face as Thomas held his arms up like a plane.
    Thomas had definitely changed since then. Thomas couldn't even imagine feeling like that ever again. And he probably wouldn't.

    Thomas described it to his old therapist as drowning. It's sinking to the bottom of an infinite ocean and watching as the light of the sun slowly fades away. It hurts, and the pressure is extreme, but you can only watch as everything around you gets darker. And deeper. And farther down into an abyss of nothing. It's quiet, down in the ocean, but your head feels like it's about to explode. Almost as if the pit of the sea became space itself. And you don't have your helmet on. You can't scream because no one will hear you. You can't do anything about it. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

    Thomas closed his eyes and let himself sink into the mattress. He only now realized it was raining outside. The hard pitter-patter against his window and thunder every now and then put him on edge. He imagined the glass to break, making the room flood, and he surely would drown this time. His chest rose at a quicker pace, his body slowly began to quiver. He felt cold. He pulled on the blankets harder, whimpers releasing from his throat, but he was saved by a subtle DING DONG at the door.
    The boy's eyes flew open as he gasped for air,
Who in the hell is at the door at this time?

    He heard the conversation as his aunt opened the door.

    "S-Sorry to b-bother you so late," a shivering voice said. "I just m-moved here, but I d-don't really have a-"

    "Come in, dear. Get warm."
Of course she lets in a complete stranger.
"I can get you a towel and a cup of tea, if you'd like."

    Thomas assumed he nodded because he heard the kettle hum on the stove. His aunt came his way, and he quickly pretended to be asleep. She opened the door. "Thomas, I know you're awake. I just don't want to alarm you if you see a boy in the morning, Okay? ..and I'm sorry about earlier. I just...I'm sorry. I love you, I really do." She closed the door and headed to the washing room to get fresh, warm towels from the dryer.

    He felt an urge to get out and see this person who, could just as well be a murderer, stay the night. He'd prefer to see him act the part at least, before he's at the foot of his bed with a knife. Thomas sat up and headed for the hallway that trailed into the living room. His eyes took time to adjust to the light, for his aunt kept on every single one, then complained about the bill that came in by the end of the month, but froze when he could see clearly. On the couch, the one where he sat only a few moments ago, was the boy with golden hair, in his navy blue towel. Both the boys held a strange eye contact for a while, interrupted by his aunt.

    "Thomas! This is..." she looked at the boy, waiting for his response.

    Don't. Don't say it-

    "Newt," he finished, not taking his eyes off of Thomas, who did it he exact same.

    His aunt looked at them weirdly. "..Have you met before?"

    "N-Not really," Thomas answered quickly. "H-He was at the Ghosthouse tonight."

    Newt finally looked away and turned his attention to Kimber. "Ghosthouse?"

    Thomas realized he had an accent. He was taken back, and having a hard time finding words and saying them correctly.
"Th-The b-building you were at."

    "..Do you need this towel? I'm fine now, but you seem cold," Newt handed him the towel with a certain look on his face Thomas couldn't describe.

    Aunt Kimber butted in, "That wouldn't really work because it's already wet and would make him colder, but tell you what, Thomas, I'll bring you another towel and leave you two to it."

    Leave you two to it? Thomas questioned his strange aunt who left with a goofy smile on her lips.

A/N:
Oh my god, I really like aunt Kimber lmao SEE  ISN'T THIS GETTING EXCITING I SURE HOPE SO two chapters again in a day PLS COMMENT AND TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK LOVE YOU GUYS WOO HE KNOWS HIS NAME
Vey Much Love,
Author Frankie