ethereal ➻ newtmas

one ; B A S K E T C A S E

"I am fine," he repeats, softer, this time. He drops his legs and swings them instead, playing with his hands in his lap. It's awkward, now. Mr Hartman gives him a look that says 'okay, now tell me the truth' and Thomas just sighs.

"For me, I'm fine," he ends up blurting out, because Mr Hartman is cool in a way and understands. "Just a bit disoriented, as usual."

"You're not trying," Mr Hartman pushes, leaning forward onto his elbows. "I told you to try. To do your work - Thomas, we're not making progress here. I don't get why you've just given up on yourself. I know it's early in the morning but I've been meaning to talk to you for a while, now. When are you going to start living? Start preparing your future?"

"I don't have one," Thomas replies, rather bluntly. What's the point of this? He literally came in late and now he's getting a lecture on how he's throwing his life way? Fantastic.

"You do, Thomas. You're smarter than you think. You underestimate yourself so much - I just don't know why you won't give it a go. See the difference when you try to change for the better. I know things are hard, for you, but you've got to start working. Paying attention. You're sixteen, now. Almost seventeen, if I'm correct."

Starting to get angry, Thomas shoots the man a glare. "You don't know jack shit about me," he hisses, fiercely. "I'm not in the mood for this, Barry. Go find some other student to give a motivational speech to. In the meantime, I'm busy doing absolutely fucking nothing."

And with that, Thomas stands up and storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

T U E S D A Y

Today isn't much better.

Thomas is late, again, and Mr Hartman is waiting for him at the doors, giving him a funny smile that makes his stomach twist uncomfortably.

This time, Thomas tries not to get so angry. Back in the classroom, he's returned to the days previous position, swinging his legs sat on a desk. Mr Hartman has a class in fifteen minutes. He can last that long.

"You left before I could give you something," Barry Hartman says, kind eyes all over again. Thomas grunts.

"Whatever it is, I don't want it."

"Think of it as a peace offering. Something to look at when you're not feeling your best."

With that, he hands Thomas a keychain.

A fucking keychain.

"For your schoolbag!" He says, cheerfully. Thomas almost laughs at him. But he doesn't. He's not that bad.

"Thanks?" He murmurs, instead, and takes it from him. It's old, doesn't look clean. It's a tiny gold clock on a chain. It's rusty and looks like it was hidden in an attic for fifty years. Thomas wonders where the hell he got it from.

"You'll enjoy it," Mr Hartman says, with a wink. Thomas has no idea what that means.

He gets up to leave the classroom once again, calmer this time. Once he's out the door he hears the friendly male call out to him.

"Don't give up on yourself, Thomas! You have no idea what the future holds. Only time will tell...."

W E D N E S D A Y

Thomas has been feeling weird all day. The keychain has claimed its territory on the side of his navy schoolbag, looking out of place and odd. Thomas, like with everything else, doesn't care.

His gut has been having a weird feeling. Not like he's sick, or sore. He just feels weird. Like there's something nagging him. He's anxious, and he has no idea why. It's like, something bad is going to happen.

It's ridiculous. Sat in geography, Thomas fiddles with his pen, tuning out the teacher. His eyes are gazing out the window, unfocused and drowsy. He's tired, too. Long night of doing, once again, absolutely nothing.

Reaching into his schoolbag to grab a bottle of water, Thomas' eyes land on the keychain. He spent ages yesterday just looking at it. Mr Hartman had been so freakishly strange about it. What could be so special about a stupid little keychain that looked like it rolled around in shit?

Nothing. That's it.

Still, he finds himself fiddling with it, turning it this way and that. There's a small button at the top of it, tiny tiny tiny. It can't be pressed, and Thomas' finger lingers over it, pushing on it anyway.

It pops then, so sudden. Thomas frowns a bit as the keychain jingles, then breaks off his bag into his hand. Then he starts to feel even worse. His head starts to spin. His ears start ringing. There's a low throbbing cracking through his skull and his brain feels like it's being torn in two.

What the fuck?

Closing his eyes, Thomas rubs his temple in frustration. A loud, itchy noise is building up, and behind his eyes is starting to sting. Everything is getting louder and his stomach is doing rough backflips. Maybe he's about to pass out. Or die. Or both.

And then, as he expected, everything goes black.

✉︎ ✉︎ ✉︎

well hello my lovely readers

idk wtf i'm doing ok i haven't even got time to update my other fics and here my ass is again, starting a new one

rip me lols

anyways, so that it makes more sense, i'll give u a rundown on what it's about

so basically ; thomas, like i said, is the 'basket case' of his school (i know that term isn't really used anymore but i wanted to use it) not that he's unable to cope or anything, it's just how his peers see him. that's his label

so, it's a time travel au hehe, which means thomas goes back in time to a place you'll find out in chapter 2 ;))

there, he'll meet u know who, and BAM the fic begins

i hope u enjoy it as much as i enjoy writing it, and if u want, check out my other fic 'marked as his' ;)

i'll see u soon kiddos

- bee