First of all I want you to know that I am French.
I wrote this One Shot in french first, and I tried my best for this english translation.
So, I'm sorry if there is grammar mistakes. I hope you'll enjoy the story below.

Dear Thomas,

Thomas' hands, big and damaged – as Newt used to love them – were trembling. In the distance, he could hear the gentle noise of waves crashing on the beach. Somewhere on the camp, he could also hear laughs and guitar music flying up in the air.

Isolated under a tree, Thomas was sitting, his brown eyes suddenly full of tears. He was not sure to be brave enough to read that damn letter. Nevertheless, he paid attention to Newt's handwriting. It felt like a torture for Thomas: it was like a hand inside him, trying to tear his heart off. Newt's hand, maybe? Metaphorically.

This is the first letter I can remember writing.
Obviously I don't know if I've written any letters before the Maze.
But even if it's not my first, it's likely to be my last.

Thomas' heart exploded in his chest. He missed Newt. He missed his smile. He missed his smell. He also missed their hugs and their looks who betrayed their feelings for each other without never assuming them. Thomas missed Newt, and it hurt.

I want you to know that I'm not afraid about dying anyways or forgetting.
It's losing myself to this virus that's what scares me.

Thomas closed his eyes. Newt deserved nothing of what happened to him. Suddenly, his belly started to ache: it hurt to imagine Newt writing those words, with his blond hair on his face and his beautiful eyes looking at the paper. Newt was not afraid. Death never frightened him.

In that moment, Thomas remembered him: his dead body, lying at his feet. Thomas was thinking about it every second of every day, even in the night. He would always remember the look Newt gave him. " Kill me ". When this happened, he looked unhuman, but Thomas knew. He knew that Newt really wanted to be killed. He was conscious. Thomas remembered the shivers he felt while looking at Newt. He was sick, definitely lost - Thomas knew but refused to admit it - but however he wanted to hold him in his arms, taking him away from here in safety. He also wanted to kiss him, to tell him all he ever felt fort him. He couldn't resign himself to let him go: Newt was his strength and will always be.

So, every night I've been saying their names out loud: Alby, Winston, Chuck.
And I just repeat it over and over like a prayer.

His eyes locked on the horizon, the ocean's surface shining under the midday sun, Thomas thought about them.

He thought about Alby: the first who welcomed him at the Glade but also the one who died first.

He remembered Winston, Keeper of the Slicers. Sometimes, Thomas still felt the vibration of the gunshot, when Winston killed himself. As Newt, Winston chose to die rather than being a victim of the Flare. Thomas admired his courage.

And he remembered Chuck. He was a little boy, younger than all of the Gladers. In his memory, Thomas still saw sometimes his chubby cheeks and his curly hair. Chuck died for him and he will never forget it. The little sculpture Chuck gave to Thomas one day, was on his nightstand: every night, right before going to sleep, Thomas thought how brave Chuck had been.

His heart crumbling, Thomas started to read again.

And it all comes flooding back. Just the little things, like when the sun used to hit the glade at that perfect moment right before it would slip beneath the walls, and I remember the taste of Frypan's stew.
I'd never thought that I'd miss that stuff so much.

Thomas smiled, and a tear ran down his cheek. The Glade, even if they felt like prisoners in there, was a nice place. The community the Gladers built made them live in harmony. In that moment, sitting on the beach and under a tree, Thomas thought about Frypan's stew: it was good but simple, because of the lack of provisions. He tasted it on his first night at the Glade. Actually, Frypan's stew was the only true meal the Gladers used to eat.

The memory of that sun, which Newt described in his letter, kept Thomas' heart warm. He remembered that moment at the Glade, in the evening. Him and Newt were sitting against the high walls of the Maze, Newt between his legs. They talked for hours, out of sight, in each other's arms. Sometimes, Thomas still smelt Newt's, or still felt his body's heat. He could swear that he never felt something more powerful and reassuring than Newt's presence against him - in his arms.

And I remember you.

Thomas remembered Newt too. The first time they really met, it was with Alby. In his memory, he saw the brown shirt Newt was wearing, his dirty and messy hair, and his childish face. The blond-haired guy was charismatic and he had impressed him from the first moment, even more than Alby did.

I remember you first coming up in the box: a scared little greenie who couldn't ever remember his own name.

A laugh left Thomas' lips. Even thought he was away, Newt continued to hurt his brain and his heart. Newt was tenderly mocking him: Thomas could only smile.

The memory of his arrival at the Glade was vague: the anesthesia WICKED had given him had clouded his mind for a few hours, even after he had woken up in the Box. He didn't really remember his first hours with the guys but, on the other hand, he remembered very well the cold sweats in his back and that choking sensation as the Box went up. He also remembered the darkness and a heady noise of scrap metal. Here sitting on the beach, Thomas shivered: his arrival at the Glade marked the end of WICKED.

But from the moment you ran into the Maze, I knew that I would follow you anywhere.
And I have.

His smile faded. His heart exploded. He didn't breathe for a few seconds. It was powerful, and it hurt. Once again, he felt Newt's absence in every cell of his body. In that moment, Thomas would have given anything to see him again, even for a few seconds.

Newt's words sounded obvious. The same evidence that struck Thomas that night by the campfire, while they were both talking. That kind of electroshock they both had felt in their hearts had been intense. It was like... maybe WICKED had planned a romance between them? Maybe all about Newt and he was part of their plan? Thomas preferred not to think about this.

Newt had always been here. In moments of doubt, of denial, he had always trusted him. A blind trust. He had followed him in their escape from the Maze. He had followed him in the Scorch. He had followed him in his revolt against WICKED and Ava Paige. He had followed him despite the risks. Newt had been faithful to him till the end.

We all have. If I could do it all over again, I would, and I wouldn't change a thing.
My hope for you is when you're looking back, years from now, is that you'll say the same.

Thomas lowered his hands and took a deep breath. Looking at the horizon, he asked himself: if he had to start all over again, would he change something? Even if it went against Newt's wish, the answer was " YES ". If he could start again, he would save his friends. He would save Alby, Chuck, Winston and all the others. He would listen to Teresa, just for a few hours, to get this damn cure. He would save Newt.

So YES, if he could, he would change things. But for sure, he would do it again. Thomas couldn't imagine a world where WICKED won.

The future is in your hands now, Tommy, and I know you will find a way to do what's right.

Newt was right. Now that they were at that Paradise, the future seemed at hand. Dozens of teenagers were spending peaceful days in a place far from the rest of the world and the Flare. If Thomas didn't know he was awake, he would have thought he was dreaming. In spite of himself, he was the leader. It was the one who decided, even more than Vince. So YES, he will do what's right, following his instinct: protect his friends and their community.

Take care of everyone for me and take care of yourself.

His lips curled into a smile. Newt was away - even though if he wrote these words while he was alive - but still thought about them. About him. Thomas' heart warmed, and a tear run down his cheek. He started to read once again:

You deserve to be happy.

Thomas stood up. His bare feet, he stepped into the sand. He wore only a scruffy short and a white t-shirt. For a moment, he enjoyed the water of the ocean against his ankles. Suddenly, he felt angry.

He deserved to be happy. But how could he be? Newt was gone. The only person who he ever loved - truly - died in front of him, in his arms. He killed him. How could he be happy after that? Crying, he sniffed.

Thank you for being my friend.

Again and again, he read these few words. He hated himself. If only Newt knew. If only he had time to talk to him about his feelings. If only...

Thomas closed his eyes to hold back his tears. His hands trembling, holding back himself so as not to burst into tears, he read the last words of his soulmate.

Goodbye, mate.
- Newt.

" If only you knew, Newt... " In his mind he repeated these words as a prayer.

But Newt knew: Thomas loved him. They loved each other.

.

Tell me if I killed the english grammar.
I'm sorry aha.
Thanks for reading.
Find me on twitter. Username : inewtile
xoxo