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Fire licks at the skin of his suit. Hot, heavy, dangerous. Frantic voices surround him, all a blur in the back of his mind. Vaguely, he makes out Chief Vince, shouting through the radio. Beside Thomas is Brenda, shouting across the room, and somewhere downstairs he hears the laboured efforts of Jorge.
Nothing else around him matters because right now there's only one thing on his mind: survival. It's Thomas versus the fire; no one else.
He can't count how many times he's been in this situation. He's a firefighter; this is his job, this is his life. But no matter how many calls he gets, whenever he hears the alarms blare, as soon as he's gearing up, Thomas gets this rush of adrenaline mixed with fear. So. Much. Fear. Every time he's on duty, there's a risk he can die. In one second, one mistake, he could lose everything he has.
That doesn't mean he doesn't love it. This is what he's meant to do. He lives off the adrenaline rush. He relishes those moments where it's a close call, yet he comes out alive and well. Of course, he knows how dangerous the job is, he shouldn't
love
this, but he does.
He gets to help people. Each successful mission is lives saved, and if he can't save his own then so be it. He can save others. And that's all he needs.
Focus, Thomas, he thinks, grounding himself to the present. Chief Vince's words ring in the back of his mind. "Don't do anything dumb, Thomas. Don't try to be the hero. You get in, you get out. Clear the area, and you're done."
Thomas has never been a great listener.
"FIRE DEPARTMENT! CALL OUT!" His voice is barely audible over the roar of the flames, more out of control by the minute. Shuck, he has to get out of here soon.
"ANYONE?" He tries again, voice hoarse and raspy. How many times has he said these words? How many times has there been no response?
Thomas hears a weak cough to his right, and Brenda is already there, dragging the body coated in smoke and dragging it out of the building.
Thomas pursues. He's already checked the whole building, but it's not over yet. There's still time. Nobody can be left behind.
It's so hot, hard to breathe, he's tired, he wants to pass out. Shuck, he may just give up now. What use is a firema - NO. He
has
to keep going. He won't stop until every single soul is out of the building.
"We need to go back," he hears Jorge shout from down the hall. He can see the faint silhouette of a man. "We've searched every floor. There's nothing left, Thomas.”
“Yeah, and we’ve only found three victims, there has to be more,” Thomas snipes, shoving Jorge out of his way as he surges past him to the third floor for the second time now.
“GET OUT!” That’s Vince, yelling over the radio. “That is an order!”
“You heard the—”
“Well then, go!” Thomas screams. “Shuck off, Jorge! You save yourself. I am not leaving until this building is cleared." His voice is stern, hard as rock. He's filled with more determination than ever, he's not budging. There's got to be more left behind.
Before he gives Jorge a chance to answer, Thomas is speeding down the corridor, bursting into a random room, kicking the door open. Engine's already put the fire out here, but Thomas couldn't care less. He pushes through, screaming for someone to answer.
Please
, he thinks.
Just one person. I just want to save one person. I want to be the hero.
He needs it the same way the alcoholic needs the bottle. He can't live without it. He needs to feel like he's done something. He needs to feel like he is enough.
He shouldn't determine his self worth by how many lives he saves on the line of duty, that's just setting himself up for failure, but he can't stop. Teresa keeps telling him it's unhealthy, he knows it, too, but he just can't.
“Thomas, please,” he hears Brenda’s rough voice through the static-filled radio. Her voice is strained, a tremble in it.
He should go back, right?
Then, he hears a weak groan. There’s no way someone missed this—no way he missed this. That was a voice! Somebody's here. Thomas runs to where he heard the cough behind a couch, and there he is.
At least he thinks it’s a boy. Like, 72% sure. It's hard to tell by the burns. His skin is blistering red, bubbling everywhere, his face looks like it will be permanently scarred. He looks like he was just swallowed by lava.
I will not let him die.
He picks up the victim bridal-style, carrying him out of the building. He's done now. He's saved someone. It's over.
Once he’s escaped, his heart thumping wildly, he throws off his mask and takes a breath of fresh air, catching his breath and trying not to cough. Clint and Jeff, the paramedics, immediately rush over to him, rolling a stretcher. Carefully, the three of them place the victim down, and Thomas falls to the grass, wondering how the fuck he could’ve missed someone like that? How could anyone have? The poor guy was behind the couch? A shuckin' couch. How did nobody see him?
His head is still spinning when they leave. His stomach churns at the thought of today. God, he was off on that rescue. What is going on with him?
Like a fool, he'd gotten tunnel vision, and he knows he's going to pay the price. Everybody has off days, but not like this. As badly as Thomas needs to be the hero, he also wants to respect his Chief, and today he'd failed both those things.
But he's never off his game. This game is important, it's someone’s life, and he's off his game, and he cannot afford it again. He almost died. Jorge could've died. How many others could have died? He was the one that cleared the third floor. He was the one that missed the man behind the couch. Because of his mistake, this guy could be suffering from life long damage. And it's all his fault. How long will this be? He isn't sure, and it scares him more than the job.
The thing is, it's not the fire that scares Thomas. It's the failure and it's the guilt. He can’t care less if gets burned here and there. He's terrified of what happens when he comes out of a fire empty handed, knowing only dead bodies burnt to a crisp are what's left behind. He's terrified of the guilt that will follow him for the rest of his life.
"Chief wants to see you." Brenda taps his shoulder, bringing him out of his thoughts.
Thomas sighs, a heavy, dreadful feeling settling deep in his chest. He’s been here before. “Of course he does.” He pulls himself onto his feet and walks into the Chief’s office. He stops and knocks gently, two times to be precise and lets himself into the room, hovering by the doorframe.
“Murphy,” Vince says and looks up at Thomas. “ We need to talk. Shut the door."
Thomas let's go and the door swings shut slowly, creaking ever so slightly. No
shit,
Thomas thinks.
You called me here for a reason.
He keeps his mouth shut.
“What’s up with you today?”
Thomas wants to know what’s up with him, too. “I’m sorry,” is what comes out instead.
Chief's eyebrows furrow, his right eye twitches, but then everything softens, and he just looks tired, disappointed even. “I don’t want you pulling more dumb stunts like this again,” he says, now emotionless. Whatever that was just on his face is gone now. "I don't know how many times I've had to tell you this, Murphy. You disrespected your superior's orders, and I can't let that slide."
But I saved a man! I helped us!
Thomas nods. “Understood, sir.”
“I suggest you take a break until your head’s clear. It’s best if you go home.”
Thomas is about to agree when the words register in his mind. “You—WHAT? You can’t send me home! I saved him!" He points at his own chest. This was his work. Yes, he ignored orders, he understands, but come on!
“I am done with your reckless decisions. You obeyed direct orders.”
“But I saved someone!”
“As a lifesaver, what is the number one rule?”
Why is Chief Vince so calm through all of this?
Shuck, Thomas doesn't even remember the answer. That's some klunk he learned when he was twelve. “Save lives?”
“No. It’s our life before theirs.”
Oh, right. That crap rule. “Then what’s the point?” Thomas challenges, half aware he's digging his own grave. “This is what I signed up for.” He takes a deep breath. He will not lose his temper.
Vince sighs. “Just go home, Thomas. Come back when you’re ready.”
“But—”
“That is an order.” Something icy, something so commanding that Thomas remembers exactly why Vince is the Chief is in his voice, and he isn't foolish enough to go against it.
“Fine.” Thomas slams the door behind him. What an asshole.
Thomas packs his things quickly, grabbing a few essentials out of his locker before he's locked in his car, driving as fast as he can home. Halfway there, it hits him. He doesn't want to go home. He wants to check the guy he saved.
Something feels off, maybe it's him and his crazy mind, or maybe something really is off.
He shouldn't be going down there, that job is for cops and OFI, but Thomas feels useless. He feels like he hasn’t done enough. The least he can do is check up on some guy, especially since he was so badly burned.
So, Thomas takes a sharp turn right, and the next thing he knows, he’s parking at the hospital and riding up the elevator to the main lobby. The girl at the front desk is young and blonde, looking like she’s meant to be on some Grey's Anatomy type show. Thomas smiles at the lady, reading her name: Linda.
“Hello, Linda,” he greets, knowing he looks absolutely disgusting. He hasn’t showered since the fire.
“Hi! How can I help you?” She smiles, forced through her teeth.
“I’m looking for a young man brought in here around 11:55 A.M., and severely burned.”
She nods, clicking stuff on her computer. “And who are you?”
“I’m the fireman who rescued him.”
“Okay.” She stands up. “Follow me, Newton’s room is just this way.”
Thomas listens to the pattern of her high heels clicking against the white floor tiles as he follows her blindly. She stops abruptly and Thomas almost runs her over.
“This is him,” she says quietly.
Newton—what a terrible name—has his eyes closed. He’s connected to a ventilator and his skin is still red. He looks so sick. Newton’s hair is blonde and still coated in dirt, his face gleaming with sweat.
“Hello?” Thomas asks, just loud enough for Newton to hear.
Newton’s eyes flutter open. “Are you—oh. You’re not a doctor.”
Thomas chuckles. Good. He can speak. Weakly, but it's there. “No, I am not. I’m a firefighter.”
Newton smiles. “Good to know." He has a British accent that Thomas is really enjoying right now. Not that it matters. The poor man is burned up!
“Yeah. I, uh, I was the one who rescued you. I'm here to ask you a few questions if you're up to it." Now that he's said that, Thomas regrets it. He’s never interrogated someone before. Especially not about arson. Not that this guy did. It’s just that the fire came from his apartment and there was something really strange about it. Or maybe Thomas just can’t admit that he did a bad job this morning.
Newton nods. "Go ahead." He coughs, his whole body shaking and his face twists into lines of pain.
Shit. What’s Thomas supposed to say? He can’t just casually ask someone if they lit their own home on fire. Can he? Is this what police do?
“How are you feeling?” God, how pathetic is he? How did that come out of his mouth? Stupid, dumb, Thomas.
Newton gives him a weird look. “Besides the constant agony, I’m doing okay.”
Thomas blushes. “Sorry about that, it was a really dumb question. If it’s alright, can I exchange numbers without you?” That wasn’t supposed to come out either. He's doing everything wrong. Shit, shit, shit, shit . . . What is wrong with him today?
His cheeks feel like they’re about to combust into flames as he coughs and quickly adds. “For investigation sources of course.”
Newton just smiles as he recites his number out loud to Thomas. Thomas adds him as a new contact: Newton, and shoots him a text. “Hi.” The phone beside Newton on a table buzzes.
Thomas turns to leave before Newton says, “Wait! What can I call you?”
Thomas just smiles before saying, “Next time I visit, maybe I’ll tell you,” before winking and leaving the hospital. Now’s not the time to be charming, but hey, they could all use some positivity today. Plus, he wasn't fired today! Way to look on the bright side.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Hey, Minho, can you find a Newton for me?”Minho bursts into laughter over the line, and Thomas wishes he were there in person to slap him in the face. “Stop laughing. Let’s talk about your name, huh?”“My name is unique and classy.”“It sounds like me-hoe.”Minho shakes his head, the camera is shaky. “Better than Newton.”“Your hair isn’t,” Thomas retorts, having no idea why he’s defending Newton who he’d just met three hours ago. Minho gasps. He looks very offended. “Okay, Murphy, you just crossed a line.”Thomas regrets FaceTiming Minho. He regrets telling him about getting sent home and his follow-up crap investigation with the victim. Thomas just rolls his eyes. “No, seriously. Just find this guy. You can pull his file, you’re part of the FBI, can’t you do stuff like that?”“Sure, but you can’t even tell me this guy’s last name, so how the fuck am I—”“I don’t know! He’s British!”“Oh, great, a British boy named Newton, what are the chances?”“In America, not very high.” Minho sighs. “Fine. Just hold on a second.” Minho leaves and comes back holding a bowl of instant ramen. “Those are really bad for you,” Thomas points out. “Well, so was your relationship with Brenda, but you two lasted for a long time. At least I can work out and burn all the calories and bad stuff from this."Thomas flips him off.“Plus,” Minho continues. “Instant noodles taste good, which I doubt Brenda does."Thomas’ jaw drops. “I—what the fuck, Minho.”“It’s the truth, bro.” Minho shrugs. “So, who’s file do you want me to pull out or whatever? Or, let me phrase this better, who do you want to stalk?”“It’s not stalking! It’s for investigational purposes!” Thomas counters. “Do you find him attractive?”“Sure. I mean, no. I don’t know. He was burned up and stuff, but that’s not the point.”“And you still say this is not stalking.” Minho scoffs. Thomas shakes his head. “The audacity you have to say dumb shit like this surprises me. How has no one ever jumped you?”Minho pretends to look deep in thought. “Well, let me see. Maybe it’s because I’m part of the FBI? Or is it because I’d beat them up first? Or best of all, is it because of my stunning good looks?”Thomas remembers the time he and Minho went out to eat with Teresa and Brenda on a double-date (God, that was awkward) and everyone had to keep on apologizing for Minho’s behaviour. The waitress had asked how he was still alive and Minho had just rolled his eyes saying he got by on good looks. “Fine, whatever. I’ll try to pull his file. Try , Thomas, so take my words with a grain of salt.” Minho says this with his mouth full of noodles. “You are literally th—”“Lose this number,” Minho says and hangs up.Thomas is still on break from his job (bullshit), and has time to kill, so he decides to take a walk. It’s spring so he doesn’t need a jacket, but five minutes into his walk, he realises his mistake. Because, frankly, it is cold. It’s 16 degrees celsius outside with cloudy sky and that particular smell of spring, and Thomas is in a t-shirt and jeans, and he is cold. So, he takes a left and ends up in a coffee shop to warm up. Ok, fine, he thinks coffee shop to sound more mysterious, but really it’s Starbucks. So, naturally, it’s a long line, and of course, he’s at the very back. Starbucks man . . . Thomas thinks it’s overpriced, but he really needs a caramel macchiato. Extra hot. Thomas looks around the shop, observing the place while he waits in line. In the corner of the shop, in a small table for two are two men holding hands and smiling at each other. On the couches to Thomas’ right are university students studying. On his left is a group of teenage girls, laughing and taking up too much space, huge pink refreshers in hand while they take selfies. Honestly, could they not? It’s a really busy place and they’re taking up space that could be used better. Briefly, Thomas glances out the window and sees the hospital, and oddly, his thoughts wander back to Newton. It’s stupid how like—attracted, maybe???—he is to Newton. It’s not even physical. Like, he’s not gay, but he can admit when a guy is hot, but at the same time, it’s crazy like on a whole other level, because there’s something so compelling about Newton’s apartment fire that Thomas can’t figure out. When Thomas pulls his phone out and texts Newton: How do you like your coffee?He immediately regrets it and is about to add nevermind, he gets a reply almost instantly.
Newton:
Ummm… what?
Thomas:
I wanted to ask you some follow up questions
And I’m at Starbucks right now, so I can get you a drink
Newton:
Black
Thomas:
What?
Newton:
I like plain black coffee, thanks
Thomas:
Odd, but okay
Newton:
Wait
Don’t get me anything
You really don’t need to
Thomas:
I will
Newton:
Please don’t
Thomas ignores that last message, but still, wonders the same thing Newton is thinking: What is he doing buying some guy coffee? Thomas isn’t sure. He orders, and seven minutes later, he’s holding two cups of coffee and making his way to the hospital. Visiting hours close in 25 minutes for the morning session. Not a lot of time, but it’ll make due. “Hi,” he smiles at the man working the front office. “Can I visit Newton?”The ginger in front of him doesn’t look up from the computer in front of him. “Last Name?” is all he says in a nasal voice. “Er . . .” The tips of Thomas’ ears turn red. “Ummm . . . I don’t know.”“Then I’m afraid—”“Oh! He got burned a few days ago!” Shit, why does he sound so happy? Thomas clears his throat and continues. “What I meant to say was: I am a firefighter and I aided in Newton’s rescue the other day. I do not know his last name, but I am under orders by my chief to check in on the victim and ask some questions..” Thomas puts on his most authoritative tone for this. “And you’re sure you have authority for this?” God, the other guy sounds like Squidward from Spongebob Squarepants. Thomas nods. "Yes," he says with as much confidence he can muster.He might've done it over the top because Ginger-Squidward (that’s his new name now), rolls his eyes and sighs, but stands up and leads Thomas down a hallway and to the same room Newton was in yesterday. “You have a visitor,” he announces and turns to Thomas. “What’s your name?” “Thomas.”“Thomas, your fireman friend,” Ginger-Squidward says. Newton looks up and meets Thomas’ gaze with warm, brown eyes. “Oh,” he says softly. “Hello.” Goddamn that British accent. Newton is covered in bandages and patches on his skin are red and welted. It’s nasty. Thomas forces himself not to look and instead walks further into the room holding up the other coffee cup in his hand, shaking it a little for a more animated feeling. “Look what I’ve got you,” he sing-songs. A small chuckle escapes Newton’s lips, but he doubles over coughing after, smiling a little despite the pain. Thomas rushes to Newton’s side, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, you okay, man?”Newton nods and shies away from Thomas’ touch. “Yeah, yeah, all good. Just, uh, hurts to laugh a bit.”Placing the cup on the table beside Newton, Thomas nods and focuses his attention back to the man, standing up and hovering over him awkwardly. “Can I ask you some questions about the fire?” Thomas tells himself that this has to be strictly professional. He can’t involve himself any more than he’s already done. For example, buying coffee. Another example, being here in the first place. Technically, it’s not his job to ask questions. That’s for police and OFI (Office of Fire Investigation). But, uh . . . Thomas doesn’t care. The firehouse needs more like him, and he’s confident they won’t get rid of him for something stupid like this. “What? More questions?” Newton teases, though the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Like last time? What was it you asked me? I think it was nothing before you bloody ran away.”Thomas scoffs, “Wow, okay, rude. Maybe I’ll just have to take this coffee back.” He snatches it off the table and raises his arm so the cup is dangling over Newton’s head. Newton just shrugs, a small smirk resting on his lips. “Go ahead,” he challenges. “It’s not like I could’ve drank it anyways.”“You’re telling me I bought you this for nothing?”“I did bloody tell you not to buy it . . .” “Fuck you.” Thomas shakes his head in disapproval. “Fuck you.”He wonders why talking with Newton is so easy. He shouldn't be talking to victim’s like this—or strangers at all. But he is, and he likes it, and he likes this banter that they have going. Thomas blinks a few times to break out of his thoughts. Focus, focus, focus. “Anyways,” he starts, dragging the ‘anyways’ on for way too long and pacing in the room, “this is gonna sound stupid and unprofessional and I probably shouldn’t be asking you this, but like, did you start the fire?”He makes eye contact to prove that he’s not playing around despite what his words may convey.“No,” Newton says, sticking his nose up in the air a bit and returning Thomas’ look with steel. He doesn’t look guilty. See, the thing with some arson cases is that the owner tends to set their own homes on fire when they’re in debt to get some insurance, or maybe it was some twisted suicide plan. Thomas can’t know for sure and they’re all possibilities. Anything can be anything. Thomas isn’t saying Newton set this up, he doesn’t seem like the type, but still . . . No matter how drawn he is to Newton he has to keep this professional. “Are you sure?” Thomas questions again with more intensity.What is he doing? This isn’t his job. “Yes, I am sure, Thomas.” Newt puts emphasis on Thomas for some unknown reason. “Why would I?”“That’s what I’m asking you.” He takes a sip of his caramel macchiato and then places his hands on his hips. “No. Also, you’re bloody terrible at this whole interrogation thing.”“I know,” Thomas says proudly. There’s something about Newton that makes him want to explain more about how he’s here when he shouldn’t be, but he bites his tongue and holds those words back. “So, is that all you wanted to ask me?”No, Thomas wants to stay. He wants to keep talking with Newton. He likes Newton. “Yes,” is what comes out instead. “I guess so. Take care, Newton,” he says and turns to leave. “Just call me Newt,” is the last thing he hears as the door clicks shut behind him.He sees Newt three days later.Thomas calls his boss on his next shift and he’s back at work, falling into the familiar rhythm of life as a fireman.His coworkers are buzzing all around him, some still on edge from their last call. When he walks into the locker room with his duffel bag, Gally slaps him on the head. “You fucking idiot, always gotta be the hero, huh, ya shank?”Thomas just rolls his eyes. This is so Gally’s way of saying he misses him. Probably . . . He slams his locker shut and meets the rest of the crew out in the main area where he joins Chuck on the couch and plays video games. Chuck is a floater and new to their firehouse. Thomas isn’t sure how long Chuck will be here, but in the short few weeks he has been, the little guy has grown on him. Chuck was about 23—around the same age Thomas was when he started—and enjoyed video games and a fun time. He decided to become a firefighter because . . . well, Thomas isn't exactly sure. Chuck had never told him before, and Thomas has never asked. Chuck is there, holding up the Nintendo Switch, a plate of eggs, sausage, and a bagel in front of him on the coffee table alongside a glass or orange juice. “Thomas!” Chuck beams, immediately brightening. “You’re back! I have the craziest news to tell you!” And Thomas just shakes his hand, chuckling under his breath, looking at Chuck like he’s been Thomas’ missing brother all life long. He takes a seat next to Chuck and they fall into their normal habit of early morning Mario Kart Championships. Sometimes, Gally, Winston, and Brenda join, but not today. Teresa, too, if she stops by, but she’s usually busy at HQ as Head Paramedic.Right before Thomas is about to cross the finish line and get gold, Chief Vince’s gravelly voice is on the PA system, and Thomas is swearing under his breath and throwing the controller at Gally, telling him to finish the race, but it’s too late because Chuck is cackling like a witch as he wins for the umpteenth time. Most don’t understand the pain Thomas goes through as he walks away to the Chief’s office, losing the race.Chief Vince is sitting at his desk when Thomas knocks on his door. He’s squinting down furiously at some papers, his lips pressed tightly together, and eyebrows furrowed. There are dark circles permanently tattooed underneath his eyes.Thomas taps three times, gently. “Chief?”“Come in, Thomas.” Chief Vince coughs into the crook of his elbow and swiftly shoves all the documents into a drawer in his desk. “You wanted to see me?” There is a chair in front of Thomas, but he chooses to stay standing.“I want to talk about your performance.”“Oh.”“Yes, oh. I’ve been over this with you too many times now. You cannot deny an order from your Chief. This being something you’ve done on multiple occasions.”“But I saved them! I fix things!” He feels anger bubbling in his chest and takes a deep breath before he says something he’ll regret. Again. He doesn’t think he can take another fake-suspension again. Or another talk like this. “I know; I’m wrong, and I’m sorry,” he restates his opinion in a calmer, more professional manner. “But the things I’m doing are good, sir. When has it gone wrong?”“Yet. So far, you’ve been damn lucky, Murphy. Defying my orders hasn’t cost you anything yet. But what about the day it does? The day you hesitate to exit the building when I tell you to, resulting in not just the victims deaths, but also your own. What happens then?”“It won’t.” Thomas says this with such clarity, no hesitation. It can't. Not like the first time.“And how can you guarantee that?” Vince fires back, voice rising.Thomas goes silent, but he keeps his gaze at Vince. “You can’t.”“But—”“No but, Murphy. This is your last warning. Do. You. Understand. Me?”Thomas nods meekly. “Good. And just know, you pull one of these stunts again, and it is over for you. I like you a lot, okay? You’re a damn good firefighter—maybe even one of the best here, but at least the lot of them understand orders from their chief. You don’t, and that’ll get you fired soon if you keep it up because I cannot have my employees defy my orders.”Thomas nods again. He doesn’t know what to say. “Is that all, Chief?” He’s itching to get out of this room, out of this conversation. “No.”You’re fucking kidding. Thomas resists the urge to groan.“I heard you lied to a nurse the other day. That you talked to the suspect, which, may I remind you, is very much against protocol.”“He’s not a suspect. Newt didn’t start the fire.”“How would you know?”“He told me.”Vince slams a fist against the table with so much force it makes Thomas flinch. “You had no right to go over there.” His voice is sharper than Thomas has ever heard it. “It isn’t your job to interrogate him. As far as we firemen are concerned, our job is to put out the fires and help clean up the damage. Not investigating. Go join OFI instead, or the FBI if that's your true passion, but I assure you, you won't make it very far there if you have a damn hard time following simple orders. They won't tolerate that bullshit."“I’m sorry,” Thomas says, but he’s not sorry, and they both know it’s a lie.“See? This is the kind of bullshit you can’t do!”Thomas is trying so hard not to lose his temper right now. Like, he gets where Chief is coming from, but what the shuck? Without him, there’d be a lot of things different. Brenda would’ve been dead . . . But this is his job and he can’t afford to lose it, so Thomas ignores every negative emotion and says, “I understand,” bleakly before exiting. Shuck his life.On the way home that evening, Thomas takes an unplanned pitstop somewhere becoming oddly familiar. Yeah, the fucking hospital.Yes, he was lectured earlier and technically isn’t allowed to do this, but since he’s off-duty and visiting a friend, then surely, that’s okay. If either of them happen to bring up the arson case while they’re talking casually, then so be it. Thomas is adjusting to the whiteness of the hospital lights; he doesn't notice a tap on his shoulder. “Tom?”Well, there’s only one person who calls him Tom.A small smile tugs on his lips. “Teresa!” he exclaims, turning around.She’s in scrubs and her hair is tied back in a messy bun. One arm is wrapped around a clipboard and the other on her hip. “What are you doing here?” She narrows her eyes in suspicion.“Umm . . .” That is a very good question. What is he doing here?She raises an eyebrow.“Er, I’m visiting a friend.”“And who may this friend be?”“Newt.”“I’m sorry, Newt?” She sounds skeptical. “Come on, you could’ve came up with a better name than that. Look, if you're injured and wanted to get some help you can just tell m-"“I’m not joking! I have a friend named Newt!” “That would be me,” a British voice drawls from behind them, and Newt comes wheeling in on a wheelchair.Thomas smirks. “See? I told you he’s real.” He crosses his arms over his chest.“I am real,” Newt clarifies sarcastically. “Actually, I can finally move around a bit now. Leg hurts like a bitch though.” He nods his head down in the direction of his mummified leg. “Bloody insane what a little fire can do to your leg, huh?”“Fire, huh,” is all Teresa says, and then she’s waving goodbye to Thomas and walking away.Newt and Thomas make eye contact for a moment before Newt opens his mouth to ask, “So why are you here, Tommy?”Huh, Tommy. That's new. “Can’t I just check up on you?”“That’s what my nurses are for.” Newt grins up at Thomas. “Just admit it, you’re here for me and the amazing company I bring.”Thomas finds himself going slightly pink in the cheeks, but he shakes his head. “Nope. Absolutely wrong, I came here to bully you for getting burned.”Newt hums. “Well, in that case, be my guest. Care to talk somewhere a little more private? And,” he adds, “preferably more comfortable, and with coffee.”“I knew you were a coffee addict!” Thomas raises his voice a little too much. People in the lobby turn to stare at him. “Wheel me into the cafeteria, slave!”“What the hell? Rude!”Thomas rolls him into the cafeteria.“So,” Thomas starts once they’re seated comfortably. “I’m supposedly not allowed to be here and talking to you, but here’s some information you might want to know.”“Do tell.” Newt leans forward like they’re teen girls gossiping and not like they’re discussing arson.“I’m like 79% sure the police and stuff think you set your apartment on fire—which, to be fair, does kind of make sense. Like, you just got fired and were working at a coffee shop. You were alone and struggling financially. This is common for a lot of cases because they want the insurance and stuff. Obviously, there’s no way to prove that, but they’re still gathering resources.”Newt nods solemnly. “Fair,” he admits. “But I swear it wasn’t me.”“I know,” Thomas says. “It’s most likely a first-degree murder attempt, or maybe it really was an accident with the electrical cords, I haven't looked into it enough—whatever. Is there anyone that might be after you? I know I’m a fireman, but you have to be brutally honest because I’m trying to help you.”“I don’t know,” Newt replies. He takes a sip of his coffee. “No one I can think of.”“Okay,” Thomas says. “I’ll investigate some more and let you know.”“Okay.”Thomas feels like now’s the time to go, but he doesn’t want to. He wants to keep talking to Newt. “Uh, I feel like since I’m helping you with your case I need to know more about you.”“Oh, so is this a date now?” Newt teases, even throwing in a wink.Thomas scoffs. “You wish.”They grin at each other and burst into a fit of laughter.Thomas doesn’t want this to end.He’s a terrible person.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The next day, after emailing many people, Thomas gets his answer.
OFI checked out the crime scene, claiming the fire was set by the stove and was self-inflicted because Newt’s in debt.
But that’s not right.
They don’t have the full story.
Immediately after hearing this, Thomas shot Newt a quick text who denied everything.
Maybe Newt’s lying.
Maybe Thomas is stupid for putting so much faith in Newt’s words.
But seriously, the story isn’t matching up. None of this makes sense.
That’s how Thomas decides he’s going to investigate himself.
Chief Vince’s warning rings in the back of his mind, but it’s not like checking this out is a bad thing. Think of it like extra credit on a school assignment. Thomas is just going above and beyond. Yeah, exactly. Okay. So, he’s not breaking any rules.
It’s a short drive to the remains of Newt’s burnt apartment. Okay, not exactly short, Thomas is exaggerating, but it would’ve been short if he were in a firetruck. Because then, you know, he could’ve passed by traffic and everything going over the speed limit, but whatever. He makes it there in under twenty minutes, so it’s fine.
Thomas prepares a speech if he sees anyone important there and asks why he’s there. It’s going to be something like this:
“What are you doing here, Murphy?”
“Oh, you know, taking a little stroll in the neighborhood and came to check this place out when it caught my eye.”
“You don’t live in this neighbourhood.”
“I like to take walks.”
“Oh, do you now?”
“Yep!”
“Seriously, why are you here?”
“I felt obligated to come here and investigate because I want to help.”
“You have permission?”
Yeah. That’s all Thomas has scripted so far, and if the other person didn’t follow his mental script or his Chief was here, well then, he’s screwed.
Thomas ducks under the yellow caution tape and carefully climbs over the broken door and other debris.
It’s a struggle to find Newt’s home, but when he gets on the right floor, holy klunk, it’s so obvious.
He steps into the room and makes his way to the kitchen, looking for anything that proves that Newt started the fire. He looks for anything electrical, for all he knows, this whole thing is an accident which it typically is.
Come on,
he thinks.
Something, anything, please. I just need one piece of information. Something that proves Newt’s not the bad guy here. He just wouldn’t burn down his own apartment for insurance.
Sure, Newt just got fired and started working at a local coffee shop before the incident. And sure, he may be struggling between each paycheck. And yeah, it’s not looking so good for him because Thomas may be young, but he’s seen enough of these exact arson cases, but he is so sure Newt didn’t do this. Even if Newt’s already told his story to the officials multiple times and they don’t believe him, they have to be wrong.
Newt didn’t do this.
Honestly, Thomas isn’t sure why he’s so invested in Newt’s case. Newt’s still in the hospital, it’s only been a few days, and yeah, Newt’s a lot of fun to talk to and he’s cute, that shouldn’t mean anything. Minho is super funny and conventionally good looking to certain people with certain taste, but that doesn’t mean Thomas is super obsessed with him. Maybe it’s because of Thomas’ here complex. He’s the hero who saved the innocent guy and now everybody is accusing the victim of arson, and if Thomas is the hero that means he has to further prove this guy’s innocence in order for his sense of self to be complete. But then again, Thomas has done this a few times now, he’s never been attached the same way he is to this case. God. . .
Where did OFI say the fire was? The stove, right? He takes a step forward, then freezes. He swore he heard something just a second ago.
Slowly, Thomas creeps towards the window, he peeps down, his head barely in sight. He stops breathing.
No, no, no. Why is OFI back? He
has
to get out of here.
Thomas dashes out of the room and through a back entrance far from those scary black SUVs. He runs as quietly as he can. Out of the neighbourhood, out of sight. He stops running when he gets to a park, and he doubles over, catching his breath.
A thousand things are spiraling in his mind, his heart thumps hard against his chest with each shaky breath he takes, but one thing he knows for sure: he
cannot
be doing this. Ever again.
After, Thomas begins to ignore Newt, slowly shutting him out. His responses take longer each time, drier than before. This isn’t safe for him, this isn’t safe for his job. This isn’t safe for Newt. It takes all of his willpower not to apologize, explain the situation at hand because ghosting doesn’t feel right, but Thomas knows it’s the safer choice.
Are good choices always supposed to feel this bad?
It feels like forever, but Thomas is finally back, and he finds himself at the firehouse, nice and early before the sun is up.
“Hey,” he mumbles to a half-asleep Chuck who’s sprawled on the couch.
Chuck just grunts in response.
Thomas makes it to the locker rooms where he puts his stuff away for the day with dread. Vince will definitely be talking to him today, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. And, he really can’t be in trouble anymore. He cut ties with Newt, he stopped snooping around, he cleared his head. He is good. He is 100%. He is a firefighter on the line of duty, and he can’t be anything but the best.
“Thomas!”
Thomas wheels around to see Jorge, raising his hand in salutations with a smile. “Good to see you back. We missed you.”
Thomas smiles back grimly in response.
Half a day goes by, and Thomas is really starting to feel like everything’s okay. He played games with Chuck, traded stories with Jorge, got insulted by Winston, bantered with Brenda as they normally do, helped Clint and Jeff restock medical supplies, managed to avoid Teresa’s constant messages of worry, and he facetimed Minho for a while when things got a little slow. It was how each day should go.
Everything will be okay.
Yeah, no. Thomas should’ve known better. Nothing goes in his favour, and just before his shift is over and he’s packing up to leave, the announcements blair and Chief Vince’s gruff voice is talking over it, and the next thing he knows, he winds up back in his office.
He just can’t get a break, can he?
“Thomas, close the door,” is the first thing the chief says, and oh, no, this can’t be good. It’s never good when the door is closed.
“Take a seat.”
Thomas sinks into the leather chair, cold and firm. He taps the armrest with his fingers in a pattern, anything to steal his nerves. What will it be this time?
“Have you visited the victim again? Even against my wishes.”
Oh, okay, wow. That was fast. No introduction, no small talk. Really getting straight into it today, are we? Okay. That's fine. Thomas can do that too.
“Yes,” he responds back boldly, holding his ground. He watches Vince’s face closely, looking for any string of emotion that he gives away that Thomas can use to his advantage. A twitch in the eye, a raise of an eyebrow, the parting of lips. He watches his body language, too. Are his hands curled in fists? Are his shoulders relaxed? Is he disappointed? Angry? Relieved? And yet, nothing. Chief Vince is like a statue. Goddamnit.
Thomas may have just dug his own grave with that answer, but he’s too useful to the firehouse he won’t get fired. Suspended, maybe, but that’s the price he’ll pay for telling the truth. Lying will make everything worse.
Or maybe there’s a mature way out of this. . .
“I did, and I’m sorry, Chief. Not once, not twice, but three times. I know there’s no excuse either because I’ve done this in the past multiple times, too, and you’ve been incredibly lenient on punishment, and I want to thank you. I know I make excuses about how it’s always the right thing to do—even if it’s against protocol—and so far, I’ve been lucky with each time successful, and this time there’s no excuse either. I just really care about this particular case, I don’t know why; regardless of that, it doesn’t mean I can do whatever I want and just become all buddy-buddy with Ne–with the victim.” He meets Vince’s eyes. He can’t say sorry again because he doesn’t mean it. He’s not sorry for saving lives, he’s just sorry he has to put his captain through all of his antics.
“I. . .” The chief swallows back words. “I don’t blame you.”
Okay, what? That wasn’t what Thomas was expecting.
“You care, and that’s not a bad thing. I made some similar decisions back in my days, and I’ve said this to you before and I’ll say it again. This can’t keep happening. You can’t keep disobeying orders and rules because you feel like it. Part of the job is sucking it up and listening even if you don’t like it. And again, we, as firefighters, save lives, put out the fires, then clean up the mess. We don’t make friends with victims because we feel bad or stay on their case because it’s interesting. You’ve got to separate personal life with professional life.
Thomas, you’re one of my best, and that’s why I’m so hard on you, and I know you care, and never stop caring.” He stops for a second, staring deep into Thomas’ soul that it sends chills down his spine. “But I need you to stop this now. If I figure out you’re in any sort of communication with this guy or any other future rescues, you will be suspended.”
When Thomas stands up with a nod and says, “I understand,” this time he really means it.
Besides, he’s cut off contacts with Newt. He won’t ever be seeing him again.
“Hey, Minho. I think you’ll be proud of me for something!”
“I highly doubt that,” Minho shoots back as laces up his running shoes.
Thomas shakes his head. “No, no, no. This time you will. So, remember Newton, the guy I rescued I was stalking and then got yelled at by my superior multiple times not to see him?”
“What, did you see him again?” He stands up straight, grabbing his ankle and holding it up to his butt.
“I didn’t see him! For weeks now.” Thomas is bouncing with excitement. He’s been waiting to tell someone this for forever. “You know, his case was the only thing I could think about for the longest time, and I was always talking to him, but then I had to stop, and I did, and at first it was kind of hard to not talk about him or think about his case and just let everything go, but I did, and I’m finally at peace with all of this.” He shrugs. “Plus, I didn’t lose my job.”
“That’s so great for you, Thomas!” he chirps in an overenthusiastic voice. “I am so, so proud of you! You finally did your job right!”
When you put it that way. . .
“Whatever. It’s a big thing for me. It’s almost been a month. Like, if I were on hard drugs and I was trying to stay clean I would be so good at it, like—”
“Shut up!”
“Hey!” Thomas places his hands on his hips.
“Can we just run, man?”
“Fine,” Thomas grumbles, and jogs to catch up to Minho.
“But I just wanted to let you know—”
“Could you, like, not talk?” Minho interrupts, picking up the pace. We’re doing a 5K jog, you do NOT need to be talking for 20 minutes. Please.”
Thomas shuts up the rest of the way. He shuts up as the world blurs by him in shades of green and blue and brown. Shuts up as he forces everything out of his mind. He is running, he is free. He’s with Minho.
He gets like this sometimes. When things become too much, all he has to do is run. By himself or with a friend, doesn’t matter. He just needs this. . . freedom. He can run anywhere he wants as fast or slow as he can. He feels the blood pumping in his veins, the rush of adrenaline as he pushes himself to the very brink, but keeps going. He doesn’t have to think or do. His legs move on autopilot, and he’s soaring past everyone—faster, better, lighter. He feels like a bird in flight, catching on the gusts of wind and free to fly wherever he wants. Nothing can drag him down.
Maybe that’s why he connected with Minho so well all those years ago at some certified first aid course you take every five years or so. Minho is the same with the running, and ever since they first ran together, it became a habit to call upon one another every time things got tough. Just two best friends, alone but together, and hey, it wasn’t just relaxing, it was fun. Minho is just as competitive as he is, and sometimes they make mini races, and Thomas can just let everything out of his body. He flies past all of them.
Eventually, Thomas reaches the end, one full loop around the park. He stops with his hands on the back of his head, chest up, as he looks up to the sky, taking deep breaths through his mouth. Minho is beside him, panting as he wipes sweat off his hairline.
“Wanna get something to eat?” Minho turns to Thomas and asks. “Because I’m starving.”
“Yeah, me too.”
They hit up a small coffee shop fifteen minutes later. They find it while walking down a small street. The only reason they went in was because it’s called “Bean Buzz” and for some reason, Minho thinks it’s the funniest thing ever.
A soft bell chimes as the door swings open and Thomas is surprised to see such a rustic interior. Everything is wooden and fall coloured and there’s a vague scent of cinnamon wafting through the air.
“Interesting,” Thomas hears Minho mutter beside him as they reach the front of the store.
Nobody’s working the cashier and nobody besides them is inside which makes sense considering the location and the name. Most people in Brooklyn would rather go somewhere high end and modern, and somewhere not named Bean Buzz, but honestly Thomas doesn’t see what’s wrong with it.
“It’s kinda cute,” Thomas says in a low voice.
“But nothing special,” Minho says. “And for a good reason.”
“I think it’s just very average. Look.” He points up to the menu. “It’s got all your basic coffee shop needs.”
Minho shakes his head with a frown. “And no nitro cold brew.”
“If you wanted Starbucks you should’ve just said so. And, you’re the one who said we should come here.”
“Yeah. Because it’s called Bean Buzz. I thought it would be more. . .” he falters for a word. “Eccentric.”
“Hello?” A voice calls from the back. It sounds so right in Thomas’ ears, like he’s heard this voice before.
“Um, hi!” Thomas shoots back.
And there he is.
Thomas has to hold his breath because he really, really thought he’d never see him again, and it’s barely been a month so how could he forget this face, but it’s Newt, and he looks better than before. Despite the sunken eyes and the malnourished frame, he looks good—or at least better considering he’s out of the hospital.
Thomas’ heart flutters in excitement because it’s Newt!
And then he remembers how he stopped talking to Newt all of a sudden, and seeing him again may be a problem.
Newt must recognize him too, because recognition flashes in those honey-brown eyes, and he just can’t manage to meet Thomas’ gaze.
Thankfully, Minho lacks social awareness outside of his job and clears his throat, walking up to the cash register and placing his order.
“Hey, can I get a chipotle chicken wrap and uh.” Minho glances at the menu hanging above Newt’s head, then down below at the section of premade juices. He grabs a green one. “And this.” He hands it to Newt who rings it up.
“That’ll be $7.89, please. How would you like to pay?”
Minho holds out his credit card and taps the machine.
“You can take a seat and your food will be served to you shortly.”
“Thanks.” Minho grunts and walks away, sinking into a low sofa.
Okay, Thomas. Take a breath. It’s just Newt. You fight fires. This shouldn’t scare you.
Thomas hates that it really does.
He takes a step forward, forcing a thin smile. “Just you today?”
Newt coughs, looks away, then back to Thomas. “Yeah. It’s usually slow here. Only one or two guys need to cover a shift.”
Oh. So, Newt’s really struggling financially. There’s barely any customers here! No wonder OFI thinks Newt did this. Thomas didn’t know it was this bad.
“I see. How have you been?”
Newt sighs, his eyes sad, but accepting as if he’s gone over this a million times in his head. “We don’t need to do this.” He says it like it hurts and maybe it does. Maybe Thomas really did hurt Newt. “You saved me and that’s all you had to do. That’s your job. Not to befriend me, help me, check up on me. I get it. Thank you for all you’ve done, but I understand. So,” he inhales deeply, “what can I get for you?”
Thomas barely gets an order through because all he can think about is that he hurt Newt, too. It hurt him to step away from Newt and the case, but it hurt Newt just as much. There was always a part in the back of Thomas’ mind telling him that, he just chose to ignore it. Because maybe he meant nothing to Newt and was just another officer trying to investigate. Or maybe he really did lose a friend.
Thomas can’t even muster an apology as he practically collapses onto the seat beside Minho.
“Bro, are you okay? You looked like you saw a ghost when that barista showed up.”
So Minho isn’t as clueless as Thomas thought he was.
“Yeah.” He licks his lips, then lowers his voice. “That’s Newton. Like, the guy that I wanted you to look up for me.”
“Oh,” Minho says softly, eyebrows pressed together. They shoot up to his hairline. “Oh! OH!”
Thomas punches him in the arm. “Lower your voice!” Stupid Minho with his stupid, big fat mouth.
Thomas is a bitch and he knows it when he wriggles his way back into Newt’s life. It’s not even his fault. It’s Newt. If Newt were just more boring and rude and not
himself
then Thomas wouldn’t even be having this problem.
He picked up a coffee the next morning on his way to the firehouse.
“Caramel macchiato. Extra hot.”
“The Starbucks way or the regular way?”
“Starbucks.”
And then he went again.
And again.
And again.
He didn’t always even see Newt when he went either. In fact, he visited so frequently that the other barista Aris learned his regular order. He told himself that he was just supporting a small, local business. Seeing Newt was like a second serving of ice cream. Newt beginning to text him as much as they used to was the cherry on top! Them talking about anything but the case was like extra sprinkles!
Besides, it was safe. This wasn’t fireman to fire rescuee. This was just man to man. Friend to friend. Barista to customer. He wouldn’t get in trouble for this.
This felt good. He felt lighter than he’d ever felt before. He was truly happy for the first time in a long time.
Of course, Thomas should’ve known considering his track record with good luck. This was too good to be true because Newt brought up the trial, and Thomas couldn’t let it go.
Teresa calls it ‘Typical Thomas Behaviour.’ She even came up with a way to make good decisions. She thinks, ‘what would Thomas do?’ and then does the opposite.
“I can get you a lawyer,” Thomas finds himself blurting out while Newt’s sitting across from him on break. Not on break, but not on duty. He gets a lot of breaks at this job.
“No,” Newt immediately responds. “Tommy, don’t do this.”
Oh yeah, Tommy. Newt’s found a liking to that one the same way Teresa calls him Tom. Mostly, he gets called a shank or a piece of klunk, but Tommy is quite nice, too.
“No, seriously. I can. Just let me help you out.”
“You’ve already done so much for me. Just by believing in me, too. It almost cost you your job. Talking about this,” he gestures to Thomas and himself. “Is already violating all sorts of things I bet.”
“But you have nothing,” Thomas replies. “It’s only your word against everything saying otherwise. You need someone—that’s not me—to fight for you. Let me get you a lawyer.”
“I don’t know.”
But Thomas does know. Newt’s considering it.
“If it makes you feel any better you can pay me back everything when it’s over.”
Newt’s lips quiver in a smile before he finally gives in. “Okay, fine.”
“So, is there anyone who’d want to come after you?” Thomas asks. He’s sprawled along his couch, Newt next to him as Thomas plots.
At first, they were just hanging out after a long day, but Thomas got off track and now they’re. . . Well, Thomas is coming up with Newt conspiracy theories.
“Not that I know of,” says Newt. “Is this seriously going to help us?”
“Nope. But I’m bored and I’ve got nothing else going on and maybe—and this is totally far fetched—but maybe I’m right and someone’s after you. So, think. Like, family history, anything.”
Newt raises a finger to his temple and hums, playing along with Thomas’ antics. “Well, let’s see. I was born in London to a loving mother and father. I had a sister. One day my parents died. The next, my sister disappeared. I was put into foster homes until I was 18. I went looking for my sister but there was nothing on her. She just disappeared and nobody found out why. When I turned 24 I moved here and started a new life.” He counts each experience off with his fingers, ending up with seven.
Thomas pretends not to choke on his words. Because what the actual fuck? That is not your typical childhood. Is this man alright? Also, parents dying, sister disappearing without a trace? Totally not suspicious at all. Maybe someone really is after Newt’s family. Thomas wants to ask more about Newt’s parent’s death, but that’s rude, and honestly, it won’t help. Taking a bitter trip down memory lane won’t do Newt any good, and he’s been through enough it seems.
“Don’t worry,” Newt reassures after seeing the look on Thomas’ face. “I’m fine, and really, it’s not as bad as it seems. It happened so long ago anyways.”
“If you say so,” Thomas says slowly. “But if you ever need to talk you can always come to me.”
“Thanks, Tommy.”
A silence falls over them, but it only lasts a while. Thomas has never been known for being good with silence anyways.
“Can I say something?” he blurts out. He really needs to start filtering his words.
“Of course.”
“It’s Newt conspiracy theory related.”
“Even better.”
“I might sound a little crazy, and this is totally untrue and you’ve probably thought of this already. Also, I might be totally off track because I don’t have all the details, but I think your parent’s and sister’s death could be related and the same person after them is now after you.” Thomas raises his hands in the air. “But then again, I’m just a little crazy, so take everything I say right now with a grain of salt.”
Thomas mentally prepares for some sort of judgemental reaction, but Newt just laughs. Thomas feels his shoulders go slack and he breathes more easily.
“Bloody hell, you are crazy, but so am I. I’ve wondered the same thing. Not related to what happened recently, but with my family. I never followed up on it because it’s stupidious, but a part of me always wondered why. But then I thought, why would they target my family? We’re just a regular old English one, so then what did my parent’s do?”
“Maybe they were a part of something big.” Thomas shrugs. “Do you remember what they did?”
Newt shakes his head. “Wasn’t old enough to know. Was only seven, and that’s what—twenty one years ago. Wow.” He blinks vigorously as the truth hits him. “Twenty one bloody years. I’m getting old, aren’t I?”
“Just a little,” Thomas jokes. “But seriously, if you want to learn more about your family I have a friend, well, he’s my best friend actually, but he works for the FBI, and if you wanted, I could get him to pull files on your family as a little favour.”
“Isn’t that illegal?”
Thomas makes a face. “Only if we get caught.”
For a second, Thomas can see Newt consider it. He feels like he can read Newt’s mind. There’s this light in his eyes that suggests he’ll go for it, but when he speaks, it’s flat and defeated. “No, there’s no point. It happened and there’s nothing to be done about it even if your crazy theory is true. Right now, I’ve to focus on my trial and everything.” He looks at the watch on his wrist. “You know what, it’s getting late. I should head back.”
Thomas clears his throat, forcing himself to stand. “Yeah. No, yeah. Totally. Let me give you a ride to your hotel.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll just take transit.”
“No. I’ll drive you. It’s all good.”
“No, no.” Newt touches Thomas’ shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve done so much for me already. I can take the tube home myself. I’m nearly 30.”
“Yet with the face of a baby.”
“It’s a blessing and a curse,” Newt says as he shrugs on his coat because only Newt would be wearing a coat in spring. He grabs a hold of the door. “Bye, Tommy.”
“Bye, Newt.”
As soon as the door swings shut and he’s positive Newt’s nowhere near his flat, Thomas picks up his phone, dialing one of the only numbers he has memorized. “Hey, Minho. I have another favour. Can you pull the rest of Newt’s family’s files?”
Thomas is a bitch and he knows it.