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This is stupid.
Thomas knows this even as his feet continue to push him forward. He feels like a child running to his mother’s room after he’s had a bad dream, and it isn’t too far from the truth—it’s stupid and pathetic and he wants to disappear from the face of the earth, but he’s too tired to make himself turn around like he should.
It’s cold, and all he’s wearing is a light long-sleeved shirt and boxers, so he’s shivering by the time he reaches his destination. He has no idea what time it is, or if the person behind the door in front of him is even awake; Thomas’s best guess is probably not, but he knocks on the door anyway. No answer. He hesitates, seriously second-guessing himself now, but he’s made it this far, and he’s so tired.
Quietly, he lets himself in.
Aris Jones has become something of a constant in his life. Ever since that night a few weeks earlier, when they’d stayed up until they could see the sun peeking over the horizon, talking about Before, Thomas had started seeking him out more and more. Aris turned out to be someone—the only one, really—that he could talk to without feeling like the black abyss in his heart was going to swallow him up whole, the one who came the closest to understanding. It was a comfort when nothing else was, and Thomas needs that now. Needs it more than he’d like to admit.
Thomas steps into the room and closes the door as quietly as he can. Aris is lying on his side, eyes closed and, as far as Thomas can tell, fast asleep. Thomas is relieved; he’s not sure he can handle talking about why he’s there just yet. The nightmare is one he’s had many times over the last few months, but its effect on him hasn’t lessened in the slightest. He can still hear Newt’s accusatory voice, angry and betrayed and hateful, and he’s still shaking as he pads over to Aris’s bed—but it’s not entirely from the cold anymore.
Carefully, he slips under the blanket, inching closer and closer until his back is pressed up against Aris’s chest. He reaches over and pulls Aris’s arm around him, threading their fingers together and squeezing softly before settling down.
He thinks he’s succeeded in not waking Aris up until a moment later, when he feels the other boy shift. For a second, Thomas is terrified that he’s crossed some boundary, that Aris is going to get up or move away and tell him to leave, but then he realizes that, no, he’s moving closer. He’s draping himself further around Thomas, tangling their legs together and shifting his arm so that it’s in a better position to keep him there. He feels Aris squeeze his hand back, and a lazy kiss being pressed against the back of his neck, and the darker-skinned boy says nothing, but he doesn’t need to. Thomas knows, it's okay, and he feels himself relax against Aris, the trembling in his limbs already fading.
For the first time in his life, he feels safe.
In the morning, Thomas wakes up in more or less the same position. He can feel Aris still lying close behind him, wrapped around him like a human security blanket, and he thinks maybe this is what genuine comfort feels like. He turns slowly in Aris’s arms until he can see his face, and that’s when he realizes he’s not the only one awake.
The other boy is watching him, dark eyes still foggy with sleep, but he looks thoughtful. When Thomas meets his gaze, he offers a sleepy grin. “Mornin’, sleeping beauty.”
The greeting is so casual and affectionate and normal, and it makes Thomas’s chest tighten with something that, for once, isn’t painful. Fondness, he thinks. And for the first time in a long, long time—Thomas smiles.
"Morning."