Apparently I have decided to say fuck my updating schedule. Cause I've been updating everything today except my one-shots, although I have plenty of ideas for those. And I kid you not this song is officially the song meant for this story. So I'd recommend listening to it but obviously no one is forced to. But I think the lyrics work so well for this story. So yea, the song above is officially this stories song. I could honestly rant about this song but I won't because this is getting long.

His eyes were fixated on the ceiling, looking at the cracks that had appeared through the years of this building having stood where it was. Of course, Thomas hadn't been situated here long enough to know how they'd come to be through time. He finally let his eyes look at something other than the ceiling, glancing over at the clock hanging above the door. It was an odd clock, inside the wall and shielded by plastic glass so that you could still tell what time it was.

Thomas just assumed it was like that so that patients wouldn't take it down.

The time was three in the morning, and he groaned as he rolled over onto his side, facing the blank wall that he really needed to decorate to make it seem less like a prison. In a sense it was one, but he still wanted to make it seem more like an actual room than a place he was stuck in every night.

His eyes wandered, and suddenly he saw Newt lying in front of him with a smile on his lips and tired eyes. Thomas found himself smiling back until he breathed out a puff of air he'd been holding, and suddenly Newt was gone. He sighed, wishing that the blonde was lying asleep beside him, and if not asleep, then at least next to him. But he wasn't. He was quite a few rooms down, and the distance had never felt greater.

Thomas yearned for Newt, and it was an odd feeling that he hadn't exactly felt tills now. And if he had, then he hadn't focused on it enough to notice that it was there. The blonde suddenly seemed to be the only thing he knew of. The only thing on his mind. Newt was the only thing he seemed to know, and yet he barely knew anything about him. Thomas was utterly clueless about everything, and for once it was him admitting it, not his teachers telling him.

He lay there as another hour passed by, and he was still as wide awake as ever, almost as if he'd had five coffees that were now surging through his blood at a pace that awakened him. Thomas took his left arm and placed it before him, observing his nails as he started humming whilst he thought of Newt.

"If I told you that I loved you, tell me, what would you say? If I told you that I hated you, would you go away?" He sang, closing his eyes as only one person swam through his thoughts. He continued humming for a little, singing again when he felt like he should.

"I've been callin' you friend, I might need to give it up." Thomas wasn't focused on singing to hit the notes, he probably couldn't even if he tried, but the lyrics got him thinking. Was Newt a friend? The word felt bitter on his tongue. It felt wrong. But nothing else could describe them. He felt too close to Newt to be an acquaintance, but they weren't anything further than friends.

And that felt wrong to Thomas. And the fact that it did, really really terrified him. He refused to think of Newt as anything more than a friend, but the word friend was like acid on his tongue, burning him down to nothing.

"I'm sick and I'm tired too. I can admit, I am not fireproof. I feel it burning me. I feel it burning you. I hope I don't murder me. I hope I don't burden you." His voice was scratchy, tired from not speaking after hours, but he was grateful for it because that meant that he was quiet. It was times like these that he wished he had headphones and music, but everything on his phone could be tracked, and he refused to use it in this place.

He checked the time again, and it was heading towards five in the morning, meaning that soon enough he'd find himself at breakfast and then morning therapy because it was once again, Monday. He'd really grown to resent them, but there was nothing he could do. Things that were mandatory needed to be done.

Thomas sighed, feeling a strange sense of anger and frustration go through him as he thought about the blonde even further. He focused on how his heart skipped a beat when an image of the blonde went through his mind. Closing his eyes, he sighed at the strange sensation going through him, and then his eyes snapped open because he was still refusing to think of Newt in that way.

He didn't think of him that way.

His body betrayed him though, burning at the thought of Newt as he was imprinted in Thomas' mind, permanently there. Thomas shook his head, standing up abruptly as his breathing came out in uneven breaths. He shook his head, hitting it with his hand as harshly as he could as he circled around the room like a shark that had caught the scent of blood.

Thomas fell back into his bed seconds later, face down so that he could scream into his pillow and have it be muffled. He found himself wishing he hadn't lifted the blondes shirt like Stiles had told him too, because it seemed to have sparked something within him that brought him into this mess in a whirlwind of confused and screwed up emotions.

He placed his palms over his eyes, bitting down on his lip harshly as he felt his body shake, and the unsatisfied feeling of not having done anything about his anger, bubbled inside him. Thomas knew that he was close to his breaking point, and if someone else would've been in his room, they'd probably be on the floor gasping for breath.

Unless that someone was Newt.

"Not Newt, damn it! Stop thinking about Newt!" Thomas shouted, screaming his throat raw, not caring that half the building would probably be able to hear it.

In the meantime, Newt was laying awake just the same, thinking about Thomas just like Thomas was thinking about Newt. Except he didn't have the same mind set as the other, and he couldn't grasp the whole concept of thinking about someone and smiling at the thought. He didn't understand why Thomas was on his mind, or why his heart was beating faster, or why he felt a tingle where Thomas' fingers had touched him almost a week ago.

He found himself wanting Thomas to touch him like that again, but he couldn't understand why or what it meant. Newt had never found himself in such a situation, and he had yet to grasp the concept of it all. Why would he want Thomas to touch him when he hated the very thought? Whenever someone tried to reach for him before, he'd flinch away. And granted he'd done the same to Thomas, but he was much quicker to accept what the other did.

Newt ended up grabbing a book from his desk, Thomas still fresh on his mind despite him not wanting him in his head. It almost agitated him as much as the voices in his head, but he didn't scare Newt the way they did. Speaking of voices, they were only faintly there as he lay awake that night, and it was strange to him as they normally tended to lurk around when it was dark, making themselves known to the poor blonde that so desperately wanted to escape it.

Long story short, he ended up throwing his book in frustration when one person in particular kept making its way through his mind. He hated it, and every time he willed it away, it only came back stronger.

He willed it away until darkness took over him, and he fell asleep.

Thomas looked around the room, finding the blonde quickly as he stood out beyond the rest, and he had to tell himself countless times that it wasn't because he looked the sickest, or because he always sat the exact same way. But that's exactly what made him stand out to Thomas, and he hated it.

He moved across the room, sitting next to the blonde without another thought as he saw Stiles smirking across from him. It irritated him, and any other time he would've shouted at Stiles no matter the distance between them, but he remained quiet this time, something he didn't enjoy.

"Move." Thomas turned his head, realizing that Newt had muttered the command in a desperate tone with his accent.

"Why?" He asked carefully, ignoring how his heart started to ache at the blondes wish.

"Sit next to your b-brother. P-please. I don't want him s-staring at us, at me, for the whole h-hour we're s-stuck here." Thomas nodded his head, understanding what Newt meant and respecting it even if it hurt him, and so he didn't hesitate as he walked to the opposite side, besides his annoying and overly happy twin. His heart felt crushed, wanting to be near the blonde rather than who he was next to now, but he didn't want to make Newt uncomfortable, and if the only option was moving, then that's what he would do.

When therapy was over, Thomas was beyond relieved. Not only had Stiles been the biggest pain to sit next to, but he'd also managed to catch onto Thomas' stare, and he ended up talking about Newt as much as he could, saying everything and anything, trying to get his brother to respond. Thomas didn't want to give him that satisfaction, but it was difficult, especially when Stiles had begun talking about his problems. God, Thomas really hated him. The urge to rip him to shreds grew with every passing hour.

Thomas found himself in the library again, looking around for Newt in the area he usually sat in reading, but Thomas could not spot Newt. He opted to look in multiple places, but when he didn't find him after searching the whole library, he left. Newt hadn't said anything in therapy again today, but Thomas hadn't exactly expected him too. He would've been more surprised if Newt would've said something, than him not saying anything.

He went up one floor, passing his room in a haste as he headed to Newt's, looking through the plastic window to see the blonde he was looking for, sitting on the floor with his legs crossed over one another. Thomas looked at him quizzically, knocking at the door before stepping inside because it hadn't been locked. He could see Newt jump, his shoulders tense and eyes alert as he stared at the boy by the door.

"I've been looking for you." Thomas said, shutting the door with his left foot as he headed over to Newt, sitting down so that they were eye level.

"Y-you have?" He asked, eyes wide at the thought of Thomas thinking about him enough to look for him. Newt was confused, unaware that he was portraying his own confused feelings onto Thomas. He really couldn't understand.

"Yea. Mind if I take you to lunch?" Newt flinched at the word lunch, hating it almost as much as the food and calories themselves. But when he glanced at Thomas, he found himself not able to say no, the boy giving him such a pleading look that he resentfully got up, brushing off his sweatpants and adjusting his sweater before he went for the door. Thomas got up too, going after the shorter blonde and following downstairs to the cafeteria.

"Is it e-even time to e-eat yet?" He tried, hoping that the clock somehow hadn't hit twelve yet. But he knew that it had when Thomas nodded his head. Sighing, he pushed open the door that led into the lunch room, and he eyed everything in disgust as he coughed. The smell was vile to him, and to Newt it felt like just by being in the room, calories were filling him up and making him fat. All the weight he was trying to lose would remain if he stayed.

Thomas carefully put an arm around Newt, guiding him to the line where the food was free to be taken. The blonde knew that he wouldn't eat, but he got a tray anyway because he didn't know what else to do, and standing in line with nothing in his grasp seemed weird and attention seeking. He didn't want anymore attention. There were already enough people in the hall, probably staring at him and judging him with their eyes, and he shrunk further into Thomas' figure at the thought.

They passed all the food, and he watched as Thomas grabbed a salad, a granny smith apple, and a pack of some artificial candy that made Newt want to puke. He really hoped that Thomas wouldn't eat all that in front of him, the thought of him making him feel ill. When they came across the drinks, Newt reached for a small water bottle, the cold from the fridge making his hands hurt slightly as he put it on his empty tray. Thomas grabbed a smoothie and water, and the blonde wanted to scoff at the unnecessary addition of extra calories.

You should tell him. He's gonna be so fat after eating that.

"I'm not mean. I don't want to say that to him." The blonde spoke, unaware of the fact that he was talking to someone that didn't exist. It was simply in his head, but Thomas had obviously heard what he'd spoken. Or well, he'd heard him mumble.

"What was that?" Thomas asked him, certain that he'd heard the blonde speak but not having caught it in time to hear it. As they made their way to an empty table at the back, he could hear Newt faintly say that it was nothing. Thomas decided to respect Newt's answer and leave it there, even if he thought that he'd said more than nothing.

He sat down, Newt across from him with only a water bottle for him to consume. Thomas subconsciously frowned, wanting Newt to at least have something on his plate. Humans needed to consume food, and the blonde was digging himself an early grave by doing this. And Thomas really didn't want Newt to get buried so young, he was worth too much for that.

The blonde opened the cap of his water, taking a sip as the cold liquid ran down his throat, the dryness in his mouth fading as he felt rehydrated. Thomas started on his salad in the meantime, grabbing onto a piece of chicken, cheese, salad and some sauce before he put it in his mouth. It was delicious, and he almost found himself asking Newt how he could avoid something so tasty. But he stopped himself, because he figured that the blonde probably didn't think the same way about food as he did.

"Newt?" Thomas spoke, making sure that he'd swallowed what he was eating as he started rolling a cherry tomato around in his salad. Newt glanced up, drinking a bit more water in small sips as he waited for Thomas to continue.

"If I asked you to do something for me, would you do it?"

Probably. You're pathetic, Newt.

Newt flinched when he heard the voice, wanting to smack his head against the table to get it to go away, but instead he chewed the inside of his cheek before answering.

"Depends. W-what is it?" He asked, cursing at himself for stuttering, even though he'd been back to that since Stiles decided that it was story time. Thomas poked the tomato he'd been rolling around with his fork, holding it out to Newt as the blonde quickly shook his head.

"No. N-no." The blonde looked down, shaking his head profusely as he refused. He couldn't, and he wouldn't. Newt would be forced to eat by the doctor later anyway, he always was. Adding more calories now was unnecessary.

"Please, Newt. I'll never force you, but I really wish you'd have one. The uneasiness I feel from seeing nothing on your tray would go away." Thomas tried, desperation in his voice as he placed the tomato on Newt's empty tray. The blonde looked at it, observing the size and color, only to stare at it in horror at how many calories it probably held.

"Please." Newt grabbed the tomato then, throwing it into his mouth and wincing as it crunched when his teeth crushed it into shreds. He hated it. He absolutely hated it and felt his gag reflex wanting to spit it back out, but he forced it down as his eyes stung with tears that threatened to spill. He coughed when it was over, downing more water as if that would clear away what horrid thing he'd just done.

When he looked at Thomas though, he saw a wide smile and alert eyes, the exact opposite of him, and he couldn't understand why. He'd just done something so disgusting and sickening, and yet Thomas was happy. It made no sense. He watched Thomas as said boy took another bite from his food, and Newt felt his body jolt as something bitter ran through him.

"I'm so proud of you." The blonde inhaled a sharp intake of breath, shocked at what he'd just been told. Words that had never been spoken to him before, now said so clearly that he couldn't believe it. Thomas was proud of him? The thought made a shy smile make its way onto his face, and he awkwardly placed a loose strand of hair behind his ear before he looked at the boy again.

"R-really?" He asked, disbelieving but incredibly happy about it. His heart was beating out of his chest, and whatever he felt was strange and not well known to him, making him happy anyway. Someone was proud of him, and that someone was Thomas.

The happiness was short lived though, seeing as a figure suddenly sat beside him. He and Thomas both looked at the new arrival, neither of them surprised at it being Stiles. Newt tensed up anyway, his fear for the boy making itself known as it radiated from him.

But what surprised the two of them, was that there was no smirk, no glint in his eyes, nothing. It wasn't Stiles. It looked like Stiles, but it wasn't his behavior, and it was incredibly odd and un-comforting, to the point where Newt almost wished that he was his usual cruel self because it was something he was at least used to and knew. The unknown was something he really hated.

"Stiles?" Thomas asked his brother, even he had picked up on his strange behavior. Thomas took a bite of his apple then, and Newt wanted to flinch when he heard it being mauled between his teeth. He managed to refrain though, and instead he crossed his legs over each other again as he drank a bit more water. At least that would digest the tomato well. He hoped.

Stiles looked up, at first his eyes held sadness and his lips hung low, but it quickly went away. His face worked like a light switch, his sad figure being the off switch, the mutter of his name being the on switch, and suddenly his face once again held his smug smirk, glinting and malicious eyes, and he looked at both boys with something that neither of them could pick up on, but it was frightening. Thomas felt shivers run along his spine, and this was his brother. It was someone he'd grown up with, and yet found himself barely knowing anything about. And the thing that scared him about that was that he knew that Stiles probably wasn't that way.

He probably did know about Thomas.

"Something the matter, Stiles?" Thomas was careful as he asked, not wanting to cross a line but wanting to know what his brother was up to this time around.

"You're going crazy." Stiles said, a giggle leaving his lips as he jumped for joy. Thomas was confused, wondering what he meant. If anyone was crazy, it was Stiles, but a part of Thomas felt like Stiles already knew that.

"It's gold. You're like me. I love people like me." He rambled, and Thomas had stopped eating as his appetite was fading fast at the uneasiness. Newt only stared, and Thomas could tell by his figure that he was scared but also somewhat intrigued.

"Stiles, what the hell are you talking about?" Thomas asked, his tone harsher than he'd wanted it to be. His brother shook his head, laughing again as his fingers twitched, and he twisted his neck from side to side before biting down on his lower lip.

"This is great." Stiles said, looking at Newt who cowered at his gaze. Thomas wished in that moment that Stiles would've sat next to him, but he understood why he didn't. That would've been too easy. His goal was to mess with the blonde, and he lived and fed from making people uncomfortable and fearful.

"Stiles." Thomas said, voice harsh once more and in a low growl. Stiles' eyes focused on him, and Thomas swore that whatever was in front of him could not possibly be who he grew up with, because the person in front of him was a demon from the depths of hell.

"You screamed." Stiles whispered, Newt shivering from the way he said it. It was undeniably creepy. Thomas' eyes seemed to widen, realizing that Stiles must've heard him scream last night when he was awake. Stiles must've been awake too at that hour, must've heard him. Stiles got up, moving over to his brother as he leaned down so that his lips were by Thomas' right ear. Newt looked at Thomas, seeing the boy visibly gulp at the close proximity of his brother hovering above him.

"You're going insane, just like the rest of us." Stiles whispered, going away as laughter erupted through him once more, skipping out of the cafeteria as Newt and Thomas stared at each other. Newt felt cold, as if the blood in his body had rushed out of his veins and he was now frozen from fear. Thomas on the other hand, could barely think, but for a second he heard a voice in his head. A faint voice that he couldn't make out, but as it got louder it dawned on him that it was his brother whispering to him, repeating the same thing over and over.

You're going insane.

And Thomas couldn't control it when he screamed.

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I literally feel like I'm the only one that likes Stiles in this.....