This chapter is very Stiles oriented, so if you don't like him, well, sorry not sorry.

Newt had run away from him. As soon as others had started to turn to them, hearing him scream for a reason unknown to everyone else, the blonde had made a run for it. It was an automatic reflex that he couldn't control, and his fear of being stared at and judged just because he was sitting right across from the person that had caused such a scene, was enough for him to turn away.

Thomas noticed, of course he did. He watched Newt's retreating figure as he ran as fast as his legs would allow him. His limp was prominent, and he wasn't very fast at all, but he was fast enough to leave the other alone, eyes looking at him. But that's not what he focused on. All he could do was stare at the door that the blonde had disappeared from, and a strange sense of panic went through his body, his breathing quickening quickly as he tried to get himself to stand up. Something was holding him down though, an unknown force keeping him in place.

He struggled against it, and his breathing became ragged as his chest tightened, and it felt like the air was caving in around him. Thomas was no longer able to breathe, everything was a blur, not just because tears had blinded his vision, but because he was no longer focusing on what was reality, because he couldn't. Everything was distorted to him, and he wanted to scream out again, this time for Newt, because his mind had suddenly told him that the blonde was his anti-anxiety medication, and he needed him.

But of course, Newt was gone. He didn't blame him, he knew that the blonde didn't like to put himself in situations that drew attention to him, and the fact that he'd already been in the cafeteria was enough to make him uncomfortable. Thomas was still proud of him nevertheless, the boy having gone with despite his hate for food and human beings, and he'd even eaten.

However, now that he was left alone, he couldn't help but be upset, and his whole body screamed for Newt as he tried to get himself to focus on what was happening around him, trying to get himself to breathe, but the lack of oxygen quickly became too much for him, and he didn't exactly know when everything turned to nothing but darkness, but he knew that it did.

It took a while for his eyes to open again, and when they did, he could only make out a pixelated figure hovering over him, not being able to make out who it was. Thomas closed his eyes again, shutting them tightly in an attempt to make everything sharp when he opened them once more, and it worked when he did. He frowned when he saw Stiles, and then he quickly wondered how his brother could be in the room.

It was an unfamiliar room that Thomas had never found himself in, but it didn't take much knowledge to know that he was in the hospital wing of the building, stuck inside one of the rooms in a bed that wasn't even close to being comfortable like he'd wished. His head hurt, and he groaned as he sat up, looking at his brother as if expecting him to speak.

"About time you woke up." Stiles said, and Thomas wanted to laugh at how normal he sounded, almost as if he was sane, but they both were fully aware that he wasn't even close to sanity. He hadn't been for a few years anyway.

"How're you in here?" Thomas asked, hoping that Stiles was in the room with permission, not sneaking in without the knowledge of a doctor. It made Thomas slightly uneasy, the thought of his brother watching him sleep without another persons knowledge. He could've been up to all types of things, filling his breathing tube with poison or who knows what.

"I was let in cause you're my brother, obviously. Besides, when I heard you fainted I needed to see if it really was true." He laughed towards the end, a smile on his face that Thomas wanted to slap away, but hitting Stiles was never a good idea. He'd learnt that the hard way.

"Why did I? Do you know?" Stiles shrugged, but something told the boy in the bed that he knew a lot more than he was letting on.

"Apparently your panic attack got the best of you since you wouldn't calm down. Eventually your lack of oxygen became too much." Thomas nodded, but he hadn't really listened because his eyes suddenly widened, and he realized what he'd originally tended to do, but never managed because his body had worked against him.

"Newt. I have to go see Newt." Stiles scoffed, rolling his eyes as he continued to smile, and Thomas started to get off the bed before he was slammed back down by his twin.

"You aren't going anywhere. I'm not letting you. I bet he's perfectly fine." Thomas tried to get Stiles' hand off of him, but it was impossible as his brothers strength overpowered his at the moment. He wanted to move, but Stiles wouldn't let him, holding him down with a hand to his chest.

"You don't know that! He's scared Stiles!" He continued thrashing around, and if someone walked past it probably looked like he was having a seizure, when really, he was only trying to get out of his brothers stupid grip.

"I know. Don't you love it?" Stiles' eyes beamed, he seemed so happy, and Thomas paused for a minute, trying to grasp how his brother worked. He couldn't understand how someone thought the way his twin did. And how had Stiles even gotten to that point?

"No, I don't love it. I think it's disgusting that you do." Thomas said, and his brothers grip loosened before he slammed his hand down back down harshly against his Thomas' chest. Thomas coughed, pain radiating from his ribcage as he tried to breathe. Stiles looked down at him, having full control over the moment, and he was definitely using it to his advantage.

"I simply said I love how frightened he is. You don't need to get so defensive over him just because you like him." The weaker froze, the words that hung loosely in the air were still trying to process within him, and once they had, he felt as if the air had been knocked out of him, which wouldn't have been the first time that Monday.

Stiles smirked victoriously, grinning from ear to ear as he knew he'd hit the nail on the head, and he was exactly right with his assumptions. It only broadened the ideas in his twisted mind further, and he wanted nothing more than to plan ahead on what he'd had in mind with his twin.

"I d-don't. Okay? No." The quiver in his voice gave Thomas away though, and he knew that lying further wouldn't bring him anywhere because Stiles would always see if he was being deceptive. And in this case, he was. He wouldn't admit to Stiles that he may or may not have developed microscopically small feelings for the blonde, he barely admitted it to himself when he knew for a fact that it was the truth, but there was no way he'd confess to it out loud. But he knew that he wouldn't have to, because Stiles was already a step ahead of him, and knew.

"Course you do. Kinda funny how you fall for such a fuck up." Thomas tightened his jaw, clenching his fists as he tilted his neck, veins protruding as he bit his lower lip.

"Stop calling him such things. He's human!" He screamed, Stiles jumping back from surprise before composing himself.

"Is he? Is he really? Tell me Thomas, what kind of human being do you know that slices his wrists open, watching with a twisted smile as blood falls..."

"Shut up!" Thomas shouted again, not caring that his throat hurt and made his voice scratchy. Stiles only laughed at him, and it angered him further as he coughed.

"Is he doing alright?" The two glanced up to see a nurse by the door, eventually moving closer to the two brothers that had been arguing only a minute before.

"He's fine. Just woke up. Right Thomas?" Stiles turned to Thomas just as he finished speaking, dangerous eyes making Thomas want to look away. His brother was threatening him without words, he knew that, and he was also aware that Stiles was very capable of going through with his threats if they weren't listened to.

"Right. Perfectly fine." He smiled at the woman, and she seemed to bite into the bait whilst grabbing onto the clipboard at the end of the bed.

"I'm gonna go. Good luck." Thomas watched as Stiles made his way to the door, walking out swiftly without another glance back.

Stiles always had a plan. Wether it was a good plan or not was debatable, but he always had one. Which is why he was now looking for a short blonde boy that Thomas had grown to like so much in such a short time. Stiles was chuckling quietly as he walked, looking around to see if he could find Newt. Much to his dismay, the blonde was nowhere in sight, and he searched for a good hour in as many places as possible.

Eventually he went further down the stairs, emerging in the sitting room that led to the narrow hall, which led to the exit and hospital wing where his brother was still being held in. Stiles was about to head back there, tease Thomas a little more, but he stopped as he saw who stood in the narrow hall. He hadn't thought that he'd find Newt walking towards the entrance, but there he stood, seeming to be thinking if he should proceed or turn back.

His movement was uncertain, his legs shuffling around before he turned, pausing as he noticed Stiles. At least he thought it was Stiles as he was unaware of Thomas being in the hospital, so the boy in front of him could've also been Thomas. But by the twisted and satisfied grin that broke out on Stiles' face, Newt knew which twin it was, and his whole body shook in a panic as the other moved closer at an incredibly slow and painful pace, taunting the blonde and his fear.

"I've been looking for you." Stiles said, finally so close that he could reach out and touch Newt if he wanted, and the blonde started to walk backwards before he hit the wall, trembling as the other proceeded to come even nearer to him, trapping him quickly and leaving him with nowhere to escape.

"Y-you have?" He stuttered, wanting to close his eyes to wish Stiles away, but keeping them open as he seemed to be controlled by something unknown.

"Yea. I thought maybe you and I could talk." His voice was low, barely above a whisper, and he moved his body so that it was aligned with Newt's perfectly, his hands on the wall and dangerously close to the blondes hips. Newt shivered, wanting to move but having no space left to do so. He looked up because Stiles was almost a head taller, and he saw the other lick his lips like a predator ready to eat prey.

Laughter erupted from Stiles, scaring the blonde further as he hung his head down, not wanting to look into the eyes of someone that seemed to be possessed. Stiles was terrifying compared to Thomas, and Newt felt his breaths coming out unevenly as his body started heating up.

He felt a finger under his chin, and then his head was tilted upwards to look at Stiles again, but his eyes went downwards to see that the taller had taken a hold of him. Stiles was now moving his hand across the blondes sharp jawline before caressing his cheek and letting it linger, and Newt bit his lip as his heart thumped in his chest. He didn't like the touch on his skin as he knew who it belonged to, but a part of him seemed to betray that thought entirely.

"You're blushing. Do you like this?" Newt quickly shook his head, but then he realized that Stiles was capable of hurting him very easily, and a whole new sense of fear went through him.

"You know what I think?" Stiles asked, his eyes gleaming and dark, possessive and lustful in a way that made the blonde wonder how he wasn't locked up downstairs.

"I think you like Thomas. Because I look like him, you like me touching you cause it might as well be him. You following?" Newt shook his head, because whilst the words spoken were simple enough for anyone to understand, the blonde didn't. Liking Thomas seemed so unknown, and he couldn't grasp the idea that maybe he did. He didn't understand, simply because he'd never known someone well enough to develop feelings for them.

"I d-don't." Stiles chuckled humorously, a smirk on his lips as he tilted his head to the side, his eyes squinting slightly as if to narrow down what he was looking at.

"Well, I do. That's why you'll let me touch you. Just close your eyes, Newt." The blonde didn't know why he decided to listen, but his eyes were closed shut and darkness surrounded him as he waited. He was still terrified for what Stiles was doing, not being able to calculate the boys steps ahead of time. Newt felt how the other inched his whole body even closer, and he could feel Stiles' chest against part of his, seeing as they varied in height.

Light brushes of a hand were running along his neck, and once more he found himself not breathing, this time out of panic as everything seemed to be closing in on him. He couldn't understand why he was letting Stiles so close, or why he let him touch Newt, and everything seemed to crash down on him. He began to panic in that moment, his breathing fast, his muscles tightening and his lungs constricting. If he'd had his eyes open, he would've been able to see the satisfying smile grazing Stiles' lips, seeing exactly what he was causing.

"Forget who I am, Newt. For all you know, it's Thomas this close to you." Newt bit his lip, Stiles' words echoing around in his head as he started trashing around, his body breaking down as he fell to the floor. Stiles didn't even attempt to catch him, letting his knees hit the wood harshly as his whole body shook.

Newt lay there, unaware of his surroundings as he cried, trying to breathe properly but failing as Stiles walked away. But the blonde didn't exactly know that, barely being able to see as he let his panic take over, desperately fighting it and making it only worse in the process.

Stiles was laughing as he walked up the stairs to Newt's room, deciding that what he'd done wasn't even close to enough to scare the blonde. He loved the thought of bringing the other to his breaking point, and he knew that a panic attack wasn't even half of what he could do. Stiles was capable of so much more, and he speed walked to the blondes unlocked room, a bounce in his step as he clapped his hands.

He got inside, seeing a organized mess that he'd expected. Stiles was well aware of Newt's obsessive compulsive disorder, and he decided that he'd use that against the blonde, knowing that if he messed with Newt's room, it could definitely drive him to insanity.

The room was messy, and yet it was well put together just the same, it was Newt's own organization to stop himself from freaking out over small changes, and to him it was perfectly clean and safe. No books were close enough to the adapter in the wall to cause a fire, no blankets or clothes either, and his books on his desk were placed in a very specific order, yet still sprawled out messily. His papers seemed to have been deliberately placed a certain way, and the floor was almost clear with the exception of a few clothes, and even the way they were laid out seemed planned.

He spun around the room once, trying to see how everything was laid out before he grabbed a book on the table, taking it in his grasp before going to the adapter, placing the book so it leaned right against it. It was a subtle change that Newt was surely to pick up on, seeing as he always checked things multiple times before sleeping.

Stiles grabbed two other books, placing them on the floor besides the bed, and some clothes that had laid there, he placed on the table. He kept a sweater in his grasp, placing it right where the book was by the wall. Stiles was grinning from ear to ear as he ran to the dresser, opening all drawers and reorganizing where everything inside it was.

He stood back to look at his work, seeing every change perfectly well, which meant that Newt would definitely see it. One thing was missing though, an emptiness on the bed that he knew needed to change before the blonde decided to come back up. And so he made a dash to the library, trying to suppress his satisfactory laughter as he walked inside, attempting to make as little noise as possible to not draw any attention.

When he'd gone to the librarians desk, he was glad to see that she was nowhere to be seen, and he assumed that she was probably helping someone find a book. Stiles acted quickly but quietly, moving like a fox and seeing the jar of pencils with the silver object he'd been needing. He grabbed it swiftly, hiding it in the pocket of his sweater before practically sprinting out the door. Newt could've already been back to his room, and Stiles prayed that he wasn't.

It seemed like things were going his way awfully well, Newt still not being where Stiles once again was. He walked to the bed cautiously, the scissors caught tightly in his grasp that he could've drawn his own blood. Stiles placed them awfully neatly on the bed, having them open slightly so that the two blades were noticeable.

Taking a few steps back to the door, he looked around the room once more, satisfied with the outcome as he laughed and jumped out of joy that he couldn't contain. He was having an indescribable amount of fun, and he was aware of how twisted he probably sounded, but he couldn't help the fact that he fed off of peoples pain.

He slipped away, staying close by so that he could come back when Newt realized what had happened, and now all he had to do was wait. Stiles wasn't in sight for the blonde to see, and he himself was no longer able to see the room that was Newt's, all that was left was to be patient and wait.

Newt himself had finally managed to calm himself and collect his thoughts enough to drag himself up the stairs. He was tired, and his lack of nutrition was once again catching up to him. The blonde was thirsty, his throat dry and his face stained in tears. His body was still shaking slightly, but not as bad as it had before.

His head was hung low, and he walked into his room with a sigh, only to be greeted by disaster. He started to panic all over again, the feeling of everything being wrong taking over as he ran for the book by the adapter, his irrational fear of it catching fire, catching up to him. He scrambled over to his desk, seeing clothes that should never have been there, and he threw them to the side as he got to work on his books.

Tears streamed down his face once more, and he tried his hardest not to let his vision blur so that he could sort his books correctly. He had a total of twelve books, a number he hated, but he always sorted them out into two separate stacks.

"One, two, t-three, four, f-five, s-six, seven." Newt finished as he counted the first stack, moving the books so they were tilted slightly and so that you could see a part of every cover clearly.

"One, t-two, three, four, f-five." He counted, checking each edge of the book to make sure none of them were horribly bent. When they weren't, he calmed a little, but it went away shortly when he heard someone clear his throat.

"Need any help?" Newt turned, seeing Stiles stand there with a worried glance, no smirk or mischievous smile, no laughter and no playful eyes. It was odd and out of place, unfamiliar, and the blonde would've rather had Stiles hold his usual look of insanity than this.

"N-no." Stiles didn't listen, walking in just as Newt was picking up a pair of sweatpants, placing it in its original spot by his bed. He proceeded to walk to his drawers as he noticed they were open, and when Newt saw that everything was where it shouldn't be, he fell to the floor crying before rushing to fix it. Everything needed to be folded a specific way, but now it was only a crumpled mess. Newt looked towards Stiles, seeing that he was reaching for a paper on the blondes desk, and in a panic, Newt spoke.

"Don't t-touch it. P-please." He whimpered, Stiles looking at him carefully before he took a step back.

"I'm trying to help." Stiles stated, and Newt wanted to believe him. He thought it was odd, not making sense after the act in the hallway, but he seemed to want to help Newt out with whatever had happened in his room.

"You'll m-make it a-all worse." The taller walked closer, and Newt was worried that he might get trapped between a wall and Stiles again, but when Stiles stopped, relief washed over him, and his heart calmed ever so slightly.

However, his heart sped up in a haste when he could see the real Stiles crack through the fake, his smile and deranged eyes showing once more. Newt was confused, unaware of what was happening in front of him, and he couldn't comprehend how someone could change so quickly. Stiles worked like a switch, working his way between both with only minutes apart. It was amazing actually, how Stiles worked, and yet he didn't make sense.

"What if I was Thomas?" Stiles asked, but something told Newt that the one who'd asked the question, already had his own answer prepared. Newt felt his body grow cold, his limbs freezing in place as he stood, paralyzed and fearful as he saw Stiles smirk and move closer.

"You wouldn't care if I was Thomas." Newt tried to move, and when his body finally let him, he was quick to fall onto the bed, something metallic and weird against his back. But that's not what he payed attention to, all he could see was Stiles, looking into his crazy eyes that were inching closer.

"Seems to me that you've formed a crush." Stiles said, bending down so that he was eye level with Newt. The blonde wanted to look away, but he couldn't. He should've been able to, but he wasn't.

He's quite something.

"Who is?" Newt asked, not sure if the returning voice meant Stiles or Thomas. Stiles watched on, playing with his slender fingers as he nibbled on his lower lip.

Stiles.

Newt shook his head, disagreeing so fast that his head almost hurt from the speed he was shaking it. Of course the voice within him would like Stiles more, seeing as they were both taunting the poor blonde and driving him over the edge every minute.

"Newt, admit you feel something." Newt looked at Stiles again, focusing back on the reality in front of him, even though the voice was just as much of a reality as Stiles to the blonde. The blonde shook his head, not agreeing with Stiles on what he called a crush.

The blonde didn't have a crush on Thomas, at least he didn't think so. To be fair, he didn't know how crushes worked, or when he was supposed to know that he had one. He never thought he'd actually had one before, seeing as he'd been locked up here since he was twelve. It didn't give him much time to grasp the concept of relationships and emotions between two people, and so he wasn't aware of signs that meant he liked Thomas the way Stiles was suggesting.

He simply didn't understand the concept, and so when he denied it, he thought he was telling the truth because it was his truth, but in reality it was also a lie.

"Say it, Newt." Stiles urged on, standing up as he walked away from the blonde that was lying on the bed. He got up too, a twitch in his fingers that became unbearable, and he went to his desk slowly, the taller watching his every move precisely as Newt stopped.

You're crazy, Newt.

The voice worked like a command, and the blonde had thrown his books to the ground with the small strength he had, not paying attention to the other person in the room. Stiles looked on, deciding on leaving or staying to watch what was unfolding, but even he was sane enough to give Newt some privacy when he was crumbling and shattering, even if he would've loved to watch.

"Look at your bed." Stiles stated, turning away and shutting the door before going to his room.

Newt once again, followed Stiles' order, seeing the scissors that he'd probably accidentally laid down on earlier. That explained the weird metal against his back, and it didn't take another second before he was already in front of them, looking at them like they were the greatest gift he'd ever received. It was absolutely sick, but he didn't hesitate to take off his shirt, cutting along his stomach and protruding ribcage as blood started to run down.

He screamed out when it began to sting too much, and he let the object go as it hit the floor next to him. Newt tried to move, attempting to find a more comfortable position to be in, but quickly finding none. He needed a shower or the risk of infection was too big, but there was always someone down there to stay guard, and the only way for him to shower was if he changed behind the curtains as well. That would come across as suspicious, but what other choice was left for him?

After picking up a change of clothes, he went out (wearing a sweater to hide his wounds), walking to the showers briskly. His mind started to wander, and he wondered where Thomas had been all day since lunchtime. It was late now, Newt was sure that after his shower he would have to be back in his room before they locked him in for the night.

It was quiet when he came to the showers, and he awkwardly glanced at the worker to see if they'd let him go past. No words were spoken between them, and Newt limped to the individual showers that were hidden behind the ones that could be seen. It was his attempt on making it easier for himself.

He could hear water running, and so he knew that he wasn't the only one currently washing their body, and he got out of his clothes before placing them on a bench across from the shower he'd chosen to go into. The blonde rush inside the small, squared space, shutting the curtain before turning on the water.

The blood on his skin had dried slightly, and he knew that it would be harder to wash away than before. Newt turned the water to a bearable but warm temperature which would make it easier to wash the blood away, and he saw small parts of it already falling into the drain, creating a pink or light red color as it disappeared.

He ran a hand down his ribcage and to his stomach, peeling off the dried blood, opening the fresh wounds once more as more blood fell into the drain, and he winced at the pain. It didn't usually hurt the way it currently did, normally he barely felt anything, but in this case, he felt it strongly, and he knew he'd cut deep.

Newt turned off the shower when he was done, peeking his head out from the curtains to see if anyone was there. No one was, and so he rushed to get his towel, drying his body before putting on his clothes and going back to his room.

He passed Thomas', but he did not find the boy inside, and it gave Newt a queasy feeling. The blonde told himself that Thomas was probably in the library or somewhere he hadn't passed after running away from him before, maybe outside. But he couldn't shake the feeling of something being wrong, and it followed him all the way into his sleep.

The next day, Thomas was finally able to head back to his room after having talked to Mrs Miller for almost an hour, going through some things before he could go. Stiles hadn't come back after the one time when Thomas had awoken, and he was slightly glad for it.

He got dressed in his regular clothing that they'd replaced the day before with something else, and he looked up at the clock ticking on the wall, seeing that it was already eleven. Thomas only had one thing on his to do list though, and that was seeing Newt. The thought had been itching his skin, and he wanted to sneak out where he was stuck almost every hour, but he didn't.

Thomas finally made his way past the entrance, down the narrow hall, and up the two stairs until he came to his room, but he barely even acknowledged it as he walked straight past, heading to Newt's.  He counted all doors between them, eventually seeing Newt sitting on his bed with a book in his grasp. Thomas smiled, knocking three times before he carefully twisted the doorknob and walked inside.

Newt jumped, looking up in a panic when he thought it was Stiles, but the very presence of who'd walked in, was enough for him to realize that it wasn't Stiles, unless he'd suddenly become brilliant at being his brother.

"Am I disturbing you?" Thomas asked politely, watching as Newt put his book away and shook his head.

"Not f-for another t-two hours." The blonde gave a shy smile, and Thomas sat next to him on the bed, being careful to leave some space between them even if he yearned to be closer.

"You okay?" Thomas asked, knowing he hadn't really been around the day before to make sure himself that Newt was alright.

"Fine." He answered, the shortness of the reply seeming to make him the opposite of okay, but Thomas didn't want to push it. And Newt only assumed that Thomas was already aware of yesterdays events, seeing as Stiles had probably run to tell Thomas. So, he didn't think to talk about everything with Stiles. He just assumed that Thomas knew.

One question lingered in Newt's head though, one particular thought, and he thought that maybe Thomas would be able to answer it. He moved a small piece of hair from his face behind his ear, turning shy and quiet before he asked.

"How would a person know they like someone?" Newt was surprised when he managed to say such a long sentence without stuttering, but he guessed that it was only because he was whispering. The blondes eyes looked anywhere but at Thomas', and he nervously played with his fingers as he waited, the silence paining him as he wanted it gone. But he was well aware that he'd brought it on himself.

Thomas suddenly grew nervous, thinking that maybe Newt knew that Thomas liked him. He had no idea how the blonde would find out, but the question that hung in the air seemed like his own answer. The blonde knew that Thomas liked him, and the thought made his nerves burst. He tried to act calm and collected though, as if he had no idea about it.

"What way do you mean?" Thomas asked, stalling for time as he tried to come up with an answer in his head, something that would seem reasonable and make sense to the boy next to him. Newt shrugged, an action Thomas found to be quite cute on him.

"The one that's more than f-friends." The younger nodded, seeing Newt with a blush on his cheeks and a small smile on his face, as if he was ashamed of having asked. Thomas suppressed a giggle, which was difficult, but he managed.

"It varies. If it's a simple crush, I guess you tend to just like their appearance. The way they look is attractive and then you have a crush on them. When you actually like someone, I think it's appearance and behavior. You like the way they do certain things, or ways they respond in specific ways, how they act, and of course the way they look." Newt nodded his head, shuffling closer as his interest in the conversation grew.

He'd never talked to anyone about these things before, and whilst it was a little weird, it was also incredibly interesting to him. The things Thomas was describing were unique and unknown, different, and the blonde liked it.

"And what's love?" He asked slowly, watching as Thomas' eyes widened before he looked at the blonde, studying his face as if to see that he'd really just asked the question. Newt knew that love existed, he'd heard and read about it, but the way Thomas described all these things, made him want to hear it from him. Besides, like and love were connected, and he wanted to put them into individual categories and sort all his own thoughts out. The thoughts that made no sense.

"It's complicated." Laughter could be heard coming from Newt's lips, and Thomas smiled at him in adoration as he sighed. Thomas had never experienced love, and so he didn't exactly know how to inform Newt on something he himself was clueless about. The things he could say were only guesses.

"It's when your heart races around them for no particular reason and you can't get it to stop, but at the same time, you don't wish for it to. And it's when they're constantly on your mind, and they drive you crazy, but you're not exactly looking to be sane anymore. It's knowing that they have flaws but not letting them get in the way, they only become more special to you. Love is when it hurts you to be with the person just as much as it does when you're not." The room grew quiet when he was done, but it was a silence that neither of them minded as unspoken thoughts lingered around. Newt thought, amazed by how much Thomas seemed to know, and the way he seemed so passionate when he spoke. The blonde was almost scared at how descriptive Thomas had managed to be.

Thomas one the other hand, wanted to scold himself for how stupid he'd probably sounded. But when he looked at Newt, the blonde held a shyness that also portrayed that he was impressed with what Thomas had managed to say, and so maybe he hadn't sounded that bad.

Newt was trying to understand the concepts of like and love, and whilst Thomas had made it seem clear, it was still confusing. How was Newt to know if he ever liked or loved someone? According to Thomas, you felt specific things for the person in question, but how could the blonde know that that's what it was? He couldn't grasp the concept of how it worked, how humans and relationships worked and formed.

He couldn't understand that Thomas was the one making him feel a certain way that was the equivalent of liking someone.

It wasn't that Newt was dumb, he wasn't. His inexperience and unfamiliarity seeped through though, and since he was already unstable, his emotions and thoughts didn't give him the answers that were so clearly written before him. Things weren't so simple for him. He'd blinded himself from all these things, and if he'd ever get his vision back, was the question.

"Who told you this?" Thomas blurted out, suddenly not able to keep his thoughts to himself. He needed to know who'd told Newt that Thomas liked him, because he was so sure that the blonde knew. Newt on the other hand, understood it as who'd told the blonde that he liked Thomas, and was now questioning that exact person on all sorts of things.

"Stiles." He said, looking down, ashamed and wishing that he'd fade from Thomas' view. Thomas probably thought Newt liked him now, had what people called a crush even when he himself saw Thomas as a friend. At least that's what he saw through his blinded vision, a friend.

Thomas was out the door quicker than it took for Newt to look up again, and his lower lip trembled as he tried to tell himself he wouldn't cry. The blonde didn't even know why he was getting so worked up on the other storming out, it wasn't a big deal, and yet he began crying. It shouldn't have meant anything, and he grew mad at himself for ever speaking of what he'd asked Thomas.

Now Thomas probably thought that he was sicker than he'd been before, and it made Newt swallow the lump in his throat as he whimpered. He failed to realize that he was upset because he was heartbroken and devastated. Those two words didn't cross his mind once, instead he was thinking the other no longer liked him because he thought badly of the blonde, because the blonde had made it seem like he may like Thomas, which he didn't.

It was all his fault, and he regretted speaking as he shuffled around in his bed, moving so he was against the wall, hitting his head repeatedly against it as he scratched at his scrapes and cuts viciously and not thinking. Newt didn't know that all he wanted was for Thomas to come back. He didn't know that he wanted to be held because he hated to be touched. He didn't know that Thomas could help him, and he wasn't likely to let him.

And he definitely didn't know that a part of him needed him.

And the last thing he didn't know was that Thomas hadn't run away out of disgust, but out of anger towards his own brother, and was now looking for him like a hunter.

What he did know were the things that weren't true.