A/n: I've shipped Newtmas for a while. (Trying to decide between top!Newt or top!Thomas, actually.) I've only recently started reading the first book, and haven't seen the movies (yet). If this is even somewhat inaccurate, please let me know. Thank you.

Pairing(s): Newt/Thomas

Warning(s): Implied sexual content. Half-naked boys.

Disclaimer: Roses are red, violets are blue, I don't own, so please don't sue. This is slash, but don't bother to bash.

The lone short, pudgy boy looks around at the other boys in his presence, most sitting around the campfire in groups. His tight curls cling to his face when he whips his head around, trying to locate his friend. Well, technically only friend - the new boy, much older than Chuck's thirteen years, seemed fine with spending time with him. Then again, Chuck thinks sadly, he supposes he's only a little bit better than Gally's company. But Chuck listened to Thomas' questions, and tried to answer in the best way he could, even though most of his words seemed to drip with sarcasm before. It made him feel important, teaching the newbie about the Glade, because otherwise he would've been the Newbie, then. Thomas looked to Chuck for answers when Alby became tight-lipped and when Newt grew quiet - which was fairly often, for both leaders. For the few days that Thomas had been there, Chuck rarely strayed from his side, always eager to show him around. He knew of Thomas' worries, half whispered into the night when he thought Chuck was only half paying attention. "I think I've been here before."

Thomas was an enigma, a stranger to the Glade, and Chuck just wanted him to be comfortable. He was getting used to the freckled brunette's presence when suddenly, out of nowhere, he said he had to go to the bathroom - alright, it wasn't out of nowhere, when you gotta go, you gotta go - but hadn't returned in the past half hour. Normally, this would be okay, except Chuck now knew that Thomas didn't usually take longer than fifteen minutes. Which, Chuck admits quietly to himself, was kind of absurd in itself on how he knew that. Well then, he could at least always surprise Thomas - he hadn't jumped at anyone in the bathroom since the incident with Gally, and it might help alleviate the loneliness that Chuck felt.

So, with his mind set he marches over towards the bathroom, trying to be as stealthy as possible.

"Shh," is what Chuck thinks he hears, but that's impossible, because there's not enough room in the only stall in the Homestead for more than one person. They had actually tried installing more washrooms, but right now they were waiting on more shipments of wood and toilet seats from the Creators. Minho had sent a request for it, grumbling that he didn't want to wait in line. Regardless, there was only one washroom at the moment, a partially constructed wall to the right before other logs were used as support beams. It was big enough for a sink, a small shower - nothing like Chuck's faint memories supplied - and a toilet. There wasn't much room for more than one person, unless they stood in the shower while the other was either at the sink or toilet. Nonetheless, he dismisses what he thought he heard as a rustle of the leaves ahead.

The boy toddles forward, smiling to himself about how quiet he's being and hides beneath the pane of the window, exactly where he was before when he had first shown Thomas this. Thomas ... Chuck frowns. This is what Thomas gets for leaving me alone at the fire, he decides. Maybe then Thomas would realize how much the little boy liked the older's company. He raps his knuckles on the window, and waits for a response from Thomas from inside. When nothing comes, he knocks on the glass again, and this time, he hears clearly - as clearly as muffled voices could be -, "Did you hear that?" It's clearly Thomas' voice, but Chuck doesn't think much of who the brunette could've been talking to. He leans forward, and, because Thomas took too long opening the window, throws it upwards himself and shouts at the top of his lungs.

"Raarrg- what the klunk!?" His screech quickly morphs into a horrified squeak, eyes widening at what he's witnessing.

He had been right when he knew that the bathroom was small - it was so small that the two boys in there were pressed flushed together, faces burning when they seem to process what just happened. It takes him a heartbeat to recognize the taller boy who has his hands tangled in Thomas' hair, his gentle sway to the side easily making him recognizable as Newt, his sharp features noticeable because of the flush on his cheeks, even with the limited lighting. His hair, although overshadowed here, still was paler than Thomas' and was probably the lengthiest among the lot of Gladers, sweeping along his bare shoulders. Thomas had one of his palms resting along the golden-skinned boy's hips and the other pressed against the sink behind him, as if to lean against it for support or to push off, eyes wide and blinking owlishly over at Chuck, his skin a constellation of moles and freckles in a way that any other Gladers wasn't. It was obviously and evidently Newt and Thomas. And they were … they were...

"I'm so sorry!" Chuck screeches, feeling as if his skin tone would never return to the color it was before, a heat beneath his skin. He slams the window downwards and back-pedals away from there as fast as he could go, his arms pinwheeling slightly. He almost trips a couple times over the other Gladers' feet, the ones who still remain by the dying fire. He makes his way into the Homestead, trying to calm his racing heart. He knows that most of the boys here didn't have a single clue if they liked boys or girls - which was hard to decide unless a girl somehow was thrown into the Box, which would only come to pass a couple days later - but he actually hadn't considered that some of them might've actually hooked up. He tried to wrap his head around it but the more he thought of it, the more he got flustered.

Later, when he hears Thomas crawl into the sleeping bag next to him, he hears a quiet, "Chuck?"

The younger boy pretends to snore, loudly. Not now, Thomas, he thinks, unwittingly repeating what the darker haired boy often thought when Chuck bothered him. I can't exactly look at you right now - or any part of you.

Thomas chuckles nervously, a forced sound. "I - I guess I deserve the cold shoulder. Uh, I'm sorry you had to see that." Me too. "I, - sorry that I left you, at the campfire." All of his words sound stilted, forced, each word nearly dripping with awkwardness. "Chuck?" When the fair-headed boy doesn't respond, Thomas sighs and his sleeping bag rustles, indicating that he rolled over.

Chuck closes his eyes and hopes that maybe he'll finally get a good night sleep too - without being too traumatized about what he witnessed.

And maybe, just maybe he'd reconsider jumping out at anybody in the bathroom next time.