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Newt woke early.
The morning sun had barely risen, casting gentle shadows on the green of the Glade. The sounds of early birds chirping and flying overhead had awoken Newt. He was a deep sleeper usually, but lately, a comfortable sleep seemed a far off dream.
He turned over in his makeshift bed and pushed himself up, setting his feet down on the creaky wooden boards of the Homestead. The Homestead was in the works, the start of a future home for new Gladers, but there was enough room for a few sheltered hammocks.
He pulled his shirt over his head and slipped his shoes on his feet.
He took in the sight of the few other Gladers he'd come to know. His dearest friends, Minho and Thomas, especially. This would be the last time he saw them. He'd die with his only memories of the fragment of a life they'd shared here together. Those were the most valuable things he had.
He stepped out into the open air of the Glade, the wind gently blowing against him as he walked. He took in the way the trees swayed against the breeze, the way his chest would rise and fall as he'd breathe, the way the earth felt beneath his feet. For the last time, we took in the way it felt to be alive.
He looked up at the cold stone walls of the maze, running his hand along the names carved into the wall. He read each name crossed out time and time again, repeating them in his head, the way he had every night previous, like it a were sacred prayer. So many lives lost, people he'd come to know more intimately than his own family, if he even had one.
Maybe memories of his family would be enough to soothe him from the all consuming void inside of him. To just remember how it felt to be held by a mother's soft hands, one who looked upon him kindly with a tender gaze. To remember the way it felt to be loved at all, really. That would be enough.
Anything to offer hope. Anything to push him to carry on through this cycle of suffering.
Despite having no recollection of his life before the maze, he could feel an unbearable emptiness. He knew something was missing, something he couldn't replace. A longing for something he'd never known. He could fake a smile, but he couldn't fake that.
He was constantly trapped under a weight he couldn't lift. A weight of responsibilities and emotions that was crushing him, getting heavier with every passing day he failed to escape from underneath it, and at this point, he had lost to will to bother trying to get up.
He walked through the maze, the cold chill on the nape of his neck assuring him this was all real. He wandered around, seemingly aimlessly, looking for the tallest wall he could find.
Finally, he found it. His heart was pounding as his fingers intertwined with the ivy. He put half of his weight on it, and it held. So he took another handful and he climbed. He climbed and climbed until his hands settled on the top. His arms barely held his weight as he pushed himself up and threw a leg over the top. He sat up, looking down on the maze.
A beetle blade crawled over beside Newt on spindly legs, watching him.
"I hope you're bloody happy, creators." He spat bitterly. "This is your fault, this is your fault!"
He let the words sink into his flesh as he took a final breath, a final gasp of existence and..
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If Thomas could remember life before they'd given him the swipe, he'd remember the day Newt was sent to the maze.
There was a time before it all, countless nights spent staring blankly at a monitor watching as Newt lost any semblance of hope he might have once had. He would remember watching as Newt spent every day helping everyone else, promising some kind of hope for a future, and he'd also remember how he ended every night bitterly sobbing, cursing the creators, cursing Thomas.
He'd remember the pit in his stomach watching it all. So yeah, maybe Newt was his favourite, maybe he had fallen in love with him and yeah, maybe he'd talked them into letting him go to the maze earlier than planned. He wanted to save him.
WICKED promised he could keep his memories.
Thomas should have known better than to trust that. Of course, like every other before him, he had received the swipe.
So, he didn't remember those nights, he didn't remember he was in love with Newt, or that he came to save him.
But what he did remember was that Newt slept in a bed beside him, and it was far too early for him to have started work. He also remembered that sometimes when Newt couldn't sleep he'd get things ready for the other Gladers, to make their jobs a little easier.
Thomas loved that about Newt.
To him, it was like every Glader was a fragment of something broken and Newt was the glue that held them together. And when they were put back together again, each in their place, they made something beautiful. But, that wouldn't be possible without the glue.
He loved a lot of things about Newt, admittedly.
So much so, that he'd rather give him company for a couple of hours when it was just the two of them than go back to sleep.
He got dressed quickly, running a hand through greasy hair and tying the dirty laces of his shoes before running out of the Homestead. He stepped into the open green of the Glade, feeling the soft morning breeze brush tenderly against his cheek as he looked for Newt.
He could make out a distant figure step inside the maze. It was hazy, sleepiness hanging over Thomas and blurring his vision. But he would recognise that boy anywhere.
"Newt?.."
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"NEWT!"
Newt's entire body stilled in a moment as an ear piercing scream hit him. He felt the world around him freeze, all of the adrenaline pumping through his body starting to pound in his chest. He felt out of his own body for a moment, like the world had stopped spinning.
Thomas was here. He was here and he was screaming.
"Tommy," Newt whispered, though he know Thomas couldn't hear him. But what more could he say? How could he ever explain this?
"NEWT!" Thomas screamed for the second time, and Newt could make out a glistening tear rolling down his cheek. "Please, please don't do this."
Newt's mind was starting to be sent into overdrive, the weight of everything falling down on him at once, pushing him ever closer to that edge. He willed the words to come. Something, anything that would fix this. But Newt wasn't a poet. He wasn't made of stone. He was a human, who wasn't always calm. Wasn't always perfect. Wasn't always selfless.
"I can't bloody do this anymore, Tommy," he cried back, with his voice breaking.
Thomas took to the wall, his hands grasping at the ivy.
"No!" Newt called, his bitten down nails clamping down at the cold stone of the wall. "Don't come up here."
"Please, Newt," Thomas tried to bite back his tears, but it proved pointless as his words came out in a choked sob. "Please, just talk to me."
"You can't fix this Tommy, you can't fix me," he said, in a way that almost would have been cold if not for his glassy eyes. "You can't always be the hero."
Newt squeezed his eyes tightly shut, praying to whoever was up there, even the creators if they could hear, that they would just end this now. Let something knock him off the wall so he wouldn't have to do it himself, so Thomas wouldn't blame himself. Though he'd always find a way.
He gulped, trying to swallow down the anger building in his chest along with the fear. "If you get out of here, if you see the creators, kill them for me," he said, his voice trembling with rage, an occasional gasp for sanity punctuating his words.
"No, Newt!" Thomas gasped, slamming his fist against the wall. "You can tell them yourself, I promise you I'll- You- We'll get out of here together and we'll kill the shuck bastards who did this to you."
Thomas's voice strained with desperation, as if the words were tearing his throat in two as they escaped his body. He couldn't do this, he couldn't begin to grapple with the idea that he could lose Newt. He couldn't even raise his bloody fists.
"Please! Don't do this. We're a family, without each other we have nothing. Everyone out there needs you, I need you." Thomas whispered, the words burning his tongue like acid. Not Newt, anybody but Newt. He fell silent, reading the pain on the blonde's face. He swallowed thickly, willing himself to keep it together.
The winds pummelling against Newt's skin, the slight crack in Thomas's voice as he begged, the tears that trickled down his face, all of it felt like gag being shoved down his throat. He couldn't form the words to explain what he was feeling.
"I'm scared," Newt admitted, with a pained yell. "I'm scared, and I'm bloody angry."
In a sense it was cathartic. He'd never admitted any of this to anyone, and now it didn't matter if he screamed it from the rooftops.
"I know you're scared!" Thomas paused, the phlegm gathering in his throat, "I'm scared too, but we're gonna get out of here, I promise you! We're gonna get out of here, and we're gonna stick it to the shuck creators who put us in this place. ..Please, Newt, please. I can't do this without you. Don't let them win."
Newt sighed and sniffled, throwing his head back and taking his hands from the wall to pull his hair. Thomas was right, he knew he was right.
"Okay," he whispered.
He took a final deep breath before climbing down, letting the cold air flow through him like a silent promise he was choosing survival.
Thomas let out an exasperated sigh of relief as he watched Newt haul himself down from the wall. There's not a way I can describe to you what Thomas felt course through his body that will ever compare. It was a confusing, painful, yet freeing release.
It was almost as if someone had grabbed his heart and squeezed it with a metal clamp, and just as it was about to burst, they let go. It still hurt, but he could function.
And his heart did everything it was supposed to as Newt's feet settled on the ground, meeting Thomas's gaze with a teary eyed stare.
Thomas opened his mouth to speak, searching for the words to try and heal Newt at once. Whatever was going on in his head, under his mask, Thomas wanted to fix it.
Although, he supposed that must be what love is. Two broken people trying to heal each other.
Or in the case of the Gladers, currently about seventeen broken people. But it was special with Thomas and Newt. The kind of connection that isn't born from nothing. To Thomas, it was like their souls had collided from that first touch, and now their bodies as Newt stilled Thomas's mind with a hug.
That's all he needed, a warm and promising embrace. Nothing Thomas could say would fix this. And no, he wasn't okay. He just was choosing to keep fighting. He wouldn't let WICKED win, and how could he ever rest peacefully with Thomas's broken screams echoing through the darkest parts of him?
"I'm sorry, Tommy," he murmured, his tears wetting the nape of Thomas's neck.
Thomas wrapped his arms tightly around Newt, resisting the urge to squeeze him until he burst. "I'm sorry I didn't know."
"It's not your fault," Newt whispered.
"I know, but I should have been there for you," Thomas replied quietly, his grip on Newt tightening in anger at himself.
They fell silent, finding solace in the embrace. Newt looked up, moving his head from the crook of Thomas's neck. Thomas placed a hand on his cheek, gently wiping a tear from his eye. Their breathing synced up for just a moment as they let their foreheads rest against each other.
Newt wasn't sure what was so comforting about Thomas. He wasn't sure what it was about him that eased all of the pain, and what made him feel safe to let his guard down. But it was like, being in his arms made his brain shut up.
But when he pressed their lips together in an impulsive kiss, his mind certainly wasn't quiet. He pulled back hastily, swallowing in shame.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, eyes widening as he stumbled backwards.
What the hell was he thinking? Thomas was comforting him as his friend, as any normal person would do after seeing their friend attempt to take their own life. What on earth was he-
Thomas pulled him back for a gentle kiss. It was equal parts soft and yearning to impulsive, testament to the Thomas trademark.
He let his hand cup Newt's cheek, the other one trailing down to his waist.
The moment felt like a heartbeat suspended in time, both of them broken and yearning and completing each other's symphonies for just one moment.
So if Thomas could remember his life before WICKED, he might just realise he would fall for Newt every time, in every life, in every universe.
He would love him for all that he was, no matter how broken he may be, no matter how far apart they were, no matter how painful or soothing. He could love Newt blindly, and he would, every time.
And he would love Newt this time too, as he would realise as they pulled apart and their eyes met.
"No, no. I'm sorry," Thomas panted.
"You're shuck mental, Tommy," Newt whispered, with a trembling smile.
"I'll stay mental if it keeps you alive," he said, his lips curving upwards just slightly, though tears still pricked both of their eyes.
"Don't flatter yourself," he scoffed, trying his best to lighten the mood.
They let their foreheads fall together again, both of them processing the weight of everything that had just happened and letting it settle between them.
"Let's go back to the Glade," Thomas finally said, breaking the silence.
Newt nodded, "yeah, let's."