When We're Older- The Maze Runner (Newt)

memories of you

happy 6k !! ily all <3

In through the nose, out through the mouth, I thought as I dumped the last bucket of water on the flaming fire.

Gally had made us all help with the clean up of the Glade, and he put me in charge of putting out all the fires. I haven't seen anyone else in a while—maybe they were all asleep. I wouldn't blame them, last night was a literal shit show. We lost half of our Gladers, plus our leader. Half of the boys that made this place reach its peak, and now they were gone. So was the Glade.

After all the smoke and darkness had gone, I was finally able to get a clear view of what our home had become. The Council Hall was ripped to shreds, and so was everything else. All the crops had been burned...torn up from the ground like they were some type of weed that the Grievers had to pull. The Homestead was the only thing still standing. That's where everyone was right now. Everyone except for Thomas and Teresa. Gally threw them in the pit the first chance he got. He was about to throw me in as well, but Newt changed his mind.

As soon as the last patch of flames turned into nothing but smoke, I coughed once, trying not to inhale it like I had the dust. I dropped the bucket on the floor and made my way back to the Homestead in search of a blonde Brit. We haven't really spoken since last night. He didn't come and say anything to me when he finished his job cleaning up, he just walked back into the Homestead. I can't blame him, I wouldn't want to talk to anyone either if I had just watched my best friend die, and I wasn't able to try and save him. But like always, Newt needed help, and someone wasn't there to console him.

   Sometimes I think that I should be upset by his overwhelming selflessness. That I should be mad whenever he puts other people before himself, even when he knows that he should get the attention. But at other times, I admire him for it. How he always manages to make sure everyone is happy before he asks himself whether he is, which I know he isn't. He tries so hard to seem okay, even if he's constantly crying on the inside. I've only heard a fraction of what goes on in his mind that one time where we were drunk and he let a single word slip. And then there was that one time where we kissed... Even if he didn't mean to be vulnerable, he was. Of course, it broke my heart, how could your heart not be broken when you're watching someone you care about so much crumble to the ground and still hold everything in. But that's just the way he is. Newt would never feel happy if it meant that everyone else around him didn't.

   Before I made my way into my room, I paused. My handle was on the doorknob, but I didn't turn it. I looked down the hall to the left and before I could think about it any more, I made my way into Newt's room.

   He was laying on his cot, facing the wall. His knees were pulled up to his waist, and both of his hands were under his head, in a somewhat sleeping position. His weapons were thrown onto the ground like he had no energy to put them somewhere else. I picked them up and gently set them on the dresser and out of the way, just in case he had to get somewhere in a hurry, he wouldn't step on his machete. The candle was unlit on his dresser as well, and I took the liberty of grabbing the packet of matches and very quietly lighting the candle inside the jar, making a little light shed through his room. His pillow was covering the window, keeping anyone from looking in, and light from seeping through the cracks. That was the only thing I didn't clean up.

   I slowly made my way over to him and sat down right by his head, seeing his mouth slightly open and his eyes closed in a state of temporary tranquility. With a small smile, I brushed a piece of his bangs that had fallen onto his forehead, away. His eyebrows furrowed at my touch, but they slowly relaxed. I gently ran my fingers through his hair, being careful not to pull out any tangles that would wake him up. The boy needed sleep.