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

calm before the storm

happy 28k everyone and welcome to TDC.

there is a small message that i would like to say before we get into this chapter, and i won't go too much into detail...

racism all over the world is absolutely unacceptable. we all bleed the same color, breathe the same air, so why should one person be treated differently because of the color of their skin?

i'll let that thought sit with you guys for a while.

but anyway, thank u so much. i love you all to the moon and back :)

we're on the home stretch angels. lots to come.

*6 months later*

NEWT

Today, you said you wanted to learn to play the guitar. To your dismay, Vince brought out the said instrument from a random room—the same one where I found this journal. It's not like you to want to learn to play something so calming, but I guess today is a day of stepping out of our comfort zones. You learn something new, and I share my feelings.

The bright sunshine makes your eyes look so alive, even on your harder days. You didn't sleep last night, claiming you had a nightmare once again. Dark circles frame your under eyes, cloudy and glum from the recent tears you cried. But they never took away your mesmeric chocolate brown orbs that seem to always shine. You are art, Mae. I hope you know that, maybe I should tell you more often. When the breeze blows your feathery hair from your face, establishing every other ounce of perfection, I find myself staring. I always stare. It's no longer in tight braids, but in delicate waves from the side braid you had last night. I hope you appreciate your hair as much as I do, you're truly so beautiful. You never have to do anything with it. But you're just perfect like that, I guess.

As I watch you pluck the strings curiously, trying to make sounds from the hollow piece of wood, I pick up more about how you concentrate. Your tongue sits in between your teeth, on the right side. It's barely poking out from between your parted lips, almost teasing everyone who laid eyes on you. Your eyes dart from your hand that fidgets with the strings, to the other one that tries to figure out what sounds reverberate from the inside.

   Occasionally, you fiddle with the notches on the top, trying to understand what they do as well. Nothing can tear you from the melody you try so hard to create, not even the string of hair that fell out from behind your ear. You can multitask like no other, holding a white triangular pick in between your middle and ring finger. Your legs are crossed over one another, a polite posture that contrasts against everything you stood for. Tight black jeans cling to your thighs, perfect with the shirt you were wearing. Even your outfit looked perfect. Every part of you is beautiful, everything down to your chipped nails from the habit you picked up these past few months of chewing on them—just like me.

You look so content sitting there in the white plastic chair provided by the Right Arm, the wind gracefully blowing your unbuttoned flannel. Accompanied by a black t-shirt underneath, it suited you so well. It was no leather jacket, but somehow I like this look more.

I guess I'm just fascinated by you, Mae. From the way you look, to the way you think, the way you act. These past few months I've managed to become totally immersed in you, more than I already was. How is that even possible? Maybe it was your heart. The one you try so hard to protect, but always seems to get punched and kicked around. When you sat on the edge of our bed, hugging yourself with silent tears flowing down your cheeks, I saw your fragile heart in it's entirety.