Different | The Maze Runner / Newt ¹ ✓

{3.2}

Disclaimer:

I do not own The Maze Runner, but this chapter may cause many feels bc it's basically all just newlyn fluff

-✼-

After taking a well-deserved and very long shower, I opened the door to my room, stomped inside with my feet making obnoxiously loud noises on the crooked wooden floor, and face planted onto my bed. I screamed loudly out of all the pent-up frustration and anger, my voice luckily muffled by my sheets and mattress. I was so done.

"Do I even have to ask?"

I jumped, stood, and spun around in the direction of the voice. There stood Newt, an amused expression on his face as he watched me from his side of the dresser. I rolled my eyes and sat on my bed, scooting myself further onto it so my feet didn't touch the floor.

"No," I sighed, swinging my legs absentmindedly.

"So," Newt paused to pull his shirt over his head, "how was your first day in training as a Runner?"

I stared at his muscles for a few moments, noticing how the removal of his shirt caused his blond hair to be just the tiniest bit messy, and it still managed to look good. Then I remembered he was waiting for a reply, and the floor quickly became extremely interesting. "If one more person asks me that, I'm jumping out the window."

Newt rummaged around one of his drawers before getting frustrated and slamming it closed forcefully with a bang, biceps tightening. My eyes widened and I ogled him as his jaw did the thing that happened when boys were angry, where it clenched and got all prominent. Then, acting as if nothing had happened, he came and sat next to me, rubbing my back comfortingly. I tried not to think about the fact that he still wasn't wearing a shirt.

"What was so bad about it?" he asked quietly in my ear, so close I could feel his breath on my neck and felt a shiver dance down my spine. I kept my eyes forward and exhaled deeply.

"I suck at running," I answered, using wild hand movement to further explain my frustration, because he knew that I only used them when something was bothering me. "I suck at drawing. I suck at cutting ivy from a fricken wall. I suck at everything."

Newt took one of my hands in his and examined it carefully, eyebrows pinched together. "Is that what these are from? Cutting the ivy?" He turned my hand over, exposing more small, dried scrapes on the other side. "Dyl, it's been one day."

"I can't handle knives," I told him as he released my hand and let it fall into my lap. "It's just...every time I do, I think of—"

"Thomas's scar," he finished for me. "I know."

My lips pressed into a thin line. I had forgotten he knew pretty much everything about me. "Oh. Right."

We were quiet then, and I leaned into Newt's shoulder as he continued to press small circles into my back. I was starting to doze off when I felt his hand move down, and suddenly it went under my shirt and I felt his fingers on my bare skin, where he started rubbing there. His touch felt like fire.

Instantly, I tensed and sat up. Newt immediately removed his hand, face flushing red as can be. "Sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

I shook my head. "No, it's just..." I searched for something to say, pursing my lips. "You surprised me. That's all." I laid my head back on his shoulder, snuggling closer to his warm body. "I don't mind."

"Okay." Newt went back to rubbing my skin and I felt my eyelids getting heavier and heavier, my mind getting hazy until my eyelids drooped and I finally fell asleep.