Newt x Reader

PART NINE

PROCEED WITH CAUTION: this is probably the most intense part because it includes Newt's backstory, so please be aware of what kind of stuff that entails...I didn't want to spoil it but I don't want anyone to read it if they're unaware of what direction his story takes...

It is a tad lengthy, but trust me when I say it'll be worth it.
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I lie awake for what feels like hours but in reality is probably only one.
I'm tired, but both the humidity and the fear of nightmares keep me from sleeping.
When I can't stand the boredom any longer, I slide out of bed and, despite the heat, pull on my sweatshirt to cover my shoulders as I leave my bedroom.
I tiptoe silently to the room next door and knock as quietly as possible.
I wait a few seconds then turn the handle and open the door just a crack.
What little illumination the hallway lantern provides is just enough for me to make out Newt's sleeping form atop his bed.
"Newt?" I whisper. No response. "Newt?"
He sits up slowly, propping himself up on one elbow. He reaches toward his nightstand and suddenly a lantern lights up the room.
"Bad dreams?" he whispers.
I shake my head slowly. "No, I just...couldn't sleep," I reply, fidgeting awkwardly with my jacket zipper.
"Come sit down." He pats a hand on top of the covers.
     I shut the door behind me then tentatively walk to the other side of the bed as he sits up and leans against the headboard. I sit down next to him.
     After a long pause, he asks, "Somethin' on your mind?" The lantern light shines across his bare chest and shadows his face as he waits for me to answer.
     I shrug as casually as possible, stalling for time while I try to think of a nonchalant way to broach the subject.
      "I was—I was wondering if you'd tell me what happened," I say offhandedly, trying to sound like I haven't been curious about his story ever since he brought it up.
     He frowns. "What do you mean?"
     I take a deep breath, afraid I'm overstepping my bounds. "Yesterday in the kitchen, you said that...this place messed with your mind, and that eventually you couldn't take it anymore..." The way I end the statement makes it sound almost like a question.
     Newt sighs and looks down. He doesn't say anything for a long time.
     Just when I'm about to apologize for asking, he says slowly, "I was one of the first Gladers. Right away I became a Runner, because all I wanted was to find the way out. I ran with Minho every day for almost three months.
"We never found anything, though; even though the Maze changed every night, it always looked the same. But part of the Runners' Code is 'Never stop running.'
     "I wanted to stop, but Minho wouldn't let me. I think he knew that if I stopped running I would stop doing everything. If I hadn't run, I wouldn't have known what else to do.
     "He and I got up early every morning; we were always the first into the Maze. I was a good Runner, almost as good as him. That didn't matter, though, because when we would get back in the evening I would come straight to the Homestead and just lay here on my bed...trying to sleep, trying not to think or feel."
I finger the sheets gingerly in my left hand, imagining Newt staring at the ceiling and willing himself to fall asleep.
     "Sometimes I ate supper," he continues, "But most times I didn't. Usually I tried to avoid being around the Gladers, because another part of the Code is 'Bring back hope' and I was never able to do that. Not for me, not for anyone.
     "One day I told Minho that I couldn't keep lying, that there wasn't any hope to bring back; he said I should take a break from Running. And I did—I didn't go into the Maze the rest of the week.
     "It didn't help though. I kept telling myself that I was a terrible Glader, because I wasn't doing my job; that I was a terrible Runner, because I couldn't follow the Code; that I was a terrible friend, because Minho was running by himself while I did nothing.
     "I still feel that way a lot of the time," he admits. "Since Thomas is technically the Leader but he's also a Runner, I struggle to find my place. Most of the time, it seems like I'm not even doing anything important, even though I'm Second-in-Command. Then I wonder if I'm even—"
I put a hand on his shoulder, halting him. "Stop," I say firmly. "You can't think like that, not when you mean so much to your friends. Newt, you have so many people who care deeply about you: Thomas, the Keepers...and me."
     My hand slides down his muscled arm and then falls back to my side.
     I hear him sigh, but I know he's not angry. "That's how I felt the rest of that week. I knew I had to go back—had to do something. But I just couldn't. I laid here and rarely left the room. Minho came in every night as soon as he got back and gave me a full report of all that had happened that day.
     "I pretended to listen; I pretended to care. I was grateful to him for trying to talk to me, but there was only so much he could do.
"My first day back on the job, I asked him if I could run alone; he said yes. So I ran into the Maze and didn't stop running until I was about ten minutes from the Glade. Once I found a spot where the ivy was thick enough, I went to the nearest wall and started climbing.
"I didn't care how much my arms burned, or that the ivy scratched up my hands. When I was about twenty-five feet up, I pushed off from the wall and jumped without a hesitation."
I inhale sharply and squeeze my eyes shut, unwilling to imagine him so hopeless and desperate that he would try to kill himself.
     I slowly look over at him, expecting him to be teary-eyed like me, or to comfort me in some way, but he just stares straight ahead, face void of emotion.
Eventually, Newt swallows hard. "Minho found me," he says, voice catching, "Just in time to drag me back to the Glade. My leg was broken and by the time he got me to the Med Hut, the pain was so bad I'd passed out.
"The next day I woke up late in the morning. Minho was sitting beside my bed, staring at nothing. He stayed for a long time and the longer he sat there, the worse I felt. I could see on his face the pain I'd caused him, and that feeling of guilt weighed on my mind.
"For over two months, I stayed in bed, waiting for my leg to heal and the guilt to pass. I made Minho and Clint and Jeff promise not to tell anyone the truth of how I broke my leg. Alby found out, of course, and when Thomas became both my Leader and my friend, I told him, too. To this day, they're the only ones who know."
I exhale, at a loss for words.
"You didn't have to tell me," I finally whisper, my voice shaky.
     "I wanted to tell you," he insists. He pauses, waiting to continue until I look up at him. "Because it's people like you who make me glad I survived." The slightest of smiles brightens his face as he looks me straight in the eye. "I'm so glad the Creators sent you up."
     I draw a breath and drop my eyes in an attempt to conceal the warmth that spreads across my cheeks.
After a second I force myself to take a breath and look up at him. I'm about to reply when—
His eyes.
They've...changed somehow.
     There's something different in them; something new. Something that makes them glow as he stares at me.
Hope.
He's found something that gives him hope.
And it's me.
I open my mouth hesitantly, not confident that my voice won't break when I say, "I can't tell you how thankful I am for you." I'm barely able to choke out the words. A tear slides down my cheek and I wipe it away with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. "You've been so kind to me since the moment I arrived, and never once have you stopped looking out for me. Without you—" I shake my head and smile sadly. "Thank you, Newt. Thank you so, so much..."
Without thinking I wrap my arms around his neck, then after a second I feel his encompass my middle, and suddenly we're embracing, each holding the other like a lifeline.
And despite the darkness of his past, it all feels so...perfect.
     "I'm sorry you went through all that," I whisper.
     "Don't be," he replies, hugging me securely to his chest. "If that'd never happened, I wouldn't be who I am today."
     Neither of us says anything for a few moments. Our breaths slowly synchronize until we're breathing together—unsteadily, yes, but together.
     Though I don't want to, I reluctantly pull away and say softly, "I should go back to bed."
     Newt nods disappointedly. "Yeah, probably."
     After hesitating for just a moment, I slide off his bed and cross the room. Then I open the door and step into the hallway.
     My hand lingers on the doorknob and I look back at him one last time before closing the door and returning to my room.
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Tbh that was one of the hardest parts to write, but also one of the most intriguing because of all the intense emotions that were involved

💜NEWT💜