It's Called Love, Tommy.

1

A/N First TMR fanfic. Hope you guys enjoy, I hope I did alright:) set after Thomas runs into the Maze after Minho and Alby.
It was a few hours after Thomas had jumped into the Maze when Newt started to really wonder about the new Glader. He sat alone on a dry log in the forest. Every Glader was asleep except for him. How could he possibly get any rest? Three were gone now and he knew by morning Gally would be using his knife to cross out the names on the concrete wall next to the Maze. Newt could almost hear the "klink" of the metal knife Gally used dig into that mass of concrete wall. If they didn't come back by morning, Newt would be in charge of the entire Glade. And most likely, they would not return. Anyone left in the Maze after dark was a dead man. Every Glader knew that. Especially Thomas. A greenie wouldn't survive 5 minutes in the Maze. Not even with Runners.
Newt could feel his heart sink. He was good friends with Minho. And their leader, Alby. He gripped the small dagger he had drawn out earlier more tightly. The soft leather grip somewhat comfortable. He had grown to love the small weapon. It was his, after all. He had found it, and used it ever since he came up from the Box. The worn-in grip only slightly sank in familiarity of Newt's hand. He sighed into open air, the cool breeze on his skin reminding him he was alive. And that no matter how many people he lost, he had to keep things running. Crickets chirped. He breathed the dark but welcoming feel of the forest through his nose. Newt tried to ignore the loud, gravely, constantly changing Maze by settling his mind on another thought.

He focused on Thomas. Although he did not know why. His mind just...seemed to automatically click to the thought of Thomas. Almost as if by instinct...and he barely knew the boy. Newt realized the only conversation he had had with Thomas was at the fire the other night. When he had made him drink that nasty liquid Gally makes. For a brief moment, Newt wondered what was in the drink. But then settled on the fact that he'd rather not know.
The boy was so curious. Some of the Gladers thought being curious was trouble. And that it could get them killed. But Newt thought it was a good thing. To him, he didn't see curiosity as a bad feeling, but a good one.
Thomas had asked about Grievers. And the Maze. He had asked about a lot of things. Newt noticed that by just thinking of the boy made him like Thomas even more. He had liked him from the very beginning. But now another feeling was astir.
Even in the dark, Newt knew that he had burned a bright red. Thoughts of Thomas came flooding in. Newt couldn't build a barrier or a dam to stop the river of thoughts pour into his mind. Thomas's tall figure embedded itself in his brain like a sticky substance. His thick, dark brown hair. His mesmerizing, calm brown eyes. His long stride as if he came from the Box just to be a runner.
Newt was beginning to think Thomas was actually a very attractive lad. That...that maybe he liked him a little too much. With an immense, panicked effort, Newt shut off the fresh thoughts forming. There was no way. No way he could be this interested in the boy. Yet his image still racked Newt's brain. And his mind reacted with a warm feeling flowing through his veins.
Newt rose from the log, trying to clear his head. His eyes scanned the ground. They had adjusted enough to the dark that the moon was enough light for him to see objects in front of him. Newt stared at the log he had been sitting on. A light green colored moss grew around the center of the large, fallen tree. And to the right of it-
His eyes nearly bulged out of his head...he must've done it with the knife...there, on the center-right side of the moss, was a name engraved into the wood of the tree. "Thomas".
Newt shut his eyes, sharply inhaling and exhaling. Had he forgotten? Thomas was dead. Along with Minho and Alby. These feelings were worthless. Meaningless. The last thought of Thomas died away. But the feeling remained like a sweet aftertaste. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't push away these feelings toward Thomas, alive or dead. However, Newt still reminded himself of one thing.
"You have the Glade to run. Thomas is dead. He belongs to the Maze now."
And he walked off towards the village only to be gazing at the winking stars the rest of the night.