It's Called Love, Tommy.

2

All of the Gladers were at the opening of the Maze when the first light came. Even Gally, who didn't even like Thomas. The Maze opened with a loud rumbling sound, causing the ground below them to vibrate slightly. Slowly but surely the Maze opened. The long, dark passage grew wider and wider, every inch it grew, the more nervous Newt was. A Griever could run through that dark, ominous passage and enter the Glade. None of the Gladers knew what one looked like. But there were no boundaries to imagination.
Chuck stood up front, the most...confident that the three boys would return. Newt stood beside him, and looked at the smallest Glader. His eyes were so wide and bright. So innocent. Almost too innocent. Chuck didn't have a mean bone in his body. That's what scared Newt the most. What if a Griever-before the thought could seep it's way in to Newt's head, he dismissed it. He'd done too much thinking and not enough action.
Chuck and Newt stared down the opening created by the 2 high walls of the maze strung with ivy, moss, dirt and filth. There was no way they would make it back. The Maze was far too dangerous for their chance at survival after dark. Why did Thomas have to be such a slinthead? One of the rules of the Glade was to never enter the Maze! Why couldn't he just obey? Why must his curiosity get the best of him? Newt missed Thomas more than ever, now. No matter how he saw him. As attracted to or just a friend. He wanted to talk to someone. There was only Gally and Chuck.
Small chatter broke out from the Gladers behind Newt and Chuck. It had been a couple of minutes since the doors opened. And...unfortunately no one had run through that dark passage. Just as Newt had expected. He took a quick glance at Chuck. How were the boy's eyes still so full and confident? Still hanging in there. Grasping on to the smallest possibility that maybe. Just MAYBE they could make it through the night in the Maze alive and return to the Glade. Maybe they could. Newt thought it ridiculous at first. Though his mind thought on. Minho was strong. So was Thomas. No one had ever faced a Griever before. Maybe the two could...fight one off. Hide Alby in the ivy strung up on the Maze maybe. Where on Earth were these shuck thoughts coming from? What corner of his brain could these thoughts exist? Newt sighed out loud. It had been about 6 minutes. It was clear now. They were gone. Head dropped, Newt grasped Chuck's shoulder.
"Sorry, Chuck. They're not coming back."
As quickly as he said it, he turned away, unable to face the boy's broken face.
Newt was angry with himself. Angry because he had the slightest confidence that they would return. He knew very well that anyone in the Maze after dark was a dead man. Everyone knew that. He wanted to take the machete strapped to his back and throw it yards and yards.
Thomas.
Why did it have to be Thomas?
"I'm sorry, Thomas." He said in a hushed whisper. Eyes closed, he began preparing himself to forget everything about the three boys...dead boys...in the Maze.
But as soon as he closed them,
there was yelp of victory. It caused Newt to spin around so fast he nearly fell.
"THERE!"
A Glader yelled.
Newt froze. He knew what he was seeing was IMPOSSIBLE. In a state of denial and shock, Newt strode towards the sight. He could hear Chuck yelling, "YEAH!" Excitedly. Chatter rose from behind as the Gladers chanted with Chuck, "Come on!"
There was Thomas and Minho, holding up Alby in between them. Sweat plastered their hair to their foreheads. Slowly, Thomas looked up, met Newt's eyes. And he did the most unexpected thing anyone could do in Thomas's position.

He cracked a smile at him.