Newt x Reader || A13

26 | always

My back is cool against the grass, dew from the unkept blades wetting my shirt and sending a chill down my spine.

An absolute silence settles across the Glade; the others are long asleep, the warmth of resting bodies within the homestead out of reach from where I lay in the grass on my back, my hair fanned out around my face as I stare up at the night sky.

The silence is broken as I hear a slow intake of breath and a quiet shuffling noise in the grass next to me. I close my eyes for a moment, simply enjoying his company and the very connection that only unspoken words may convey.

When I open them, I see him staring in my peripheral vision. He's turned on his side, cheek against his hand in the grass, brown eyes fixed upon my face. A familiar fluttering feelings begins as ruby butterflies stir in my stomach, spreading quickly to my chest and settling their rose wings upon my cheeks.

I am but grateful for the night wherein he cannot see my blush.

But then again, it's not like he would make fun of me for it anyways; he understands me; he knows me in a way I can't even put into words.

There are so many things wrong with this crooked, twisted world. We're lost, all of us. We don't know why we're here, what we've done- we don't even know who we are, but right now, with the moonlight on my face and a sandy-haired boy just inches away, I feel something falling into place.

Not a syringe with orange liquid sliding into the vein above my collarbone, not a box hurtling upwards through a tight, airless passage, and not the stinger of a griever thrusting swiftly into the stomach of my best friend, but a subtle, quiet piece which soothes my mind and makes things a little better.

There are so many things wrong with this crooked, twisted world, but as I lie here, I realize with a smile that at least one thing is right.

And he's lying right next to me.

"Newt I-"

My blush thickens as I open my mouth to tell him what I've been thinking, but he cuts me off after a moment.

"Stop," he says quickly, instantly silencing me. Slowly, I turn off of my back to face him. He's still staring intensely me. My eyes widen, asking him silently. "Just let me enjoy this for a sec, yeah?" He lies his head in the grass, eyes sweeping over me in a way that heightens the fluttering of forbidden butterflies.

I don't question him further.

After a moment, he lifts his eyes back up to meet mine, swells of emotion spilling from pools of brown: satisfaction, relief, admiration. I hear him suck in a breath, before parting his lips to release a whisper.

"It's bloody tiring, you know." His eyes glisten in the pale moonlight, a thousand forgotten memories swimming just beneath the surface: unattainable, but there.

So painfully there.

I don't need to ask what he's speaking of. I know the answer. We're all tired of it. Of living the same, tedious life each day. Of watching a new greenie pop up each month, knowing there's no way to reverse the changes that led us here. Of feeling another piece within break as a Glader never returns from the maze, of having to withstand the plague of death that is this horrible place.  

"Surprised you're still holding up." He nudges me with his shoulder, his tone forcefully lighter as he tries to drain the depth of his previous words. As he pulls away again, I reach out grabbing his arm with my own and staring into his eyes.

He's still running- he has been for so long. Albeit not in the maze, the inklings of an invisible map engraved into his head, he runs still. He runs from death, from trauma, from whatever ugly truth must lie behind the walls of the maze, beyond the shelter of the Glade, and I see all of it in his eyes.