The Maze Runner

Newt:

You Were There First: A full story with my original character Sagan that I hope to continue for all three of the books

Making out with Newt at WICKED: Imagine where reader and Newt make out in the hallway so WICKED sees

You Get Hurt: You get hurt and how does Newt react?

Newt confesses his feelings: Minho teases Newt to the point where he confesses he has a crush on you

You get jealous: Another girl from another maze gets Newt's attention and you get jealous

Newt gets jealous: Newt gets jealous over how close you are with Gally

You avoid Newt: Newt knows your avoiding him but he doesn't know why until Minho tips him off about the reason why

You Impress Newt: You impress Newt when you beat Minho in a foot race

You and Newt have a moment in the Scorch: Reader can't sleep when the group is running from WICKED and Newt finds them on the rooftop

You and Newt Tease the Gladers: Minho gets the group to play truth or dare and you and Newt decide to tease everyone

Newt Getting Upset When You Get Hurt: Reader gets hurt and Newt gets upset

You Scare Newt: Newt admits you scared him when you accidentally fall off the watchtower

Minho Explains The Spot Next to Newt: The boys know the spot next to Newt is always taken even if no one sits there. But the new Greenie doesn't yet so Minho explains why.

Newt Makes It To The Safe Heaven: What happens when Newt makes it to the Safe Heaven but Reader doesn't know he's alive.

Newt Finds Out You Punch Someone: Newt is minding his business when the Greenie tells him you got into a fight and in the medhut

You and Newt Mess With The Gladers: A small prank leads to Minho getting the whole glade riled up on you and Newt being "clones" Based on a scene in my Newt book: You Were There First

You Get Captured By Wicked: (pt. 1) how does newt react when wicked captures you?

Newt Rescues You From Wicked (Pt. 2): Newt and the group rescues the reader from Wicked. A continuation of another imagine I did!

You Get Infected Instead of Newt: Alternate storyline where the reader is infected instead of Newt

Making Out With Newt In The Glade: newt and you get a moment away from the group

Newt Comforts You After A Bad Day: The Gladers pick on you a little too much and you feel down about the day but Newt helps with that.

Newt Helps You After Winston's Death: Takes place the night of Winston's Death and Newt comes and joins you on watch to comfort you about the loss of your friend.

Newt And Yours First Time: You and Newt haven't gone very far into your relationship. Only enough time to share a few kisses here and there because of survival circumstances. But now that your safe? Why not? *DISCLAIMER: NOT SMUTTY MORE LIKE FADE TO BLACK*

The Morning After Your First Time With Newt: A fluffy fic of the morning after your first time with Newt.

Minho Teases Newt About His Crush On You (pt 1): Newt is a little too obvious with how he looks at you and Minho calls him out

Fry Tease You About Your Crush(pt 2): You make your crush on newt a little too obvious and Frypan calls you out on it

Frypan and Minho Get Newt And You Together pt 3: Frypan and Minho put their heads together on how to get you two to confess your feelings

Newt Admits He Can’t Fathom A World Without You: you get injured on your run in the maze and newt is upset but not in a bad way

Newt Keeps Getting Interrupted: All Newt Wants to do is kiss you but he keeps getting interrupted

Newt’s Reaction To You Needing Glasses: Safe Haven has been a big change but the biggest is you finding out you’ve needed glasses? And you can’t help be nervous thinking about your boyfriend, Newt, reaction to them.

The Gladers Reaction To The Glasses and Newt Defends You: Minho teases you for your new look and Newt Defends you

Newt Confesses He Can't Sleep Without You: At a bonfire, Newt confesses he can't sleep without you next to him

Newt Helps You With A Panic Attack: Cranks are terrifying. After your first run in with them your body can't seem to relax and it finally breaks.

Trying to Remember Newt: You were captured by WICKED and they erased your memories again. But once back at Safe Haven they slowly return to you and you realize how close you and Newt were.

Minho:

Minho gets jealous: Another boy from a different maze pays a little too much attention to you and a certain runner gets jealous

You try to hide an injury from Minho: You injure yourself while working and try to hide it from Minho but he knows you better than that

Another Newt Confession: Thomas convinces everyone to leave the maze but Newt has something he needs to tell reader just in case

Minho Gets Hurt: Minho gets hurt while running the maze and reader has to patch him up and feelings get confessed

Minho Comforts You After Losing A Runner: Losing someone is hard, especially when you were there when it happens. But Minho comes and comforts you about it

You Forget Minho Pt 1: You get captured alongside Minho but they made it to where you forgot him.

WICKED Makes You Forget Minho Pt. 2: Safely established at Safe Haven. Your memories slowly return and you realize why Minho was so hurt but in your memories returning you realize you have feelings for Minho.

Thomas:

You Impress Thomas and the group: Your a badass and show the group why Thomas chose to date you

Thomas confronts you about you avoiding him: You try avoiding Thomas for the day and he finally finds you and confronts you as to why

You get jealous of Teresa: Teresa and Thomas are getting closer and reader gets jealous because she has feelings for him

Thomas gets jealous: The group made it to WICKED and another boy from a different maze takes an interest in the reader which Thomas doesn't like

Thomas and You get Stuck in a Sandstorm: You and the group are in the Scorch and a sandstorm separates the group. Except you and Thomas who take shelter in a bus.

Thomas Finally Gets To Confess: Finally settled into Safe Haven, Thomas gets to get something off his chest

Thomas Finding Out Your Infected: Thomas and the group find out your infected

Gally:

Gally Comforts You On A Bad Day: Glade life is hard. Especially when your the only girl but a certain builder tries to help.

You Get Hurt Protecting Gally: A fight breaks out in the Glade and not wanting it to hit Gally you take the hit and get injured.

Gally Gets Hurt And He Find You To Help: Gally's stubborn there's no fight against it but at least around you he doesn't have to be tough

Making Out With Gally: You and Gally get into an argument and it ends with you two making out.

Gally’s Reaction To You In A Fight: you got into a fight with another glader but Gally is more concerned if you won.

Reuniting with Gally: Set in the Death Cure, you get reunited with Gally and aren't sure how to take it

TEEN WOLF

Stiles:

Stiles Approved: You have to go shopping for a dress for Lydia's party and your boyfriend Stiles comes with you

COLBY BROCK:

Not So Secret Feelings: The feelings between Colby and you finally come out

Drunk Kisses and Jealousy (honestly where my writing really blew up): PT. 1 PT. 2

Everyone in the group freezes and stares at you and instead of showing your fear—you look back at them.

"Please don't hurt me."

"No no no. We aren't going to hurt you. My name is Thomas—" The boy with the dark hair holds a hand to his chest and places his hand on the blonde boy next to him. "And this is Newt. We are here to get you out."

This time you let Thomas come up and untie you from the chair but you can't pull your eyes from Newt. Not understanding why he looked so devastated.

The memory flashes through your brain and you slam the shovel into the dirt of the garden bed you were assigned to work on. It had been three weeks since they were able to rescue you from WICKED and brought you to the Safe Haven and you still had memories coming back. At least now you finally remembered everyone. You had been with them since the Maze trials and found out you were closest to Newt and Minho, and your relationship with everyone else was there but not as close.

Everyone had helped try to get your memories back though. Thomas being a big help since he knew a lot about how WICKED ran things and you and him had gotten closer in the Scorch. It's all still confusing and muddled in your head though. Trying to remember who you were was no easy feat.

The chime of the dinner bell pulls you from your thoughts as the other gardeners around you begin to walk to the dining area. You lag behind, wanting to stay and finish up your task before going with everyone else. That was one thing you remembered— you felt at home in the gardens. Working with the plants and getting your hands dirty with the easiest thing for you when you first came here and you later learned that it was also your job in the Glade. You were what they called a Keeper and were in charge of that area— so that's what you did here. Throwing yourself back into it to help you jog your memories.

"The dinner bell went of you know."

You turn to the voice and see Newt leaning against the doorway of the shed, smiling at you.

"I'm aware. My whole team dropped everything they were doing to go. So I stayed to pick up." You mutter, placing one of the crates onto the shelf. "Lucky for you I just finished."

Newt smiles while shaking his head as he walks over, lifting his hand to gently brush away a smudge of dirt on your cheek. "I am very lucky. Finally get to enjoy a warm meal with you—"

The memory fades before Newt finishes his sentences and you let out a sigh of frustration as you walk up the hill to camp. They always come in short lapses and never finish and it only adds to the confusion. You've been able to deduce that a lot of your friendships with the boys were platonic. Minho especially— you and him ran the maze together when he needed you to help solve it. Thomas— more of a sibling like friendship where you keep him from doing stupid things to get him killed. But with Newt— you had no clue.

You had asked Minho and Thomas but they never really gave a straight forward answer. Always an "it's complicated" before anything else. The way your body reacts to Newt being near, the way your heart feels like its going to break through your chest, and how your mind goes absolutely blank when he looks at you tells you its something more. But you keep telling yourself it couldn't be like that because he deserved so much better. Especially someone that could remember him.

The bonfire is burning tall and bright tonight, as you stop at the edge of the crowd as Lawrence does his big speech. You lean against the pillar as you search the crowd for your group and smile when you see Minho start waving wildly at you. And how Newt sits a lot straighter when he realizes who Minho was being a fool for.

You weave through the crowd, and take the empty spot between Newt and Thomas.

"Look who decides to turn up!" Minho smiles and knocks his shoulder into your leg. "We missed you at dinner."

You smile and shrug, "Decided to finish up some stuff in the gardens so tomorrow would be a little easier. Wasn't hungry anyways."

Gally speaks this time, "Geez, it's almost like we're back in the maze. You did stuff like that all the time and it drove Newt crazy. Everyday he would go and drag you away from your garden so you'd come eat."

Everyone, including you, laugh and you feel Newt's arm brush yours. You shoot him a smile and act like you don't see the faint blush on his cheeks.

"I don't know if you remember, Y/N—" Frypan starts, shoving Newt a little. "This one would always remind me to save you a plate so Gally wouldn't eat your share. Had to fight him off like a rabid animal."

"You did not!" Gally explains and everyone laughs again.

"Do you guys remember the time Gal—" Minho dives into a long story and you can't help but smile.

You feel at home. Even before your memories started to come back you had felt comfortable around the group. You felt safe. And they welcomed you back in just like you did remember them, everyone doing their weight to help you get them back and explaining things.

Newt is dragged away from your side as he and Minho start wrestling over something Minho said and your brows furrowed. Concern replacing the contentment.

"He'll be okay." Thomas nudges you, watching the two boys. "Minho takes it easy on him with his leg."

You nod, still keeping a weary eye on the duo just in case. Making sure he doesn't accidentally hurt Newt anyways.

"How are you doing? Newt was worried you didn't come to dinner," Thomas starts and save himself when he realizes what he said. "We all were."

Your heart warms at the thought of being worried and you bite your lip to hide the frown. "I'm okay. Had a few moments where some stuff came back to me today. A lot about the maze."

"That's good. I know it's hard but we'll get them all back for you." Thomas nods as Gally hands you both a mason jar full of an amber liquid.

"Oh god here we go," Thomas mutters taking a swig and Gally shoves him. Both of them playfully arguing but you just stare at it.

"Gally's newest drink."

A mason jar gets handed to you over your shoulder, breaking your gaze from the fire so you could look at Newt.

"Oh no. Is it at least palatable this time." You asks with a laugh as you look at the amber liquid in it.

"I bloody hope so. I was waiting to try it with you." Newt mutters, sliding into his spot next to you. Not even leaving a gap between the two of you as his arm slides around your shoulder on the log behind you.

You both chuckle before clinking your glasses and taking a sip. The bitterness hits your tongue and you can't stop yourself from spitting it out. Neither can Newt which makes you to crack up in a fit of laughter.

"That's bloody worse than the last one." He sits his jar down as far away from him as he can before doing the same to yours. Not moving his arm away from its spot, holding you close to his side.

Your laugh fills the air as you lay his head gently against his shoulder, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt. "It's not that bad. I'm sure once you get passed a couple swigs it would be fine."

"Yeah cause you wouldn't be able to taste anything." Newt mutters, smiling as you laugh even harder at his joke.

You bring your knee's closer to your chest at the memory and hide the smile on your face. Watching as Thomas and Gally also begin wrestling and gaining a crowd around them. Frypan egging them on from the sidelines.

It's another bonfire night. A new month and a new greenie celebration.

Newt and you are in your usual spot against one of the logs, both cracking up laughing at nothing thanks to the alcohol coursing through your system. Your head is buried in the crook of Newt's neck and both arms are wrapped around you.

Minho, who is also very drunk, is telling a story to the new greenie and is cracking up laughing before looking at you two. "Then you got this lucky shank."

He points at Newt, "Don't mess with his girl and you will be just fine greenie. There's three rules to follow: don't sit in her spot, don't make her laugh too hard, and make sure she doesn't get hurt." He counts on his fingers each of the rules as he looks at the greenie, "And Newt will like you just fine."

"Shut up Min." Newt grumbles but his arms lock around you a little tighter and you smile against his neck. Placing a small kiss that isn't noticeable to the others. But you feel Newt smile and he does the same to the top of your head.

"Let's play a game!" Minho yells and everyone responds with Truth or Dare.

You shake your head and pull away from Newt slightly, "Alright that's my cue to go to bed."

"Aw no c'mon Y/N we promise not to go to hard on you tonight." Gally says, looking over at you.

"Absolutely not. You guys say that every time." You stand and try not to react to the way Newt's hand runs down your leg before he stands with you.

"We do not!" Frypan yells from across the fire.

"We won't even dare you to make out with Newt this time!" Someone else yells.

Newt wraps an arm around your waist, leading you towards the homestead. "Bloody hell you won't. We'll do that on our own. Goodnight everyone."

He leads you away against the groups cries of dismay, but you both just laugh and walk away. His hand staying firmly planted on your hip. Once you're both out of eyesight, he grabs you and walks you back into one of the trees. Lips gently meeting yours in a heated kiss that you reciprocate with a small groan. Hands drifting up his neck and into his hair causing him to push you a little harder into the tree.

You don't remember pushing yourself away from the log and walking around the bonfire, but you needed to get away. The heat feeling like it was engulfing you as you sat on the log. Memories start flashing through your mind and you can't get them to stop.

Newt's lips land on yours. Quick and messy in the garden shed trying to not get caught.

Your feet carry you through the crowd, weaving through crowd as another hits.

The camp is in a frenzy. Talking about Thomas and the plan for tomorrow. The maze doors not shutting.

You and Newt hide in the gardens, trying to get your heads straight.

"Promise me that we both make it through that maze tomorrow," Newt's thumb runs along your hip under your shirt. Holding you as close to him as he can, lips moving against your hairline.

"I promise." You whisper against his neck, "Forever and always right."

"Right." He whispers before kissing you gently.

The cold air hits you as you sit in the sand, hugging your knees close as tears run down your face. Staring into the blank expanse of the ocean in front of you.

Cranks grab at the back of your jacket. Trying to drag you to them, as Thomas, Minho and Newt drag you towards them. Landing on top of them when you finally get out of the jacket and Frypan slams a metal cabinet down to block the door.

Later that night at your camp for the night, you sit on the roof top on watch. Hugging Newt's jacket around your body as the wind blows against you, and you stare off into Scorch. Not even hearing Newt walk up or sit next to you until he wraps a arm around you and pulls you into his side. Sitting in the silence together.

"I thought I was going to lose you today." He mutters, stroking his thumb along your ribs. Comforting you but also him.

"You're never going to lose me, Newt. I love you too much to ever let that happen." You whisper, placing a kiss on his cheek.

"I love you too." He whispers, placing a small kiss on your forehead. "For all of eternity."

You swipe the tears away, trying to get a hold of everything hitting you at once. Of course it was Newt. You should have known.

Newt stands behind everyone as the doctor updates them on your condition and you sit on the edge of the bed— taking it all in. Gaze flicking to him every so often but he just stares off as he rubs his bottom lip. You see the look on his face— sadness etched into every spot it can.

She'll make a full recovery from the bruises. Has a couple broken rips and cuts but should heal quick. As for her memory— that may take a while to come back. There's a chance that none of it does but shes young and healthy like all of you so I don't see that happening.

"You okay?"

You blink away the tears, swiping at a few strays before glancing back at Newt.

"Yeah—" You say flinching at the way your voice cracks. "Just getting some fresh air."

He lowers himself next to you, sticking his bad leg out in front of him but he doesn't seem to care. His hand reaches across and gently grabs your face and makes you look at him, thumb brushing under your eye.

"You've alwa ys been bad at lying." He whispers.

"I remember—" You whisper back but he doesn't seem to hear you.

"I could always tell when something was on your mind. You always tried to skip dinner, or would talk even less than you normally do— hell there were some days you would try to avoid me."

He mutters, brushing away another fallen tear. "It drove me nuts half the time. I was always set on killing the thing that caused it or thought you were mad at me and I screwed up somehow."

You reach up and stroke the wrist that's holding your face but he continues, "There was one time you avoided me for two days and I thought that was it for me. That you finally didn't see any worth in me but it was because you had gotten into a fight defending me and had a black eye."

He shakes his head, "That was the night I told you I lo—"

You cut his rambling off by leaning foreward and placing your lips on his. Newt doesn't even hesitate. He kisses you back right away, lips moving against yours softly. Letting out a small groan of dissapproval when you pull back slightly.

"Newt—" You whisper against his lip. "I remember. Not all of it but I remember us."

He pulls back a little more so he could look into your eyes, his own flicking across your face. Looking for any signs that you may be lying, before they land on your lips.

"Finally—" He whispers.

Newt leans back in, hand landing on your waist in his usual spot as he puts his lips back on yours. Kissing you with more fervor this time. Your hand slides up to his neck, pulling him closer as you let his tongue slide into your mouth.

He tightens his grip on your waist and drags him onto his lap, using both hands to tug you even closer to him so no space was between your bodies. Your thumb strokes down his neck as your other hand wraps around him and threads through his hair, breaking the kiss with a small smile at the groan he lets out when you do so.

"Bloody hell, you have no idea how much I missed this." He mutters into your neck as he places small kisses along it. "So damn much."

You bring his lips back to yours in a gentler kiss this time before you pull away again. "For all of eternity right?"

You've been reminding yourself of that since it happened. You guys made it. Newt is safe. But your chest still twinges at the thought. Your lungs refuse to take in anything but short breaths.

Which in turn, allows for more sand to enter your mouth. The sun beats down on you and the group as you try to get as much distant between you guys and the cranks behind you. Sweat drips into your eyes, making them sting and burn when it mixes with— you guess it sand.

Agitation builds in your chest, but you push past it. Only a couple more hours before you guys make camp for the night. You swallow, trying to ignore the exhaustion, lifting a hand to wipe sweat from your forehead, but your fingers feel—off. Slower than they should be. Like they don’t quite belong to you.

Hours later, you guys finally find a spot to make camp for the night. You and Teresa are sitting by the fire as the boys barricade the door for the night. The exhaustion causes you to zone out, your body finally seeming to calm down after the crank run in and you just pray you can sleep toni—

A loud crash breaks you from your thoughts and your body instantly goes rigid. Panic crawls its way up your spine and digs itself into your whole body and your chest tightens sharply, like something pulling inward, and suddenly breathing feels like trying to force air through something too small, too narrow.

"Bloody hell Fry! You could have set it down softer!"

Newt's voice sounds like he's at the other end of a very long tunnel and your chest feels like your heart is about to burst through it.

You feel the pressure of Teresa's hand on your arm but that causes the panic to flare— instead of Teresa, your mind pictures a crank.

"I'm going to take first watch." The words rush out of your mouth, but you don't wait for anyone to respond. Grabbing your bag and a knife, you push through the interior door and make your way to the roof.

The hot air makes everything worse. It works it's way into your lungs and vacuums any moisture away and your chest hurts as you try to force air in.

Your hands curl into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms as you try to ground yourself, try to force your body to just work. Your body slides down the wall and you bring your knees to your chest; curling your body around them. Telling yourself to just breath as you lay your forehead on your knee caps.

There are no cranks. Everyone is safe. It was just Fry dropping the metal cabinet.

Your chest constricts again, harder this time, and panic spikes so fast it makes your head spin. Just clunking breathe. You tell yourself but if anything it makes your body refuse even more.

You don't hear the door open or hear Newt running over to you until you feel hands around your neck and your eyes meet his dark brown ones. He's trying to say something to you but all you can do is blink.

Your vision is blurring again, your head spinning, the world tilting slightly under your feet. Your lungs feel like they’re closing in on themselves, every breath a fight you’re losing. Sound dulls around you, like you’ve been pulled underwater without warning, everything distant and warped.

You can see Newt mouthing something and the sound is delayed around you and all you can do is shake your head. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to curl in on yourself again but Newt stops you and makes you look at him. Placing his forehead against yours, his voice comes rushing back at you.

"Please love," His voice fades and comes back, "Please just breathe for me. I'm right here."

Your body responds for him as if its completely natural. You suck in air like you haven't had to in years and he lets out a sigh of relief.

"That's it. Okay slower now. Deep breath in—" Newt whispers and you follow. Taking in a large breath. Feeling the air fill your lungs, "And let it out."

You push the air out slowly and repeat the process. Your body slowly relaxing and everything slowly starts coming more into focus.

“There you go,” he murmurs, his grip on you loosening just slightly—but not letting go. “That’s better, yeah? Again.”

The intake of air is still shaky but by the time you release it is slowly ebbing away and you can feel your throat loosening. Your vision steadies just enough to see him clearly now. Newt’s eyes are locked on yours, intense, focused, like you’re the only thing in the world that matters right now.

"There's my girl. Slowly coming back to me, yeah?" He mutters, stroking his thumb across your cheek as he continues to help you breath.

A couple minutes later, you feel brave enough to speak. “I thought—” your voice cracks, tears slipping down your temples into your lap, “I thought it was cra—”

Your body tries to tense again at the word but Newt quiets you, letting go of your face so he could pull you into a hug. Tugging you into his lap as he rests again the wall, fingers stroking through your hair.

“I’ve got you,” he repeats quietly.

Your body is suddenly heavy, exhaustion crashing into you now that the worst of it is easing. Your breathing slows, still uneven but no longer desperate, your fingers clutching weakly at his shirt as you press into him, trying to hold onto something real.

He just keeps you there, one hand in your hair, the other firm against your back, anchoring you to him like he’s afraid if he loosens his grip even a little, you might disappear.

Minho has been patient with you. Talking to you and Thomas and Gally like normal but you can see the pain in his eyes when he looks at you. Gally has been a huge help. Telling you things about the Maze and what everything was like before you guys got into this whole revolution mess. Thomas helping fill in the gaps before you and Minho were captured and your time in the Scorch. Yet you still feel like something is missing.

Three weeks pass and you are finally comfortable inside your mind again. At least when your awake, your dreams are still a different story.

Tonight wasn't any better. You dreamed about you being back in the maze running for your life with Minho. Trying to get back to the Glade before the creature stung either of you and you had almost made it when Minho got tackled. The stinger going straight through his chest. The way you held him in your lap trying to stop the bleeding and chanting the same words over and over.

Please don't die on me. I love you.

You had woken up in cold sweat, panting and tears streaming down your face. Throughout the weeks you had figured out you felt something bigger for Minho than you did the others but you couldn't figure out if it had been spoken aloud yet. Minho practically avoided being alone with you if he could. You didn't blame him. His closest person couldn't even remember him.

You pull your knees closer to your chest, trying to gather warmth as you stare out at the dark expanse of the ocean. Watching the waves lap at the sandy shore and how it moves the sand. Did Minho feel the same?

"Couldn't sleep?"

Pushing the hood of your jacket off, you turn and see him standing a few feet away from you. Hands in the pockets of his own jacket as he looks out at the ocean.

"No I couldn't." You mutter, "Had another nightmare."

"I get them too. It's always reliving what those shanks at WICKED put me through." He shakes his head, tongue pushing into his cheek.

"Can I sit?"

"Absolutely." You pat the spot next to you as you stare back out at the waves. "What did they make you see?"

Minho settles himself into the sand next to you, and you can't help but notice how close he sits to you. His arm brushing yours lightly as he talks, "Shuck. Anything and everything. Most of the time it was you and I running back in the maze getting attacked by Grievers."

His voice dies off a little bit as if he's picturing it now and you give him that moment. Thinking of your own.

"What about you?"

You pause for a second. Deciding if you want to share all of it or not.

"It was the same for me." You can see Minho looking at you from your peripheral but you keep your eyes on the ocean. "It was you and I back in the maze running from grievers and just before we made it back you always ended up dying in my arms."

You let out a small breath before continuing, "I think they knew how much you meant to me because every single one, you ended up dying and I couldn't help you."

Scoffing, you shake your head. "Then they made it worse. I don't know how they did it but they figured out that my biggest fear was being alone and left behind. They changed them to where you and the other boys would forget me and have no clue who I was. Sometimes would have you or Gally or Newt kill me."

Your voice cracks at that and your hand grips onto your legs even tighter, "Then they started to alter my memory. Take my memories of certain things away or alter my best ones. At some point I forgot who I was completely."

The longer you spoke the more it turned into a whisper and you stop before you start crying. Letting silence engulf the two of you as the sounds of the wave crashing take over.

"They did the same with me." Minho says after a while. "They took my feelings for you and made all my worse fears come out. The whole time the only thing I could think about was 'When I get out of this clunkhole, I'm going to tell her how much I love her' and then I finally get to see you— and those shanks made you forget me."

His voice trails off, retreating into his mind and you can't help but look over at him. Your heart pounds but the words leave your mouth before you can stop them, "Do you still feel that way about me or did they ruin that too?"

His head whips to yours. The look on his face a mix of hurt and shock.

"Of course I still love you. I could never stop. My shank ass never could get the words out before all this cause we were fighting for our lives. I didn't want to rush you into it either. Make you think you lov—"

You stop him before he continues. Leaning forward and putting your lips onto his without thinking, shocking him but also yourself. You lean back about to apologize but his hand cradles your face and brings you back. Kissing you slow and deliberate as his thumb caresses your jaw and you kiss him back.

Your hand falls around the side of his neck before sliding back to the nape of his neck, tugging slightly on his hair. His other hand finds your waist and drags you onto his lap so you straddle him and depends the kiss even more. Pulling you impossibly closer so your bodies had no gap between them and holding you close.

He all but drags himself away from you so you both can catch your breaths, laying his forehead against yours. "Holy shuck. I've waited so long to do that."

You can't help the laugh that falls from your lips and you feel the smile tug itself into place on Minho's face.

"I love you too," You whisper, placing a small kiss on his lips. "I'm sorry my memory ruined that for us but I remember what I need too. I just didn't know how to bring it up."

His thumb brushes your cheek, gathering the tears that had fallen without you noticing. "You do not have to apologize. About anything. What matters now is that I have you back and I am never letting you get away from me again."

It's his turn to place a small kiss on your lips and you chase after them when he breaks it, which makes him smile again. "You're stuck with me now."

Biting your lip, you watch as Minho monitors the movement before speaking again, "You make that sound like a bad thing."

His fist connects with Gally’s jaw with a sharp crack that echoes through the alley.

“Thomas—!” Newt grabs him immediately, hauling him back before he can swing again. “Bloody hell, mate!”

Gally barely stumbles, hand coming up to his jaw as he glares, more startled than hurt.

“You’re supposed to be dead!” Thomas snaps, breathing hard, anger pouring out of him. “I watched you—”

“I know what you watched,” Gally cuts in, voice rough, defensive. “Didn’t go the way you think.”

“Yeah? Looked pretty clear to me!”

“Thomas—” Newt warns again, holding him back tighter.

You can’t move.

You can’t speak.

Because he’s right there.

Alive.

And your chest feels like it’s caving in.

Gally’s gaze flickers past Thomas—

searching.

“Where is she?”

The question is quiet, almost hesitant under all the tension.

It makes your stomach drop.

Thomas laughs harshly. “That’s your first concern?”

Gally ignores him, eyes scanning the group—

and then they land on you.

Everything else fades.

For him.

For you.

But you— you can’t hold his gaze.

Your eyes drop instantly, your body tensing like just looking at him hurts too much.

Because the last time you saw him— he died.

And you felt it.

Grieved it.

Carried it.

Gally’s expression shifts.

Confusion.

Then something heavier.

“…Y/N?” he says, softer now.

You flinch.

It’s small—but he sees it.

Of course he does.

Your fingers curl into your sleeves as your breathing turns uneven, your eyes fixed on the ground like if you look up, he’ll disappear again.

Or worse— he won’t.

“Hey—” he starts, taking a step forward.

You take one back.

That stops him cold.

Silence stretches.

Thick. Painful.

Newt notices immediately.

He always does.

He lets go of Thomas, stepping toward you instead, his voice gentler now. “Hey… hey, it’s alright.”

It’s not.

You shake your head quickly, still not looking up, your vision blurring as everything catches up to you at once.

“He—he was—” your voice breaks, barely there. “He died.”

Newt’s hand comes to your arm, grounding, steady. “I know.”

“I saw it,” you whisper, like you need someone to understand. “I saw it, Newt.”

Across from you— Gally doesn’t move.

But it hits him.

Hard.

Because you’re not angry.

You’re not yelling.

You’re breaking and it’s because of him.

Newt gently pulls you closer, his arm coming around your shoulders as you lean into him without thinking, trying to steady yourself.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs again, softer now, protective. “You’re alright.”

Gally watches it all.

The way you won’t look at him. The way you lean into Newt like you need something to hold you together. The way your voice cracks when you talk about him like he’s still gone.

His jaw tightens.

“Right,” he mutters under his breath.

Thomas is still glaring, still tense—but even he goes quiet now, the weight of it settling over everyone.

Gally drops his hand from his jaw.

Steps back.

Putting distance there himself this time.

“Good to see you all made it,” he says, voice rough again—but something’s missing now. “Real heartwarming reunion.”

It’s bitter.

Guarded.

And before anyone can respond he turns and walks off.

You don’t stop him.

You can’t.

The wind moves softly across the rooftop, tugging at your clothes as the city hums far below.

You sit with your knees pulled close, trying to steady your breathing, trying to make sense of something that still doesn’t feel real.

Footsteps sound behind you.

You don’t turn.

“Figured you’d be up here.”

Gally.

Of course it’s him.

He stops a few feet away, not too close, like he remembers how you stepped back earlier.

For a moment, neither of you speaks.

“You gonna look at me at some point?” he asks quietly.

You swallow. “I don’t know how.”

There’s a pause.

Then slower steps as he moves just a little closer.

“Didn’t mean for it to be like that,” he says.

You let out a soft breath. “You mean dying?”

His jaw tightens. “Yeah.”

You finally glance at him for half a second before looking away again.

“And then just showing up like nothing happened,” you add.

“It wasn’t nothing.”

“It felt like it,” you whisper. “For you.”

Silence stretches between you.

Then— “You couldn’t even look at me,” he says.

It’s not sharp.

Just honest.

Your fingers curl into your sleeves. “I was afraid.”

“Of me?”

“No,” you shake your head quickly. “Of losing you again.”

That stills him.

Completely.

You finally look at him again—and this time, you don’t drop your gaze right away.

“I watched you die,” you say, voice quiet but steady. “I don’t think you understand what that does to someone.”

His expression shifts, something heavy settling in.

“I didn’t,” he admits.

A beat passes.

Then another.

And then— his jaw tightens again.

His gaze flickers away from you for a second, like he’s debating something.

“You and Newt,” he says suddenly.

It catches you off guard. “What?”

“I saw you,” he continues, voice rougher now. “Back there.”

Your stomach twists.

The way he says it— guarded.

Distant.

“I saw how he was with you,” Gally adds, eyes not quite meeting yours. “How you leaned into him.”

Your chest tightens. “Gally—”

“It makes sense,” he cuts in quickly, like he’s already decided the answer. “You thought I was gone. He was there. I get it.”

“That’s not—”

“You don’t have to explain it,” he says, shaking his head once, his voice tightening just enough to give him away. “Really. You don’t owe me anything.”

There it is.

The wall.

But this time— you don’t let him hide behind it.

You stand, closing the distance between you before he can step back.

“That’s not what it is,” you say firmly.

He finally looks at you.

Really looks.

“Then what is it?” he asks.

There’s something underneath it now.

Something uncertain.

Something that almost sounds like he doesn’t want the answer.

Your heart pounds.

Because this— this matters.

“That’s Newt,” you say, softer now. “He was there when everything fell apart. He helped me through it.”

Gally’s jaw tightens, but he nods once, like he expected that.

“Right.”

You shake your head, stepping even closer.

“But it’s not like that.”

That makes him pause.

“What?”

Your voice softens, but it doesn’t waver.

“I couldn’t feel that way about anyone else.”

His brows knit together slightly.

“Why not?”

And there it is.

The opening.

Your breath catches—but you don’t look away.

“Because it’s you,” you say.

Silence.

The city disappears.

Everything does.

Gally just stares at you like he’s not sure he heard you right.

“What?”

You take another small step closer, your hand reaching out—this time, he doesn’t pull away.

“Even when I thought you were gone,” you continue, quieter now, “I didn’t—couldn’t—feel that way about anyone else.”

Your fingers curl gently into the fabric of his shirt.

“It was always you.”

That breaks something in him.

You see it.

The disbelief.

The hope he didn’t let himself have.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to it. “You thought I was dead.”

“I know.”

“And you still—”

“Yes.”

Your voice is steady now.

Certain.

“I did.”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair like he doesn’t know what to do with that.

“You shouldn’t have,” he says, but it sounds weaker this time.

“Maybe not,” you admit softly. “But I did.”

A pause.

Then—“Say it again.”

It’s quiet.

Almost hesitant.

You don’t even think before answering.

“It’s always been you, Gally.”

That’s it.

That’s what does it.

His hand comes up suddenly, gripping your wrist—not harsh, just firm, like he needs to ground himself in something real.

“You have no idea what you’re saying to me right now,” he murmurs.

“Then tell me,” you whisper.

His eyes search yours.

And for once— there’s no wall.

“I thought I lost that,” he admits. “Thought whatever I had with you was gone the second—” he cuts himself off, jaw tightening. “Didn’t think I’d get another shot at it.”

Your thumb brushes lightly against his hand.

“You didn’t lose it.”

His grip tightens slightly.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I’m starting to think that.”

You smile—small, soft, but real.

And this time when you step closer— he meets you halfway.

No hesitation.

No distance.

Just him. And you.

Outside, the Glade hums with the usual noise—boys shouting, tools clanking—but it all feels distant compared to the dull throb in your hand and the adrenaline still buzzing under your skin.

You can still see it if you close your eyes—

the shove,

the sharp words,

the way it escalated too fast.

The door creaks open.

You don’t even have to look to know who it is.

Heavy footsteps. No hesitation.

Gally.

“Well,” he says, voice rough as ever, “heard you got into it with one of the shanks.”

Clint sighs like he already knows this is about to go downhill.

You glance up just as Gally steps fully inside, arms crossed, eyes scanning you quickly—not soft, not gentle, but checking. Making sure nothing’s broken beyond what he can see.

Then, without missing a beat—

“Did you win?”

You blink.

Clint freezes.

And from behind him—

“Gally—” Newt’s voice cuts in sharp as a blade.

You hadn’t even noticed him at the door.

“Are you serious right now?” Newt steps in, arms already crossing, jaw tight. “That’s what you’re worried about?”

Gally doesn’t even look at him. His eyes stay on you.

“Well?” he presses.

You huff out a breath despite yourself, somewhere between disbelief and a laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”

“That a yes or a no?” he says, one eyebrow lifting.

Before you can answer—

“That is enough.” Alby’s voice fills the room, firm and commanding as he steps in behind Newt.

Now everyone goes still.

Alby looks between the three of you, his expression darkening when his gaze lands on your wrapped hand.

“You,” he points at Gally, “this ain’t a game. Someone gets hurt, and your first question is who won?”

Gally finally looks away from you, jaw ticking. “I’m just asking.”

“No,” Newt snaps, stepping closer, “you’re encouraging it.”

Gally scoffs. “She can handle herself.”

“I never said she couldn’t!” Newt shoots back, frustration rising. “But maybe—just maybe—we don’t treat it like entertainment when she’s sitting here injured, yeah?”

The hut feels smaller suddenly, the air thick with tension.

You shift on the cot, rolling your eyes. “You’re all acting like I got half my arm chopped off.”

“That’s not the point,” Alby says, calmer now but still firm. “Fighting in the Glade gets people killed. We don’t let it slide.”

Silence settles for a moment.

Then—

A quieter voice.

Gally.

“…

“Who was it?”

You glance at him, surprised at the shift. His tone’s lower now, less sharp, something else slipping through.

“Does it matter?” you ask.

His jaw tightens. “Yeah. It does.”

Newt exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “Unbelievable.”

But you catch it.

That look in Gally’s eyes.

Not amusement.

Not pride.

Protection.

You lean back slightly, studying him. “I held my own.”

That’s all you say.

Gally nods once.

Not satisfied.

But not pushing.

“Good,” he mutters.

Alby immediately shakes his head. “I swear—”

But you catch the smallest flicker of relief in Gally’s expression before he turns away, like he didn’t mean to show it at all.

Newt notices too.

Of course he does.

He lets out a quiet huff, softer this time. “Next time,” he says, looking at you, “maybe try not to punch someone, yeah?”

You smirk. “No promises.”

And from the doorway, already halfway out— “Still didn’t answer my question,” Gally calls.

You laugh despite yourself.

“Yeah,” you shout back, “I won.”

There’s a pause.

Then a satisfied— “Atta girl.”

Newt groans. Alby mutters something about losing his mind.

“I’m not asking you,” Gally snaps, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I’m telling you it’s a bad idea.”

“And I’m telling you I don’t need your permission,” you shoot back, arms crossed as you stare him down. “I can handle myself.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

He exhales sharply, like he’s already tired of this, but his eyes don’t leave yours. They’re intense—focused in a way that makes your chest tighten without you meaning for it to.

“You don’t think before you do things,” he says, voice dropping slightly. “You just jump in and expect it to work out.”

You take a step closer.

“And you think too much,” you fire back. “You shut everything down before it even has a chance.”

His jaw clenches.

You’re close now.

Close enough that you can see the shift in his expression, the way something flickers there beneath the irritation—something heavier, something neither of you have said out loud yet.

“Maybe someone has to,” he mutters.

“Or maybe you’re just scared,” you challenge.

That does it.

His eyes snap back to yours fully, something sharper taking hold.

“Scared?” he repeats, low.

“Yeah,” you say, not backing down. “Scared to let anything just—happen for once.”

Silence drops between you.

Heavy.

Charged.

You don’t realize how close you are until your next breath brushes against him, until his hand lifts—almost without thinking—and catches your wrist when you go to step back.

Not rough.

But firm.

Stopping you.

Your breath hitches slightly.

Gally notices.

Of course he does.

His grip tightens just a fraction.

“Careful,” he says quietly, eyes locked on yours now, all the sharp edges still there—but something else underneath it. “You don’t get to say things like that and walk away.”

Your heart pounds.

“Then what?” you ask, softer now, even though you don’t mean for it to be.

His gaze flicks down—brief, quick—before coming back up.

And that’s all the warning you get.

Because the next second—

He’s pulling you closer.

And kissing you.

It’s not soft.

Not hesitant.

It’s the kind of kiss that feels like it’s been held back for too long, like everything he didn’t say is suddenly there instead—intense and overwhelming and impossible to ignore.

Your hands find his shirt without thinking, gripping it as you steady yourself, as the initial shock gives way to something that burns just as strong.

Gally’s hand moves from your wrist to your jaw, thumb pressing lightly just below your ear as he tilts your head slightly, deepening it—not gentle, not rushed—just certain.

Like he’s decided this is happening and that’s the end of it.

You barely have time to breathe before you’re kissing him back just as hard, just as stubborn, matching him in a way that makes something shift again.

His other hand comes to your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you, like he’s making a point of it.

Like he doesn’t want there to be.

The argument’s gone.

Or maybe it’s still there—just changed.

Because this feels like that too.

Tension.

Push and pull.

Neither of you giving in.

His grip tightens slightly when your fingers twist in his shirt, a quiet breath escaping him against your lips before he pulls back just enough to look at you.

Really look at you.

His forehead nearly rests against yours, breath uneven, eyes darker than they were a second ago.

“You’re a problem,” he mutters.

Your lips part slightly, still catching your breath.

“Then stop kissing me,” you manage.

There’s the faintest flicker of something in his expression—something almost like a challenge.

“Say that again,” he says quietly.

You don’t.

Because you don’t mean it.

And he knows it.

His thumb brushes lightly along your jaw, slower now, like he’s grounding himself before leaning in again—but this time, it’s different.

Still intense.

Still Gally.

But less like a snap and more like a choice.

Like he’s fully aware of what he’s doing now—and not stopping.

Your hand slides up slightly, resting at the back of his neck, and for a second—just a second—he stills.

Like he wasn’t expecting that.

Then his grip tightens again, pulling you closer as he kisses you again, slower this time but just as consuming.

And when he finally pulls back again, it’s not far.

Not enough to leave.

His voice is quieter now.

Rougher.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

Your heart stutters.

“Who said I wouldn’t?”

That—

That almost makes him smile.

Almost.

But instead, he just leans in again.

Deep enough to bleed more than he’d like, sure—but nothing worth making a scene over.

Nothing worth going to the med-jacks for.

He exhales slowly through his nose, adjusting his grip against the wound as he walks, trying to ignore the way his shirt clings uncomfortably to his skin, already damp where the blood has soaked through. The afternoon sun sits high overhead, heat pressing down against the back of his neck, and the noise of the Glade carries on around him like nothing’s wrong—like everything is exactly how it should be.

Good.

That’s how he wants it.

No one paying attention.

No one asking questions.

No one hovering.

His gaze shifts briefly toward the med-hut out of habit more than anything else, and he immediately looks away again, jaw tightening as he keeps walking.

He doesn’t need that.

Doesn’t need Clint giving him that look, the one that says you should’ve come in sooner, or Jeff shaking his head like Gally’s somehow personally offended him by not collapsing the second he got hurt.

He doesn’t need hands poking at him, voices telling him to sit still, to stop moving, to let them handle it.

He’s handled worse on his own.

He’ll handle this too.

Another step.

Another.

And then—

The world tilts.

It’s brief.

Barely noticeable.

But it’s enough.

Gally slows, breath catching slightly as he steadies himself against one of the wooden posts near the edge of the Homestead, fingers tightening instinctively as the wave of dizziness passes through him. He exhales again, slower this time, forcing himself to stand upright even as the pressure in his side throbs harder in protest.

It’s fine.

He’s fine.

He just needs to clean it, wrap it—done.

His gaze shifts again.

Back toward the med-hut.

And this time— it lingers. Because he knows there’s a chance you’re in there.

Knows there’s also a chance you’re not—that it’ll be Clint, or Jeff, or both of them, waiting to lecture him the second he walks through the door—but still— his jaw tightens.

He pushes off the post and starts walking, faster this time. Like if he thinks about it too long, he’ll change his mind.

The med-hut is quieter than usual when he reaches it, the door hanging slightly open, the faint scent of herbs and clean cloth drifting out into the warm air. For a second, Gally pauses just outside, one hand still pressed tight against his side, listening.

No voices. No movement.

Good.

He pushes the door open.

Steps inside.

And then— stops because you’re there. Just like he hoped.

Across the room, back turned as you sort through something on one of the tables, sleeves pushed up slightly, completely focused on whatever you’re doing. The light from the doorway spills in just enough to catch the edges of your figure, and for a second—just a second—Gally forgets why he came in the first place.

Relief hits him first.

Sharp.

Unexpected.

Followed immediately by irritation.

Because of course you’re here.

Of course it’s you.

“You’re alone?” he asks, voice coming out rougher than he means it to.

You turn at the sound of him, brows pulling together slightly in surprise before your eyes land on him fully.

“Gally?” you say, taking a step closer, already scanning him in a way he recognizes instantly. “What happened?”

He ignores the question.

“Clint and Jeff aren’t here?” he presses instead.

You blink once, caught off guard by that.

“No. They’re out checking on one of the runners. Why?”

Gally exhales through his nose, something in his shoulders loosening just slightly at that answer before he can stop it.

“Good.”

You tilt your head, studying him now, something flickering behind your eyes as you take in the way he’s standing, the tension in his posture, the hand pressed too tightly against his side.

“Gally,” you say again, slower this time, more certain. “What happened?”

“It’s nothing,” he mutters automatically, shifting his weight like that might somehow hide it. “Just—needed something to clean it.”

Your expression doesn’t change.

Not even a little.

“Move your hand.”

“No.”

You don’t argue.

You just step closer.

And Gally—

Gally doesn’t step back.

He should.

He knows he should.

But he doesn’t.

You’re close enough now that he can see the shift in your expression clearly, the way your focus sharpens, concern settling in without hesitation as your gaze drops to where his hand is still pressed tight against his side.

“Gally,” you say quietly, reaching for his wrist.

He catches your hand before you can.

Not hard.

But enough to stop you.

“I said I’ve got it,” he tells you, jaw tight.

Your eyes flick down to where he’s holding you, then back up to his face, and there’s something steady there—something that doesn’t waver even with the way he’s looking at you.

“You came here,” you point out.

That—

That lands.

He hesitates.

Just for a second.

Then tightens his grip slightly.

“Doesn’t mean I need help.”

“Then leave,” you say simply.

Gally’s brows knit together.

“What?”

“If you don’t need help,” you continue, calm, even, “then go.”

You don’t pull your hand away.

You don’t push him.

You just stand there.

Waiting.

Gally stares at you.

Because you’re serious.

Because you’re not going to fight him on it.

Not going to force anything.

And for some reason—

That makes it worse.

His jaw clenches.

“It’s fine,” he mutters, though it sounds weaker now, less certain than before.

You raise a brow slightly.

“Then prove it.”

Silence stretches between you.

Gally exhales sharply, letting go of your wrist as he drags a hand through his hair, already irritated—at you, at himself, at the fact that he walked in here in the first place.

“Just—” he starts, then cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Do whatever you’re going to do.”

You don’t waste time.

The second he stops resisting, your hands are back on him, more careful now as you gently—but firmly—pull his hand away from the wound.

The air hits it immediately, sharp and biting, and Gally sucks in a breath through his teeth, shoulders tensing as the pain flares stronger without the pressure.

“Yeah,” you murmur softly. “That’s not nothing.”

He looks away.

Because if he looks at you right now—

He doesn’t know.

Something he’s not ready to deal with.

You move efficiently, grabbing what you need without hesitation, your focus narrowing in a way that’s almost… calming.

The cloth presses against his side and he flinches despite himself, breath hitching before he can stop it.

Your hand stills instantly.

“Sorry,” you say, softer now.

Gally swallows.

“It’s fine.”

But your touch changes after that.

Slower.

More deliberate.

Like you’re paying attention to every reaction, every shift in his breathing, every slight movement he tries—and fails—to hide.

And he notices.

He notices everything.

The way your brows pull together when you see how deep it actually is.

The way your fingers hesitate for half a second before pressing again, like you’re giving him time to adjust.

The way you don’t rush.

Don’t panic.

You just stay.

His jaw tightens.

“Why do you care so much?”

The question comes out quieter this time, rough around the edges, like he wasn’t entirely sure he meant to say it out loud.

You pause.

Not pulling away.

Not looking up right away either.

Just stilling for a moment before you shrug slightly, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“Because you came to me.”

Gally’s chest tightens.

Harder than it should.

His eyes flick down to you, searching your face like there’s something he’s missing, something he’s supposed to understand but doesn’t quite get yet.

“You could’ve gone to Clint,” you continue, your voice still calm, steady as your hands move again. “Or Jeff.”

His jaw shifts. “Didn’t want them.”

The answer comes too fast.

Too honest.

You glance up at that.

Just for a second.

And something in your expression softens.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “I figured.”

That—

That does something to him.

Something he can’t quite name.

He doesn’t say anything else after that.

Doesn’t trust himself to.

He just stands there, letting you work, letting you fix something he would’ve ignored until it got worse, his focus caught somewhere between the steady rhythm of your hands and the way his chest feels too tight for no good reason.

When you finish, your fingers linger for just a moment against his side, resting lightly over the clean bandage you’ve secured there.

Not pressing.

Not holding.

Just there.

Then you pull back.

“That should be fine,” you say, stepping away slightly. “But try not to tear it open again.”

Gally nods once.

Doesn’t move.

Doesn’t leave.

You look up at him, like you’re expecting him to say something else.

He doesn’t because he’s still stuck on it. On the fact that he came here. That he walked past everyone else. That he hoped it would be you.

His hand lifts slightly, brushing over the bandage before dropping back to his side.

“Next time,” he mutters, voice quieter now, less guarded than before, “just—don’t tell Clint.”

You huff a small laugh at that. “I won’t.”

Another pause.

“Good.”

He turns to leave after that but slower than he should.

And when he steps outside, back into the noise of the Glade, the heat, the normalcy of everything continuing on—

It’s not the pain in his side that lingers.

It’s you.

Movement. Hands. Someone yelling your name.

Your vision swims.

And then—

“Move—move!”

Gally.

His voice cuts through everything.

You feel him before you really see him—dropping to his knees beside you, hands already pressing down where it hurts, where the blood is—

Too much blood.

“Don’t—” you gasp, instinctively trying to push his hands away. “Gally—”

“Don’t touch it,” he snaps, grabbing your wrist before you can interfere, his other hand pressing harder against the wound.

It hurts.

God, it hurts.

You cry out, your back arching slightly before he forces you still.

“I know,” he says quickly, voice tight, strained in a way you’ve never heard before. “I know, just—stay with me, alright? Don’t move.”

Everything feels distant.

Fuzzy.

You blink up at him, trying to focus.

He looks… wrong.

Not angry.

Not annoyed.

Terrified.

“Gally” you breathe.

“I’ve got you,” he cuts in immediately, like he needs you to hear it. “You’re fine. You’re fine.”

You both know that’s not entirely true.

“Fry!” he barks suddenly, not taking his eyes off you. “Get something clean—now!”

Footsteps scatter.

Voices respond.

But it all fades again as your focus slips.

You feel his grip tighten slightly, like he can feel you drifting.

“Hey—hey,” he says, sharper now. “Stay with me. Don’t do that.”

You swallow, trying to listen, trying to stay.

“You’re okay,” you whisper, words slurring slightly. “That’s what matters.”

Something in his expression shifts.

Breaks.

“Don’t,” he says immediately. “Don’t say it like that.”

You try to smile.

It doesn’t quite work.

You don’t remember much after that.

Just flashes—

Being carried.

The med-jack hut.

Voices.

Pain.

And Gally.

Always Gally.

When you wake up, it’s quieter.

The ceiling above you is familiar, the dim light of the med-hut casting soft shadows across the wooden beams.

Your body aches.

Every movement feels heavy.

For a moment, you just lie there, trying to piece everything together.

Then—

“You’re awake.”

Your head turns slightly.

Gally’s there.

Sitting beside the bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together like he’s been holding himself in place for hours.

He looks exhausted.

Eyes darker than usual. Jaw tight.

Like he hasn’t moved since they brought you in.

“Hey” you murmur.

Your voice is rough.

He doesn’t answer right away.

Just stares at you for a second—like he’s checking, making sure you’re actually here, actually breathing.

Then he exhales sharply, looking away.

“You should’ve let me take it.”

The words come out low.

Controlled.

But there’s something underneath them. Something barely held together.

You frown slightly.

“What?”

He lets out a humorless breath, shaking his head.

“You heard me.”

You shift a little, wincing despite yourself.

“That wasn’t—” you start, but your voice falters.

Gally stands suddenly, pacing once, twice, running a hand through his hair like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“That wasn’t your call,” he says, sharper now. “You don’t just—throw yourself in like that.”

You stare at him.

“You wanted me to just watch?” you ask quietly. “Watch it hit you?”

He doesn’t answer.

Because he can’t.

Because he knows.

Silence stretches between you.

Thick.

Heavy.

“I wasn’t going to let you die,” you add, softer now.

That stops him.

Completely.

He freezes mid-step.

Then slowly, he turns back to you.

And whatever fight was in him before—

It’s gone.

Replaced with something raw.

“Don’t do that again,” he says.

It’s quieter now.

Not a command.

Not anger.

A plea.

Your chest tightens.

“Gally—”

“I mean it,” he cuts in, stepping closer to the bed now. “You don’t get to make that choice.”

Your eyes meet his.

“And you do?” you ask gently.

He falters.

Just for a second.

Then his gaze drops, jaw clenching as he shakes his head slightly.

“No,” he mutters.

Silence again.

But this one feels different.

Softer.

You shift your hand slightly across the bed, the movement small—but intentional.

An offer.

It takes him a second, hesitating before he makes his choice. Then Gally reaches out.

Careful. Slower than you’ve ever seen him move.

His hand closes around yours, grip firm but not tight, like he’s grounding himself more than anything.

“Don’t scare me like that,” he says quietly.

And this time— there’s no hiding it.

No edge.

Just truth.

You squeeze his hand faintly.

“I’m still here.”

His grip tightens just a little.

Like he’s making sure that’s true.

You’re staring at nothing.

Or maybe everything.

It all feels… heavy.

The kind of heavy that settles in your chest and doesn’t move. The kind you can’t really explain even if someone asked.

So you don’t go to the fire.

Don’t join in.

Don’t say anything.

You just sit there and hope it passes.

It doesn’t.

Footsteps crunch against the dirt behind you.

You don’t look up.

At first, you think whoever it is will just pass by.

They don’t.

The steps slow.

Stop.

A second passes.

Then— “You planning on sitting out here all night or what?”

Gally.

Of course it is.

You let out a quiet breath, not quite a sigh, not quite steady either.

“I don't think anyone would notice if I did,” you murmur, eyes still fixed ahead.

There’s a pause.

You can feel him standing there, not buying it for a second.

“Yeah, they probably won't” he mutters. “But I would.”

You almost huff a laugh at that, but it doesn’t quite make it out. You can't help but notice the way your heart stutters at the comment.

Silence stretches again.

Then his boots shift, and a second later he drops down beside you, not too close—but not far either. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, solid and steady.

You don’t move.

Don’t acknowledge it.

But you don’t pull away either.

For a while, neither of you say anything.

The noise from the bonfire carries over, mixed with the hum of the Glade settling into night.

Gally leans his forearms against his knees, glancing sideways at you once.

Twice.

Then he exhales, like he’s already tired of whatever internal argument he’s having with himself.

“You’re not fine,” he says, quieter this time.

You swallow. “I said I am.”

“Yeah, and I said you look it,” he shoots back, but there’s no real bite behind it now.

You press your lips together, blinking a little harder than necessary.

“It's nothing. Just a long day of being in my head.”

Another pause.

Longer this time.

You expect him to push.

To argue.

To get annoyed.

That’s what he does.

Instead— he shifts. Turns slightly toward you and nudges your shoulder, just enough to get your attention.

“Come here.”

You blink, finally looking at him. “What?”

He doesn’t look at you right away, just gestures vaguely with his hand.

“Come here,” he repeats, like it’s obvious.

You hesitate.

It’s such a simple thing. Two words.

But it feels… bigger than that.

“I’m fine,” you try again, softer this time.

Gally sighs, dragging a hand down his face before finally looking at you properly.

And there’s something different there.

Less edge.

More… something else.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he says. “Just—don’t sit here by yourself like that.”

Your chest tightens.

You don’t realize how much you needed that until he says it.

The quiet.

The lack of pressure.

The way he’s not asking you to explain something you don’t even have words for.

You hesitate for one more second.

Then—

You shift closer.

Carefully.

Like if you move too fast, the moment might disappear.

Gally doesn’t comment.

Doesn’t make a big deal out of it.

He just adjusts slightly, making space without looking at you, like it’s nothing.

Like it’s natural.

Your shoulder brushes his.

Then your head tilts—just a little—resting against him.

And for a second, you think he might tense.

He doesn’t. If anything, he settles.

One of his hands lifts briefly, like he’s not sure what to do with it, before it comes to rest lightly against your arm.

Not gripping.

Not holding.

Just… there.

Grounding.

Your eyes fall closed.

The noise from the bonfire fades even more now, replaced by something quieter. Safer.

Gally glances down at you.

Doesn’t say anything.

But his thumb shifts slightly against your sleeve, a small, absent movement before it goes underneath the fabric and rubs your arm instead.

“You can stay,” he mutters after a while. “Don’t gotta go back over there.”

You nod faintly against him.

And for once— the heaviness eases.

Just a little.

"Thanks Gally." You mutter.

"You're welcome." He whispers back, thumb stroking your skin and he can't help but think how much he likes it. "I'm here if you want to talk about it."

Alby dragged him away from your bedside earlier because he claimed the second in command should be there for this. Which you encouraged of course but you were still upset with having to send him. Minho yelling at you drags you from your thoughts.

"There she is! Everyone's favorite runner makes a reappearance!" He rushes over, throwing his arm over your shoulder.

You flinch at the pressure on your side but still smile. "How much have you drank shank? You reek of it!"

Pushing him away, he stumbles acting hurt but still comes back and gives you a kiss on your cheek. Which makes all the boys holler but you just roll your eyes. High fiving a few of the boys on your recovery. Yet your eyes are searching for a certain pair of brown eyes.

A hand grabbing your hip from behind you is your answer. Turning around and smiling when the honey brown eyes appear.

"What are you doing out of bed?" Newt asks with his eyebrows furrowed.

You try not to think about the hand that is still touching you or the thumb that's tracing the bandages over your broken rib. Ignoring the goose flesh that breaks out across your skin at the faint touch of his fingertips.

"I didn't want to miss out on the festivities." You say with a small smile, "Plus Clint gave me the go ahead to start moving around. Just had to promise not to break another rib."

Newt lets out a small scoff but smiles along with you. "Okay I guess that's fair. At least now I'll have someone fun to talk to tonight."

"Hey! I was keeping you plenty entertained to keep your mind off her." Minho interjects.

Newt shakes his head and leads you gently to your guys normal log. "Sure you were Min."

You gently lower yourself down to the ground to lean against the large log and let out a small breath at the pinch in your side. Newt's eyes are on you the whole time and you can't ignore the way he runs a comforting hand down your back.

"You don't have to watch me like I'm going to shatter into a million pieces you know." You mutter, leaning your head back to look at the stars.

"Course I do. This is what? Your eighth injury just this month from the maze?" He counters, looking up at the stars with you.

"It has not been eight injuries," You scoff, looking over at him and your breath catches when your eyes meet his.

"Yes it has!" Clint calls out from his spot not far from you and you break the eye contact with Newt to glare at Clint.

"It definitely has." Newt confirms, "I should know. I've lost way too much sleep without you since you've basically moved into the Medjack hut."

"You have not," You counter, jabbing him in the ribs. "You've probably gotten better sleep without me laying on you."

Newt laughs at your actions of poking him and grabs your hand to stop you as he laces his fingers with yours. Glancing at your interlocked hands before looking back at you.

"I honestly haven't." He admits, his eyebrows furrowing once again and looks towards the stars. "I can't explain it but when your around I sleep so much better. It's like my mind quiets and can ignore the fact we're stuck here in the Glade."

You're heart pumps a little faster at his confession but its the same for you. It's always been something the Gladers tease you two about but you and Newt have shared a bed for as long as you two can remember. It just started happening.

The first night was when you went through a period of not sleeping because of nightmares. Being too scared to close your eyes to deal with the terrors your mind came up with after your first griever encounter. So Newt offered to try laying with you to see it helped. Which it did.

For him, it started when he climbed the wall and broke his leg when he tried to end his life. It freaked him out more than he admitted to the other Gladers but he couldn't keep it from you. After that, you two just decided to share a bed. Protecting each other from your own minds.

"But," He continues, looking back over at you. "It is nice not having to fight someone for the blanket."

Now you turn your glare to Newt this time. "I do not hog the blanket. I actually have to try and fight you for it."

You both burst out laughing and argue about who is more of the blanket hog until your breathless.

"Okay fine. Maybe I do hog the blanket." Newt admits as he throws his arm around you and pulls you into him so you can lay your head on his chest.

"Ha! I win." You smile, nestling your head into the crook of his neck where you normally lay.

"I only do it so you cuddle me more." He whispers into your hairline and you can feel the smirk on his face.

"You do not."

"I do!" He places a kiss on your forehead and you can't help the smile that cracks. "Makes me feel like I'm protecting you more."

Curled in on yourself. Arms wrapped tight around your knees like if you let go, you might fall apart completely.

For a second, no one moves.

Then—

“There,” Thomas breathes.

Minho sees you before anyone else really does.

Not just a shape in the corner. Not just a body.

You.

Something in his chest snaps tight.

He’s moving before the others can stop him, boots hitting the floor harder, faster, like if he doesn’t get to you right now you might disappear again.

“Y/N—”

Your head jerks up.

Your eyes—god, your eyes—

They’re wrong.

Wide. Unsteady. Like you’re trying to place them, trying to piece together something that doesn’t quite fit.

You flinch.

Actually flinch.

And Minho stops dead.

It’s subtle. Most of the others don’t catch it.

But he does.

He always does.

Your gaze moves past him—lands on Thomas.

Relief flickers there. Small. Fragile. But real.

“Thomas?”

Your voice is hoarse. Barely there.

Thomas steps forward carefully, like approaching something wounded, something that might bolt if he moves too fast.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Yeah, we’re here. We got you.”

You nod faintly, breathing uneven, eyes darting again—

Brenda.

Jorge.

Frypan.

Recognition.

Every time.

Every single time.

Minho doesn’t move.

Doesn’t speak.

Doesn’t breathe.

Because he’s waiting.

Waiting for your eyes to come back to him and land.

Waiting for that moment where everything clicks and you say his name like you always do—like it’s second nature, like it’s automatic, like it’s him.

Your gaze drifts back.

Passes over him.

Doesn’t stop.

Minho’s stomach drops.

No.

No, no—

“Hey,” he says, stepping forward now, voice sharper than he means it to be. “Y/N.”

Your eyes snap back to him, startled.

But there’s no recognition.

Only confusion.

Caution.

Like you’re looking at a stranger who just got too close.

Minho freezes.

“What?” you ask quietly.

It hits harder than anything he’s been through.

Harder than the maze. Harder than the scorch. Harder than WCKD shoving needles into his veins and turning his mind against itself.

Because at least then, he still knew who you were.

“You—” His voice catches, and he clears it, forcing something steadier. “You know me.”

It’s not a question.

It’s supposed to be a fact.

Something solid.

Something unshakable.

Your brows knit together slightly, like you’re trying—really trying—but nothing’s coming.

“I… should?”

The room goes silent.

Thomas glances at Minho, something like pity flickering across his face, but Minho doesn’t look at him.

He can’t.

He’s too busy staring at you like if he looks hard enough, it’ll fix it. Like he can force you to remember.

“You remember him,” Minho says, nodding toward Thomas, voice tightening. “You remember all of them.”

His chest rises sharply.

“But not me?”

You flinch again.

And he hates himself for it immediately.

“Minho,” Thomas starts, low, warning.

“Don’t,” Minho snaps, not even looking at him. His eyes don’t leave yours. They can’t.

Because this is wrong.

You’re wrong.

This isn’t how this goes.

“I was there,” he says, quieter now. Rougher. “I was with you. The whole time.”

Your breathing picks up, overwhelmed, fingers tightening against your sleeves.

“I don’t—I don’t know—”

“Yeah, you do,” he pushes, stepping closer again despite the way you tense. “You just—think. Just—”

He stops.

Because you take a step back.

One step.

Like you need distance from him.

Like he’s the threat.

Something in him cracks.

Completely.

He lets out a short, hollow breath, dragging a hand over his face before dropping it to his side, fingers curling into a fist.

“Everyone else you remember,” he says, quieter now. Too quiet. “But not me.”

Your eyes soften just a little, guilt creeping in even though you don’t understand why.

“I’m sorry”

Minho laughs once.

It’s not funny.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Me too.”

Silence stretches.

Heavy.

Unbearable.

Then—

He shakes his head slightly, like he’s trying to pull himself back together, forcing his voice steady even though it’s hanging by a thread.

“I was the one who stayed,” he says.

Your eyes flicker.

Something there.

Not recognition.

But something.

“I didn’t leave you,” he adds, softer now. “Not when they took you. Not when it got bad. Not once.”

Your breathing slows, just a little.

You’re listening.

“I—” He exhales shakily, jaw tightening. “I need you to remember that. Even if you don’t remember me.”

And for the first time since they walked in—

He doesn’t step closer.

Doesn’t reach for you.

Because he’s not sure you’d let him.

And that?

That might be the worst part.

But then—

“Minho.”

It’s quiet.

Uncertain.

Like you’re testing the name.

His head snaps up.

Your gaze is still confused. Still searching.

But your voice—

You said it.

The group had barely made it into the ruined building to hide for the night, the wind outside still screaming through broken streets, carrying dust and heat and the distant sounds of Cranks somewhere far too close for comfort. Everyone is exhausted. Brenda is checking the doors. Minho is pacing like sitting still might kill him. Newt is leaning against the wall, trying not to show how tired he is.

And you—

You are sitting in the corner with your arms wrapped around yourself, staring at nothing.

Thomas frowns.

At first, he thinks you are just worn out. Everyone is. The Scorch has a way of draining every last ounce of life from a person. But when he crouches down in front of you and says your name softly, you don’t answer.

Your eyes finally lift to his, and something in his chest tightens.

You look wrong.

Not physically at first. There is no obvious wound, no blood soaking through your clothes, no limp he missed.

But your eyes are glassy. Your skin is pale beneath the dirt. And the moment he reaches for your hand, he jerks slightly at the heat of you.

“Y/N,” he says again, more firmly this time. “You’re burning up.”

You blink at him like it takes effort to focus.

“I’m fine.”

Your voice is rough. Too rough.

Thomas shakes his head immediately. “No, you’re not.”

That gets everyone’s attention.

Newt pushes off the wall, his face sharpening with concern, and Minho stops pacing. Brenda crosses the room fast, kneeling beside Thomas. She reaches for your wrist, then presses the back of her hand to your forehead.

Her expression changes in an instant.

And Thomas sees it.

That tiny shift. That flicker of dread she tries to hide.

His stomach drops.

“What?” he demands, looking between her and you. “What is it?”

Brenda hesitates.

That hesitation is enough to make panic surge up Thomas’s throat.

“Brenda.”

She swallows. “When did this start?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble, voice unfocused. “Just tired.”

Thomas is already searching your arms, your neck, your face, every inch of skin he can see like maybe if he looks hard enough he can prove her wrong. And then he finds it.

Just above your elbow.

A bite.

Small.

Angry.

Fresh.

Thomas goes completely still.

For a second, he can’t breathe.

“No,” he says quietly.

You follow his stare sluggishly, like you hadn’t even noticed it. Or maybe you had and just hadn’t said anything.

Minho sees it next. “No way.”

Newt curses under his breath.

Thomas looks back at you so fast it almost hurts. “When did that happen?”

You frown like you’re trying to remember. “Earlier... I think.”

“Earlier?” he repeats, voice rising. “Earlier when?”

You flinch, and he hates himself instantly for the sharpness in his tone, but fear is clawing at his ribs now, tearing through him.

“In the tunnels,” you whisper. “That one Crank grabbed me, but I got away, and I didn’t—I didn’t think—”

Thomas stands so abruptly his knees nearly buckle.

“No. No, no, no.”

He turns away, dragging both hands through his hair, trying to think, trying to breathe, trying not to completely lose it in front of everyone.

There has to be something.

There always has to be something.

Brenda rises slowly. “Thomas—”

“No.” He turns back to her, eyes wild. “You said some people can last longer, right? There has to be something we can do.”

Her silence is unbearable.

“Brenda.”

Her face softens in that awful, pitying way that makes rage spark hot in his chest.

“I’m sorry.”

Thomas laughs once, but there is nothing even remotely amused in the sound. It is broken and sharp and desperate.

“No. No, don’t do that. Don’t look at me like that.”

You make a small sound from the corner, and he is back at your side in seconds.

Your breathing is getting uneven now. Your fingers tremble when he takes your hand, and this time you actually squeeze his.

“Thomas.”

Your voice is so small it nearly destroys him.

He drops to his knees in front of you. “I’m here.”

You stare at him, and for one horrible moment he can see the fear in your eyes, clear and raw and human.

“I’m scared.”

That does it.

Thomas’s whole face crumples for half a second before he forces it back together. He cups your face in both hands, his thumbs brushing dirt and sweat from your cheeks.

“Hey. Hey, look at me.”

Your eyes lock on his.

“You’re not doing this alone, okay? I’m right here.”

Your bottom lip trembles.

“I don’t want to turn into one of them.”

His throat closes.

“You won’t,” he lies immediately.

Because he has to.

Because he cannot sit here and let you drown in fear. Because if he says the words out loud, if he lets himself believe this is really happening, he is going to fall apart.

So he presses his forehead to yours and whispers, “I’m not letting go of you. Do you hear me? I’m not letting go.”

For a little while, it almost seems manageable.

The others move quietly around the room, giving the two of you space while still staying close. Newt and Minho argue in hushed voices with Brenda about whether there is somewhere they can go, someone they can find, some miracle they are missing.

Thomas stays with you through all of it.

He keeps one arm around you while your fever worsens. He gives you water when your hands shake too badly to hold it. He wipes sweat from your skin. He talks to you even when you stop answering consistently, just to keep you tethered to him.

He tells you about the Glade.

About the first day he saw you there. About the way you rolled your eyes at him the first time he did something stupid. About the way you always made the terrible days feel less impossible.

At some point, you smile weakly.

“Was I really that mean?”

Thomas lets out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. You really were.”

Your head tips against his shoulder.

“Good.”

He closes his eyes for a second, holding you tighter.

But then the fever gets worse.

It happens fast.

One minute you are half asleep against him, your breathing ragged but calm enough that he starts to hope maybe—maybe—Brenda was wrong.

The next, your entire body goes rigid.

Thomas grabs you instantly. “Y/N?”

You gasp like the air has been ripped out of you, and then you shove away from him so violently you nearly hit the wall.

“Don’t touch me!”

The room freezes.

Thomas stares.

Your eyes are wide now. Wild. Unfocused. You are looking at him, but not really seeing him.

“Y/N, it’s me.”

“No!” you choke out, scrambling backward. “No, no, stay away from me!”

You are crying now, panicked, clutching at your head like something inside it is tearing you apart.

Thomas tries to move closer, slower this time, palms open. “You’re okay. You’re okay, I’ve got you—”

“Don’t!” you scream.

He stops cold.

And then you look at him with utter terror.

Not because you know him.

Because you don’t.

For one devastating second, whatever is happening inside your head takes him away from you completely.

You look at him like he is a monster.

Thomas feels his heart split open in real time.

“Please,” you sob, pressing yourself harder into the wall. “Please don’t let them touch me—”

His face falls.

He knows then that you are not here with him anymore. Not fully.

Whatever the infection is doing, it is pulling you under.

Thomas’s eyes burn, but he forces his voice to stay steady. Gentle.

“No one’s going to hurt you.”

You shake your head frantically, tears pouring down your face. “They lied. They always lie.”

Brenda’s expression shifts with understanding and grief. “She’s hallucinating.”

Thomas can barely hear her.

He is too focused on you.

On the way you are shaking. On the way you are looking around the room like every shadow wants to devour you. On the way your voice cracks when you whisper, “Thomas?”

He leans forward instantly. “I’m here.”

Your eyes flick to him, confused and frightened. “Thomas?”

“Yeah,” he says, his own voice breaking now. “Yeah, it’s me.”

For one second, you seem to recognize him.

Your whole face crumples.

And then you start crying harder.

Thomas moves before anyone can stop him.

He crosses the space between you and gathers you into his arms despite how hard you fight at first, despite the weak hits against his chest, despite the way you keep pleading nonsense into his shoulder. He just holds on.

“It’s okay,” he says over and over, even while tears are slipping down his own face. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Eventually, your struggling weakens.

Your hands fist in his shirt.

And then you just collapse against him, trembling.

Thomas holds you so tightly it is almost desperate.

Like if he loosens his grip for even a second, the world will take you from him.

The night drags on like that.

You drift in and out.

Sometimes you know him.

Sometimes you don’t.

Sometimes you cling to him so hard he can barely breathe, whispering his name like he is the only thing left in the world.

Other times you beg him to stay away.

Every version of it ruins him.

By morning, Thomas looks wrecked.

He has not slept. Has barely moved. His eyes are red, his jaw tight, his hand still tangled with yours where you lie curled against his side, too weak now to do much more than breathe.

The others give him that look again.

That quiet, grieving look.

He hates it.

Because as long as you are still breathing, he refuses to act like this is over.

So when your eyes flutter open again and you look at him with just a little more clarity than before, he leans in immediately.

“Hey.”

Your lips part. It takes effort, but you manage a tiny, tired smile.

“Hi.”

He lets out a breath that sounds suspiciously like a sob.

You notice, because of course you do.

Your fingers twitch in his.

“Thomas...”

“Don’t,” he whispers, already shaking his head. “Don’t say it.”

You swallow hard. “I need to.”

His whole face tightens.

You look so exhausted. So feverish. So heartbreakingly fragile. But your eyes are really yours right now, and maybe that is why he cannot stop the tears this time.

“I love you,” you whisper.

Thomas breaks.

He bows his head, gripping your hand against his mouth for a second like he is trying to hold himself together by force.

Then he looks back at you, tears streaking down his face openly now.

“I love you too.”

Your smile wobbles.

“I know.”

He leans down and presses his forehead to yours, breathing you in like he is trying to memorize everything.

“You’re not leaving me,” he whispers.

Even now.

Even with everything.

He still says it like a promise he can force into truth.

Your eyes close, and your voice is so quiet he almost misses it.

“I’m trying not to.”

Thomas lets out a broken sound and kisses your forehead, lingering there.

Then your temple. Your cheek. The corner of your mouth.

Anything to keep you with him just a little longer.

Anything to remind you that you are loved. That you are wanted. That if he could tear the infection out of you with his bare hands, he would.

And when you finally fall asleep again in his arms, Thomas does not let go.

He sits there in the dim morning light, holding you against his chest with one hand tangled in your hair, his eyes hollow but determined.

Because everyone else might be afraid of what comes next.

But Thomas?

Thomas would go to war with the whole ruined world for you.

And if there is even the smallest chance to save you—

Today, you forgot one very important thing.

You were wearing the glasses.

You barely make it three steps into the clearing before—

Minho freezes mid-sentence.

“Hold on.”

Oh no.

You feel Newt shift beside you instantly.

“Don’t,” he mutters under his breath, already knowing.

Minho squints at you, then points.

“Why does she look like she’s about to assign me homework?”

A few of the others turn.

Then more.

And then—

“Ohhh, shuck—” Frypan leans forward, eyes lighting up. “Are those glasses?!”

You immediately reach up like you can hide them now.

“It’s not a big deal—”

“It’s absolutely a big deal,” Minho cuts in, already grinning like he’s been handed the best entertainment of the week. “Since when do we have a librarian?”

Newt exhales sharply. “Minho—”

“No, no, wait,” Minho continues, stepping closer, circling you like he’s inspecting something rare. “This changes things. This changes everything.”

You narrow your eyes. “If you say one more word—”

“You look smarter,” he says immediately.

You blink.

“What?”

“Yeah,” Frypan nods, jumping in. “Like—dangerously smarter. Like you’re about to start correcting people.”

Minho snaps his fingers. “Exactly. Like she’s gonna tell me I’ve been running the Maze wrong this whole time.”

“I would have,” you shoot back.

That earns a loud laugh from a few of the boys.

Newt, however, is not amused.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he says, stepping slightly in front of you—not blocking you, but close. Protective. “Leave her alone.”

Minho raises his hands. “What? I’m complimenting her.”

“You’re being annoying,” Newt corrects flatly.

“Same thing.”

Frypan grins. “I mean. He’s not wrong though.”

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

And that’s when Newt turns.

Fully.

Slowly.

Dangerously.

“Oh, for shuck’s sake,” he mutters, then looks back at the group. “You lot done, or do you need a full hour to process a pair of glasses?”

Minho leans in slightly, lowering his voice like he’s sharing a secret.

“He’s defensive.”

Frypan gasps dramatically. “Oh, he likes it.”

Newt’s head snaps back toward them. “I always like her, you idiots.”

The clearing goes quiet for half a second.

Then—

“OHHHH—”

Minho clutches his chest. “Did you hear that? That was soft.”

Frypan points between the two of you. “Wait, wait—say it again. We’re documenting this.”

You can feel your face heating up, turning toward Newt slightly.

“Newt—”

But he doesn’t look embarrassed.

Not even a little.

If anything, he looks more irritated at them than anything else.

“I said,” he repeats, slower this time, eyes flicking briefly to you before returning to the group, “that I always like her.”

Minho squints.

“Yeah, but now you like her with accessories.”

That does it.

Newt takes a step forward. “Minho—”

You grab his arm quickly before he can fully commit to whatever that was about to be.

“Newt, don’t,” you laugh softly, tugging him back. “It’s fine.”

Minho smirks. “She’s right. Relax, lover boy.”

Newt looks like he’s about to argue—

Then glances at you.

Really looks at you.

And just like that, the tension leaves his shoulders.

“You sure?” he murmurs, quieter now.

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah.”

Minho immediately ruins it.

“So are these permanent or—”

“Minho,” Newt says flatly.

“—because I need to know if I should start behaving—”

“Minho.”

“—like I’m being judged at all times—”

“MINHO.”

“Alright, alright!” he laughs, backing up. “Shuck, you’re no fun.”

Frypan leans over to you as the noise of the clearing picks back up.

“For what it’s worth,” he says, quieter, “they look good on you.”

You smile. “Thanks, Fry.”

“Yeah,” Minho calls from behind him, unable to help himself. “Real good. Terrifying. I’m gonna start making better life choices.”

“You don’t make those,” you shoot back.

“Rude.”

Newt huffs a quiet laugh beside you, shaking his head.

Then, softer—just for you—

“Told you.”

You glance up at him.

“What?”

“That you look good,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. His hand brushes yours for just a second. “Didn’t think you’d need proof from those idiots.”

Your heart does that annoying, fluttery thing again.

“Still nice to have backup.”

He smirks slightly.

“Always got me for that.”

You huff under your breath, pushing a hand through your hair before trying them on again. The world sharpens instantly—edges clearer, colors crisper—but it doesn’t make the knot in your chest go away.

You don’t hear the door open.

“Y’know, if you keep frowning like that, it’s gonna stick.”

You flinch, immediately pulling the glasses off as you turn toward the voice.

Newt leans against the doorway, arms crossed loosely, watching you with that same soft, knowing look he always has when he catches you off guard.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, pushing himself off the frame and stepping inside. “What’ve you got there?”

“Nothing,” you mutter too quickly, moving to set them on the small table beside the bed.

His brows lift.

“Right. Because people usually hide ‘nothing’ like it’s contraband.”

You shoot him a look, but it lacks any real bite.

“It’s stupid.”

Newt’s expression shifts immediately—softer now, more careful as he steps closer.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice gentler. “Nothing about you is stupid. Try again.”

You hesitate, fingers curling slightly at your sides.

“…I need them,” you admit quietly, nodding toward the glasses. “Apparently my eyesight’s been shuckin’ awful and I just didn’t realize it because… you know.” You gesture vaguely. “Maze. Survival. Bigger problems.”

A small breath leaves him—almost like a quiet laugh—but there’s no mockery in it.

“Yeah,” he says, “that’ll do it.”

You don’t smile.

“I just-” You swallow, glancing away. “I look ridiculous.”

There it is.

The real reason.

Newt studies you for a second—really studies you—before reaching past you and picking up the glasses.

“Put ‘em on.”

Your head snaps back toward him. “Newt—”

“Put. Them. On.” His tone is light, but there’s a firmness underneath it you know better than to argue with.

You hesitate… then slowly take them from his hand and slide them back onto your face.

The moment stretches.

You can’t quite meet his eyes.

“Well?” you mumble.

There’s silence for a beat.

Then—

A quiet, breathy, almost disbelieving laugh.

You look up.

Newt’s staring at you like he’s just discovered something entirely new.

“What?” you ask, immediately self-conscious again. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He shakes his head slightly, stepping closer until he’s right in front of you.

“Because,” he says softly, “you’re absolutely stunning.”

You blink.

“What?”

“I’m serious,” he continues, one hand coming up to gently adjust the frame where it sits on your nose. His fingers brush your cheek, lingering just a second too long. “I mean—bloody hell, love. Didn’t think it was possible, but you somehow got even prettier.”

Heat rushes to your face instantly.

“Newt—”

“No, I mean it,” he insists, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve got this whole… smart, focused look now. Bit intimidating, actually.”

You let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “Intimidating?”

“Mm,” he hums. “Like you’re about to tell me I’ve done something wrong and then explain exactly why I’m an idiot.”

You nudge his chest lightly. “You are an idiot.”

“Yeah, but now you’ve got the glasses to prove it.”

You roll your eyes, but the tension in your chest has already started to loosen.

His hand doesn’t drop.

Instead, his thumb brushes just under your eye, soft and absentminded.

“Don’t hide from me, yeah?” he says quietly. “Not over something like this.”

Your expression softens.

“I just didn’t want you to think I looked—”

“—Different?” he cuts in gently.

You nod.

Newt tilts his head slightly, studying you again like he’s committing every detail to memory.

“You do,” he says.

Your stomach drops—

—but then he smiles.

“You look like you,” he finishes. “Just… clearer.”

The words settle somewhere deep in your chest.

Before you can respond, he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead—careful of the frames.

Then, just as he pulls back, his lips brush your nose instead, nudging the glasses slightly.

“…Gonna take some getting used to,” he murmurs.

You huff a small laugh. “For me or you?”

“For me,” he says easily. “Bit distracting, honestly.”

“Oh my god.”

“What?” he grins. “Can’t help it. My girl’s gotten even more attractive overnight. It’s inconvenient.”

Your heart stutters at that. My Girl.

“I’m still not used to heard that.”

Newt doesn’t even hesitate.

“It’s the truest thing I’ve ever said. Never gonna change either.”

Newt walks just a little too close beside you, his hand brushing yours every few steps like he can’t quite help himself. Meanwhile, you’re very aware of the warmth lingering on your skin… especially your neck.

You make it all the way to dinner before anything happens.

The group is already gathered, plates in hand, Frypan handing out portions while Minho is mid-story about something dramatic that may or may not be completely made up.

You barely sit down before—

Minho pauses.

Mid-sentence.

His eyes narrow.

“…Hold on.”

You freeze.

Newt goes still beside you.

And then Minho leans forward slightly, squinting at you like he’s just discovered something incredibly important.

“What the hell is that on your neck?”

Your hand instinctively flies up.

Too late.

Gally, sitting across from you, follows Minho’s gaze—and immediately lets out a sharp laugh.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

You shoot Newt a look.

He very pointedly does not look at you.

Instead, he takes a bite of food like he’s completely unbothered.

Which only makes it worse.

“It’s nothing,” you say quickly. Too quickly.

Minho leans back, crossing his arms, a grin slowly spreading across his face.

“Nothing?” he echoes. “Looks a lot like something.”

Gally snorts. “Looks a lot like Newt forgot where he was for a minute.”

A few of the boys start laughing.

You can feel your face heating up as you glare at both of them. “You’re both insufferable.”

“Mm,” Minho hums, nodding toward Newt. “Oh yeah. That’s definitely his work.”

Newt finally glances up, brow raising slightly like he’s just now deciding to join the conversation.

“Got a problem with that?” he asks casually.

That—

That does not help.

The table erupts.

Minho actually chokes on his food. “Oh my—he’s not even denying it—”

Gally shakes his head, grinning. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Newt.”

Newt just shrugs, completely unbothered, though there’s the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth now.

Your foot bumps into his under the table.

Hard.

He doesn’t even flinch.

If anything, his hand casually finds your knee beneath the table, squeezing once in quiet amusement.

You lean slightly toward him, lowering your voice.

“You’re unbelievable.”

He leans in just enough for only you to hear, voice low, teasing now—

“Didn’t hear you complaining earlier, love.”

Your breath catches.

You immediately sit back, grabbing your food just to have something to do.

Across the table, Minho is still shaking his head.

“Unreal,” he mutters. “Absolutely unreal.”

Gally grins. “Guess we know where he disappeared to.”

You bury your face slightly behind your cup, trying—and failing—to hide your smile.

Beside you, Newt looks entirely too satisfied with himself.

And somehow…