So, this is a TMR one-shot of the night when Thomas ran to the Maze after Minho and Alby, written from Newt's PoV. I'd say it's pretty true to the book/characters with a little twist of my own at the end of it, though. This is a newtmas one-shot but not necessarily until the last part of it. I'm very new to the writing business so please let me know what you think! All kinds of feedback is very much appreciated (and crucial considering I want to improve as a writer). But enough said, enjoy and please tell me what you think! x

"Don't do it, Tommy! Don't you bloody do it!"

Newt's scream was cut off by the massive grinding and clicking coming off all the four sides of the Glade when the doors slowly but surely sealed shut with one final thump. His legs didn't stop their uneven running until he had approached the cold stone doors and laid his hands against them panting as much from the effort of running as the overwhelming pressure that was taking over his heart. Thomas – the bloody Greenie - Tommy, was gone.

He couldn't believe it. He couldn't just have lost the two most important people of his life, and the one who was quicky becoming the third but in a whole new way. His mind couldn't grasp the concept but his body was already collapsing heavily to the ground. His knees hit the hard stone floor before the Doors and his eyes squeezed shut. Images kept flashing behind his eyelids, images of Thomas rushing towards the ever closing gap between the Doors without looking back. How could he possibly be so stupid?

Newt heard the approaching steps of the Gladers behind him as if from very far away. His heart was pounding in his ears and it wasn't until a hand clasped his right shoulder tentatively that his eyes snapped open and the world came to clear focus in front of him. He bolted upright and wheeled around glaring at the lost-looking boys, clearly shocked by the turn of events. Suddenly Newt felt his insides flare into an overwhelming rage and he couldn't stand the looks on their faces, the pity, the misery, the doubt. Frypan, who had had his hand on Newt's shoulder, looked taken aback at the expression on Newt's face.

"What are you bloody shanks staring at?" Newt spat. "He's – The Greenie's gone. For good. So are Alby and Minho. They ain't ever coming back and-"

"You don't know that."

Newt whirled towards the voice, looking at Chuck who was playing with the hem of his shirt nervously, his lower lip quivering.

"What did you just say?" Newt demanded coldly.

"It's just, you can't know it for sure. Maybe they will be okay. Maybe the Grievers won't find them. Maybe – maybe they are patrolling somewhere else in the Maze and they won't cross paths at all and-"

"Shuck it, Chuck! You don't get it, do ya? How could you, still being a whining Greenie yourself! No one has ever survived a night in the Maze. NO ONE. And no one ever will. So you can stop those pathetic daydreams right about now and grow the sh-"

"Enough! That's enough, Newt." Frypan took a step forward raising his hands in a calming gesture. "We're all shucking shocked, alright? We've just lost our two great friends and a stubborn Greenie. But we don't have to be shuckheads about it. We gotta have a Gathering first thing in the morning and figure out how to go on from now on. But we ain't gonna do anything now. It's late and it's gonna be a long day tomorrow, so I'd say we all slim it for now and go to bed. Everyone's allowed to feel bad about today but we can't hold on to the past and things we can't help, alright? Off to bed, everyone."

Newt felt his temper rise once again for Frypan's words and the authority he seemed to hold over the Gladers at the moment. For a moment he felt disgusted with himself for being so weak and loosing it in front of everyone like that, but soon the stubborn fury got the better of him. He muttered a menacing "Yeah, whatever," before stomping out of the group and towards the treeline of the forest. He didn't look back but he could feel the eyes of the Gladers on his back as he retreated into the darkening night.

Time lost its meaning as Newt made his way through the thick ivies hanging from the trees and stumbled to half-hidden branches and roots sticking from the ground. It could've been half an hour or a few hours since he stormed off from the West Door. His mind was too occupied to care. He already knew he wouldn't get a single ounce of sleep that night. He couldn't have cared less about that either.

An inexplicable anger was still driving him in his brisk pace through the woods. He was absolutely furious. Furious to the bloody Creators for dumping them here like trash, giving them a puzzle that was impossible to solve, haunting them with false hope and Grievers who efficiently spread misery and horror amongst the minds of the already shucked-up-from-fear-and-confusion boys.

He was furious to Alby and Minho who had been stupid enough to get in trouble in the Maze and lose the track of time completely. How Minho, the keeper of the bloody Runners, who spent almost every waking moment in that place, could screw up now and take Alby with him? What would the Gladers do without them? What would he do without them? Newt was the second in command, had been for a long time now, but it was always Alby who had had the last word in everything. If something was going wrong, Alby was always the one to turn to, the one with the answers. Well, most of the time, anyway. Could Newt take all that responsibility and hold the place together as Alby had? He couldn't say it for sure.

And lastly but nowhere near least, he was absolutely out of his mind for Tommy. How could that bloody shank be so stubborn and naive? Why did he have to have his bugging hero complex including false sense of invincibility? Why did he have to be so bloody selfless? Why did he – How could he have left them all behind? Left Newt behind? Why couldn't he have just this once – just this once – followed the rules?

Newt came to a sudden stop as he heard a loud splash and felt his foot getting all wet. He had walked straight to the bloody river that flowed through the forest. Cursing he stepped back out of the water and looked around for a place to jump over the stream. It wasn't that broad, and soon he found a good spot to cross. As he landed he put too much weight on his bad ankle and he cursed again, louder this time, as pain radiated from the ankle through his body in few agonising waves. He put his hands against his knees and leaned in heavily. He breathed slowly in and out as the pain slowly subsided.

It was as if the physical pain of the ankle had cracked open some hidden box of anguish inside him right in that moment. Newt felt his breath suddenly tremble from a sob that escaped his chest without a warning. He was shocked to find his eyes glistening with tears and a heavy weight crushing his chest inwards. The feelings that rushed through his body weren't fueled by rage anymore. The overwhelming grief was slowly but surely catching up with his mind. His defiance and temper, the shield he had armored himself with to protect his true feelings, was starting to crack. Soon it would be gone altogether, shattered to pieces leaving him and his heart bare and aching with loss, heartbreak, regret.

Image after image kept flashing through his mind. Images of Alby, patrolling through the Glade beside him, cracking up and then slimming himself in seconds as a Glader came to ask him for help. Images of Minho, the late nights around a campfire, pondering old and new theories about the Maze, unyielding, optimistic, and bloody short-tempered. Images of Thomas, walking around the Glade, looking so lost but somehow as if he was made to walk these grounds. As if he was already a part of it. Had always been.

Flashes of those hazel brown eyes that made the younger boy look so innocent, the eyes that could hold no lies behind them. Endless questions, crooked smiles, restless movements, getting under Newt's skin since the very beginning. Thomas made him think about what was before and what would be in the future. He made him feel things differently, question the obvious, dig deeper. Being with Thomas, spending time with him felt easy, their communication natural since the very beginning. There was something between them, a connection, understanding, that run somewhere deep in their very self. They had known each other for a very short time but it didn't stop Newt from feeling that there was something about Thomas that made him discover whole new parts of himself. Parts that hurt. Parts that warmed. Parts that felt like there was something missing there. A void of somekind. And sometimes, in the moments when their eyes locked for a little too long than was necessary, he found himself wondering if it wasn't something he was missing. That perhaps it was someone.

Newt felt his breathing become more and more frantic as the pain in his chest intensified. His hands curled into tight fists, his fingernails digging into his palms with such firmness they almost drew blood. When the first tears slipped down his cheeks it was as if a lightning had struck through him. He couldn't stay still anymore. He straightened and started to run again. Run from the pain. Trying to escape it. But there are things that one cannot escape, no matter how hard you tried. It didn't stop Newt from trying, though.

His vision was blurred by tears pooling in his eyes no matter how hard he tried to hold them back. He was barely aware where his feet were leading him and when he appeared at the sudden clearing, he stopped short and stared. His breath hitched painfully in his chest. He had arrived to the graveyard.

The figures of the white wooden crosses were too much too soon and he stumbled backwards until his back hit a tree. He leaned into it heavily and sunk slowly to the ground. He stuck his hands into his dirty blonde hair and squeezed his fists tight. He leaned his head to his knees and finally let a choking sob escape his throat.

Tears run freely now down his cheeks, over his chin, tiny droplets of sorrow dropping to the ground. Tortured breaths left his lungs and his face was a mask of pure anguish. He rocked on his heels back and forth, willing the pain to stop, please stop, make it stop, this is too much, I can't, Tommy don't, please, don't, it's too much-.

His cries were the only sounds in the dark night as it enveloped the heart of the Maze.

A faint light fought with the darkness and was turning the tables. The Glade was slowly but surely waking up to a new day. Few voices from the Homestead were caught in Newt's ears but it was more quiet than usual. The hollow feel of loss seemed to have descended everywhere. Newt was pacing the lengths of the walls of the Glade, holding his numb hand against the cool stone.

His tears had drained long time ago but his throat still felt raw. His mind had finally shut itself down and now the only thing Newt could feel was numbness, body and soul. His senses were blurred by the edges, his insides felt hollow. He felt he couldn't remember what it was like to smile, to be happy, to laugh. He wasn't sure he ever wanted those things again. His eyes kept staring at the dirty stone pavement ahead of him, unseeing.

Newt had just turned to walk beside the West Wall when he distantly heard the voices coming from the Homestead grow a bit louder. Slowly he raised his head and saw most of the Gladers filling out. Four little groups started their way towards each Door. The Runners. Halfway to the West Door one of them spotted Newt and indicated to others. They shouted something Newt couldn't hear since right at that moment the Doors started to move. Deafening grinding and crunching filled the air as the Doors slowly opened revealing four pathways to the Maze.

The Runners gave Newt hesitant looks all the way until they made it to the Door and stepped inside. Newt had had no intention to go anywhere near the West Door but somehow his legs kept walking and brought him exactly to the spot where his world had tumbled to the ground less than 12 hours ago. As he stared inside the Doorway he noticed the Runners hadn't yet started running. Instead they were gathered to a group, one of them crouched down to his knees.

Newt's heart was pounding loudly. He felt something draw himself inside the Maze. His legs had started walking again, bringing him closer to the group of Runners. They had clearly found something. Their stances were stoic. What are they waiting for? Are they- Are they gathered around a body? Is- Is it-

The Runners cleared a path as they saw ashen-faced Newt limping closer. When the path was clear, Newt stopped short.

There was nothing there. No body, no ripped limbs, no torn away clothes. Just some loose strands of ivy resting on the stone. Nothing unusual about it. Newt was just opening his mouth to snap at the boys around him when he heard something. There were distant, scuffing voices, as if steps dragging on a stone floor. Newt was gazing hard into the grey light of the Maze, his heartbeat suddenly erratic. Then, out of nowhere, inexplicably, looking utterly exhausted and very much alive, Minho and Thomas stormed from behind the corner at the end of the corridor ahead.

Newt took an involuntary, quick and shuddering intake of breath. His mouth opened slightly and for a moment he couldn't believe what his eyes were seeing. Minho was grimacing and panting hard, but the instant he saw them and the Door leading to the Glade, his face visibly cleared and he left out a sigh of relief. Thomas beside him looked as if he had been through Hell – his shirt was sticking to his skin with sweat and dirt, his clothes were partly ripped and he had some cuts on his arms, but his eyes – his eyes burned the brightest fire Newt had ever seen. The way his face eased at the first sight of the Glade was the look of pure relief. The moment their eyes locked got Newt out of breath and he took a step forward, starting to limp blindly towards the two of them.

The shock of seeing these two shucks alive was overwhelming him. He had thought he'd never see them again, and here they were, Minho, Tommy, - but there was no sight of Alby. After he registered that thought, his mind snapped into focus again and he felt a sudden pang in the middle of the overpowering relief and joy. Where's Alby? The irritation started tugging at him again. His mind had gone through too much in these past hours and was too messed up to react to the situation rationally.

"What happened?" his mouth started snapping without a conscious intention of saying the words. "How in the bloody-"

"We'll tell you later," Thomas interrupted him immediately. "We have to save Alby."

Newt felt all the blood drain from his face at his words.

"What do you mean? He's alive?"

"Just come here."

Thomas walked away from him, closer to the Door, his head tilted back and eyes scanning the wall of the Maze on his right. Soon he stopped and pointed upwards at the spot where there was a dark, odd-shaped figure sticking out of the ivy-covered wall. Newt squinted his disbelieving eyes, stepping closer. Suddenly the figure made perfect sense; there was a dark-skinned, achingly familiar boy hanging in the ivy. Newt looked between the wall and Thomas and swallowed hard.

"Is he...alive?"

"I don't know. Was when I left him up there."

"When you left him..." Newt's head was spinning too fast. Too much was happening in such a short time. Shock after shock after shock. He shook his head slowly. It didn't help clearing his jumbled thoughts, but in the end he opened his mouth again. "You and Minho get your butts inside, get yourselves checked by the Med-jacks. You look bloody awful. I want the whole story when they're done and you're rested up."

Thomas looked at him the familiar stubborness flickering behind his eyes and started to open his mouth but this time it was Minho who cut him off.

"We need sleep. And bandages. Now."

Minho started to tug Thomas with him towards the Door, towards the Glade. For a moment it seemed that he wasn't going to go that easily, an unreadable expression flashing across his face as he stared at Newt, his mouth partly open as if he wanted to say something. Then his expression changed, he lowered his gaze and seemed to give up. He gave one last glance towards Alby and started to back away from them, following Minho out of the Door.

Newt stared after them for a long time. He had an uneasy feeling in his chest, an irrational urge to storm after Thomas. And then what? Newt felt his brow furrow and he let out a frustrated breath. First things first. He turned around and started helping the Runners trying to ease Alby off the wall as tentatively as possible. He felt a twinge of guilt twisting in his stomach for giving so much of this thoughts dance around Thomas, when his oldest friend might be dying – if he wasn't already dead. He shook his head trying to get away from his confusing thoughts.

Newt closed the door leading to the room occupied by Alby with a heavy heart. He let out a long sigh and rubbed his forehead with his hand. The dark boy was still unconscious but his body functions were starting to get normal. It seemed Thomas had done pretty good job with the vines; Alby's body would have no permanent injury. They had injected him with the Grief Serum and it would start to get effect in probably few hours. If it would work, of course. There was nothing to be done than to wait for the first symptoms to start – or not to start at all. Newt felt his teeth grind together and he tried to shake that line of thought out of his head once and for all. Thoughts of Alby stayed at the edge of his mind no matter how hard he tried to get rid of them, though.

Another as persisting and stubborn occupant of his thoughts was no one else but Thomas. He just couldn't shrug the dark-haired boy off. As much as Newt wanted to stay by Alby and not let him out of his sight, the urge to see the Greenie had finally got unbearable. He had to see him to make sure he was okay and breathing, yell at him for being a stubborn shuckhead, thank him for coming out the Maze alive with Minho and Alby, hit him for making him go through Hell the night before. There were other thoughts in his mind as well, but he couldn't dare voice any of those aloud.

There was also that last look Thomas had shared with Newt before Minho had managed to get him return to the Glade. There had been something in his eyes that was bugging Newt and wouldn't give him a moment's peace. There had been a flash of some great emotion behind those expressive hazel eyes of his. Somehow he had to figure out just what it all had meant. Not that he had the slightest clue how to do that.

Newt finally stepped away from the door and started to cross the narrow corridor that was lined with closed doors on both sides. A Med-jack was dozing off in a chair beside one of the doors but he startled awake as Newt stepped on a floorboard that gave a squeaking complaint under his step. Newt freezed momentarily even though he had every right to walk wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted. The Med-jack's gaze was unfocused for a second until he trained his eyes on Newt, raising from his chair, a question on his face.

"It's nothing, I just- I'm gonna check on Greenie. Make yourself useful and keep watch on Alby till I'm back, got it?"

The Med-jack mumbled something under his breath but made his way to Alby's room without objection. As the door closed behind him, Newt crossed the remaining few steps to the door that held Thomas behind its shabby surface. He exhaled slowly and felt his pulse quickening as he placed his fingers around the handle. You're being bloody stupid. Scolding himself inside his mind, he carefully opened the door, stepping inside as quietly as possible. He closed the door with as much care, and when he turned around to face the room, his eyes immediately descended on the curled figure laying on the bed. Newt swallowed hard as he felt the air leave his lungs at the sight before his eyes.

Thomas was laying on his side, his face turned toward the door. The look on his face made him look so young and the softened set of his features hurt Newt's heart with its vulnerability, with its innocence. His long eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks as he was dreaming peacefully. His hand was curled under his pillow and the other one was stretching over the side of the bed. The thin sheet Thomas had draped over himself had lowered to his hips revealing a slice of bare stomach where his shirt had rid up his torso.

Newt felt a strong emotion building inside of him, making it hard to stay still. He took a careful step forward without really knowing what he was going to do. It was his bloody luck that he stepped on another old and traitorous flooring yet another time. The following creak was even louder than last one – and due to his bugging fortune, of course it awoke Thomas in seconds.

The dark-haired boy bolted upright gasping and his eyes scanned the room wildly, looking for the cause of the sound, searching for a threat. Despite of his sleep deprivation, the boy seemed to be alert and ready to run in mere seconds. As his eyes finally adjusted to a completely frozen Newt, his eyes visibly widened a bit and he let out a shaking breath. His voice was husky from sleep as his mouth started forming questions – as usual.

"Newt? What- What's going on? Is Alby-"

With a little shake of his head, Newt tried to gather his thoughts from the jumbled mess which his head had become, as soon as possible.

"Everything's fine, Tommy, nothing's going on, and Alby's-" Newt swallowed quickly "Alby's gonna be fine. Sorry, didn't mean to bloody wake you from your beauty sleep. The bugging flooring.." His voice quieted down, his face grimacing.

Thomas's shoulders relaxed and he slumped back to bed, glaring Newt. His mouth opened and as he was obviously going to mention Newt's misplaced choice of words, Newt cut him off without giving him a chance.

"Sorry, I know you need your sleep, didn't mean to be shuckhead about it. Actually, I really should let you sleep right about now. You seem to be all fancy and fine, and it's gonna be long day for you to be yapping about your little adventure back in the bloody Maze. So.."

He cleared his throat and spinned on his heels grabbing the handle again. Just as he was about to twist it, he heard a rush of words behind him that stilled him.

"Newt, wait! Please, stay."

Heart pounding in his ears, Newt slowly let his hand fall back to his side and he turned to face Thomas again. The Greenie was looking at him with burning eyes, and Newt couldn't help but swallow hard under his gaze.

"Okay," he breathed.

He crossed the space between the door and the bed slowly and sat at the other end of it, eyeing Thomas warily, unsure of what to do next.

Thomas adjusted himself to a sitting position, leaning his back to the headboard and crossing his hands on top of his knees. He bit his lip a bit and played with his hands before letting his gaze fell upon Newt again.

"So.. To be honest, for a moment I thought you we're gonna murder me in my sleep when I saw you creeping in here," he stated, but Newt could see he wasn't being completely serious with him. That didn't stop a bubble of irritation stir inside of him.

"What the bloody hell are you yapping on about?" Newt scoffed, glaring at him.

Thomas shrugged. "Well, I figured you wouldn't be too pleased with me breaking your holy rules and all. And you did look pretty terrifying for a moment there." He looked at Newt under his eyelashes, flashing a crooked smile at him.

"'Pretty terrifying' – yes, I had every bloody right to look a bit bewildered when you two shanks appeared to be alive, after all that I had been through last night-" he quickly shut his mouth about that topic, Thomas really didn't need to know just how shattered he had been "And yes, if you had any bugging sense in that shuck head of yours, you'd realise there are rules for a reason. Or was last night like a nice little holiday for ya, hm?"

Thomas looked a bit taken aback at that and he lowered his eyes, growing serious in mere seconds. Newt felt the loss of his smile stab his heart a bit, but there were things he couldn't just ignore. The rules and order had sometimes been the only things keeping him sane in this bloody cage they called The Glade. Sooner or later, Thomas would have to learn to respect them.

"Anyway, as I already hinted, we're gonna have a Gathering tomorrow and you'll get to tell us all about last night by the tiniest detail. And I do have a few chosen words to say to you, and I will say them, trust me. I might even hit you, you bloody shank."

Thomas grinned at that again, shaking his head. "What's stopping you now? Why not do it right away?"

Newt looked at him for a long time, a thoughtful expression on his face. Finally he let out a pained sigh, swiping a frustrated hand through his hair.

"Maybe I just bloody wanted to check on you? Without any bloodthirsty agendas. You are, after all, my friend, Tommy, and I'd hate to see you hurt in any way. Perhaps I just wanted to feel relieved to see you breathing and alive. And perhaps I wanted to just thank you for returning unscathed, bringing Minho and Alby with you. And what you did to save Alby, I-" suddenly Newt felt his throat closing in again, preventing him from saying another word. He turned his face away but startled as he felt the bed shift as Thomas suddenly crawled closer and clasped his hand on top of Newt's unconsciously tightened fist.

Newt raised his head slowly and found himself lost in Thomas's intense gaze.

"I only did what anyone else would've done. I helped my friends. Yours, too. I'm sorry I left you all behind like that, but I didn't have a choice. I couldn't just lose two friends like that, and let you lose the most important people in your life, as well. It was far from easy, and last night will undoubtedly be the most horrible night of my life. But we made it back, and everything's fine now. You said even Alby's gonna make it, right?"

Newt felt his eyes getting dangerously wet all of a sudden, and he quickly cleared his throat and pulled away. He wiped a hand over his face, taking a shuddering intake of breath. He couldn't understand why his emotions were this messed up. Why didn't he have any control of them anymore? Why was he being so weak all of a sudden? He felt the lack of sleep as a physical reminder in his every bone, but that couldn't explain all of this. What was it about Thomas that got him so out of control?

He was even more confused as he felt arms curl around his back and pull him against Thomas's chest. He felt his breath hitch in his chest and he stared the opposite wall, lacking words completely and trying to catch up with his feelings. Thomas's body was incredibly warm against him, his strong arms holding him and his scent flooding his senses. This was so unlike everything Newt had ever experienced, this closeness, this vulnerability. What is this? But in the end, he felt his eyes fluttering shut and he gave up, leaning heavily into Thomas.

Distantly he heard Thomas quietly mumbling soft words of comfort as he held him.

"It's gonna be okay, Newt. It's all gonna be fine."

Newt didn't cry – he wasn't that lost yet. He just felt incredibly at ease by being this close to Thomas, breathing in his extraordinary, calming presence.

After an undefined amount of time, Thomas finally pulled back. He kept their closeness, though, by resting his hand on Newt's arm. He smiled a bit shyly, but his eyes held such an open expression that Newt was out of breath just by looking at him.

Suddenly Thomas's gaze became scrutinizing, and he took in Newt's whole appearance, furrowing his brow.

"Newt, did you sleep at all last night?" he asked warily.

Newt just shrugged, avoiding his eyes.

"Newt?" Thomas voiced his name so softly, he could barely hear it. He put two fingers under Newt's chin, making him to look him in the eye.

Newt shivered. Then he finally got a grip of himself and blurted: "No I didn't, you bloody shank! If you had rough time back in the Maze, believe me, I've been through my very own Hell myself and I-"

But his words were cut off as Thomas's lips descended lightly on his own.

Newt's heart skipped a beat and his brain stopped to function altogether. There was only the softness of Thomas's lips as he carefully kissed his own, waiting for Newt to react in one way or another. Newt felt something warm unfurl in the pit of his stomach and suddenly his hands were clasped behind Thomas's neck and he was kissing him back earnestly.

Thomas groaned appreciatively low in his throat and put his hand in Newt's hair, angling their heads for better access to his mouth and circling the other hand around Newt's waist, pulling them closer, closer, closer.

Newt shifted so he was straddling Thomas's thighs, grasping his hair in his fist and savouring his mouth with every ounce of passion he had. Their breaths were quickening at a frantic pace but no matter how intense their kisses turned, it didn't seem to be enough. This is too much, Tommy, this is too good – I-ah, Tommy, too.. good-

Just as Newt felt as if his chest was going to explode from the lack of oxygen, Thomas pulled his mouth away from Newt's, touching their foreheads together, hot breaths mingling as they tried to put their minds around what had just happened.

As Newt slowly opened his eyes, he found Thomas's hazel eyes immediately. Thomas looked absolutely ravishing, his pupils dilated, his hair a mess made by Newt's eager hands. A faint blush colored Newt's cheeks.

"That was-"

"Yeah."

Newt closed his eyes again. A wave after wave emotions kept crashing through him. Happiness, confusion, desire, fear, disbelief. He tried to take deep breaths in order to calm himself down a bit. As his pulse started to slow down, the overpowering fatigue started to take over his body again. He felt a bit dizzy, his limbs heavy as lead.

Quickly, so as not to have time to back off, he whispered: "Tommy, could I- Could I stay?"

Newt could feel Thomas's smile radiating off of him and as he planted a quick peck to his lips, he assured him by breathing "Of course" into his skin that sent waves of goosebumps ride over him.

As they settled themselves under the thin blanket, twining their limbs together and helding each other close, Newt felt an odd calm wash over himself. Curling up in a bed with Thomas like this somehow felt so right, so natural. As he adjusted his head to rest on their shared pillow, he felt Thomas's eyes on him.

Newt eyed him back levelly. He felt Thomas's fingers touch his own carefully before he entwined them. The sleep was starting to blur Newt's vision by the edges, but he still heard Thomas's questioning voice clearly as the other boy opened his mouth again.

"Newt?"

"Yeah?"

"I have a question for you. I- I know how important the rules are for you. I've wanted to ask this for quite a while and now seems as good a time as ever." His lips suddenly curled into a grin. Newt wondered what kind of a buggering question would make him look that mischevious.

"I guess I know most of the rules of the Glade by now.. but I've been wondering.. would there be any rule about dating your superiors?"

Newt felt his eyes widen and a breath escaped his lips. Soon he gathered himself and quickly rolled them so that he was straddling Thomas's waist. Thomas looked a bit dazed by the sudden movement, but a smile was already taking over his face. Newt lowered himself slowly and rested his elbows on either side of Thomas's head.

"You know, Greenie.. I really wonder if you have ever cared about the bugging rules in the least."

And with that, his lips swallowed any and every retort Thomas had been able to come up with.