A/N: I started planning this fic almost two years ago now and while I always knew I was going to finish it sooner or later, I never would've thought it would take me this long to finally bring my first long piece of writing to an end. But here we are, and I'm so glad I decided to share this story with you. This has been a huge learning process for me and I can't thank you enough for your amazing encouragement and support you've given me during these years. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing, it really means more to me than I can ever say.

I hope to return one day with a brand new story, and when that happens I hope I'll see at least some of you around. For now, I hope you have enjoyed Dreaming of You and I'm looking forward hearing your final thoughts about this one. x

Loving can heal, loving can mend your soul
And it's the only thing that I know

A pleasant, cooling gust of wind travelled through the forest, pushing the blond hair spilling on Newt's forehead upwards. Newt halted his steps and let his gaze sweep over the narrow branches and lush green leaves rustling together high up in the trees as he lifted his face towards the sky, welcoming the fresh air.

The muscles on his arms ached at the weight of the firewood he had been picking and carrying all over the woods, but it was a good, healthy kind of pain.

For once, it felt good to be in control of his own pain. If the ache grew too overwhelming, Newt could just toss the firewood to the ground and sit down for awhile, gathering his strength. Alternatively, he could also keep going and strain his muscles as far as he wished and if he did so, it would be of his own volition, and no one else's. Not this time.

Newt let out a frustrated sigh, angry at himself for letting his thoughts always drift back to the same old, confusing memories. He kicked off a few fallen, crisp leaves on the ground and walked on.

It was good to be finally out of bed and take part in the running of the Glade again, even if it was just collecting firewood at the moment.

Newt certainly wasn't complaining. In fact, he relished in the peace and quiet of the forest. It was a perfect opportunity to escape the lingering, suspicious gazes that were still occassionally thrown in his direction.

It had been about a week since Newt and Thomas woke up in the Glade after the Maze incident. The Gladers had all been relieved and glad to find out they had survived the Maze and were back in one piece. Even Gally, who had been one of the boys helping Ben to kidnap Thomas, had grumbled a low-voiced greeting, "Welcome back, Newt", when he had walked past Newt and Thomas's table while they were eating dinner in the kitchen the other day. For once, there had been no malice in his voice when he had addressed Newt. Newt had wondered quietly inside his mind whether he'd ever heard the Keeper of the Builders sound so meek. Gally had even managed a quick, acknowledging nod for Thomas before he swiftly cleared out of the room.

The cheerfulness caused by Newt and Thomas's return could only last for so long until the Gladers finally got curious enough about what had really happened to the two, and so Alby was forced to organize a Gathering before the others would drive him crazy with their constant questions.

The Gathering had been a rather grim ordeal for them both. This time, the Gathering had been extended to include all of the Gladers which meant it had to be held outdoors since no room in the Homestead could hold over sixty boys comfortably inside its walls. It hadn't been exactly easy for Newt to witness the way the expectant faces of the Gladers turned into those of either bafflement, disbelief or outright suspicion as he and Thomas had patiently explained the little they had figured out about what had happened. By the time they had finished their story, the fact that no one actually had any idea how or why they were still alive finally hit the Gladers, and then all hell had sprung loose as everyone had started talking all at once.

Alby had had real difficulties keeping a decent order as one after another, Keepers and Gladers alike demanded for more details and some had even declared their deep mistrust towards Newt and Thomas. Someone had asked, rather reasonably, how could they trust Newt and Thomas again since there was clear proof that the Creators had intervened in their journey through the Maze, meddled with their brains and then thrown them back into the Glade. Nothing like that had ever happened before, and even to Newt it seemed unlikely that the Creators had done what they had just out of the pure goodness of their hearts. After a moment of ruckus, the same Glader had continued, "I don't know if I can trust them to be on our side anymore, not after what's happened.", stunning everyone silent for a while. A sickening feeling had spread on Newt's stomach after the words struck home, making his hands tremble.

Newt had felt Thomas scrambling to his feet next to him, but he had been a step ahead of him; he'd held his hand firmly on Thomas's chest, willing him to keep still, and in the end, Thomas had relaxed his shoulders just a bit, averting his eyes as he relented. Newt had turned to face the crowd of Gladers, each and every one's attention focused solely on him now, and stepped forward as a sudden wave of calm washed over him, smoothing his face down to a neutral expression.

Clearing his throat, he had said, "I understand your worry and your confusion, since they are the same things that cross my own head every bloody minute of every bloody day. I don't know why they let us survive, and why we're back here – and you'd bloody better believe we two," he gestured his hand between himself and Thomas, "are the ones who are the most keen to figure all this shuck business out. I get that things are different now, but all I'm asking – all we are asking, is to give us a chance. It's not us who did this, it's them," Newt spat, his hand moving to point to nowhere in particular behind him, behind all of them. He'd steadied his quickened breathing for a minute before continuing, his eyes now narrowed, but determined. "And I won't hear another bloody word about me and Tommy not being on your side. The only side there is, for all of us, is against the Creators. They put us here, stole our memories and took our old lives from us. And I'm not ever going to forget that."

Returning the focus back on the Creators had calmed the situation even if it couldn't erase every doubt from the minds of the hard-luck boys. Newt could only hope that with time they would all come around.

He loathed the Creators more and more after each day that passed. Even if he was feeling like his old self, the knowledge that someone had messed with his brain again did nothing to calm his frayed nerves. The suspicion of the Gladers around him was merely a fuel to the fire that threatened to burn him to the ground at times. Because no matter how much Newt tried to push it to the back of his mind, no matter how hard he tried to reason with himself, he couldn't completely keep out the thoughts of what if...what if they really did something to us?

Would I be able to tell if I was being used somehow?

Would I be able to tell if I was...controlled?

The sound of a twig snapping shook Newt out of his reverie, making him turn around quickly and causing a couple of branches falling down from his lap. His heart started pounding feverishly in his chest, his senses sharpening in seconds.

"Who's there?" Newt demanded with a surprisingly strong voice. He took a step back, his head turning from side to side slowly as he took in his surroundings.

The forest around him was quiet for a while, save for the whoosh of wind in the trees. Then an audible sigh was heard nearby, another twig snapped as someone stepped on it, and the next thing Newt's eyes registered was Thomas stepping out from behind a nearby tree, looking at Newt sheepishly, a blush colouring his cheeks and a crooked smile tugging at his lips.

"It's just me," Thomas said, raising his hands up in a surrendering gesture as he walked closer.

Newt felt a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding leave his lungs as his tense muscles relaxed, and an annoyed look took over his face. "Not. Funny," he declared crossly and threw a small branch at Thomas's chest as the boy got closer.

"Someone's a little jumpy today, huh?" Thomas inquired, his words light but his eyes crinkled with worry. He stepped in closer until the heap of branches blocked his way, and raised his hand up to sweep his thumb gently over the wrinkle between Newt's eyebrows until it smoothened, even if just a little. Newt grumbled but leaned into the touch despite himself, closing his eyes.

"What were you thinking about? I watched you for a while and could tell you were in pretty deep in that pretty blond head of yours," Thomas asked, caressing Newt's cheek.

Newt blinked his eyes open and locked his gaze with Thomas's. He sighed and shook his head slightly, "Nevermind that. It's nothing important."

Thomas looked as if he wanted to argue, but Newt continued before he could, "What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were busy with Minho and the Maps."

Thomas pouted his lips and turned his head slightly to the side as he gazed at Newt wonderingly. "I missed you. Minho needed a break. I saw my chance and took it," he finished with a cheeky smirk.

Newt rolled his eyes but couldn't stop a smile slipping to his lips as a burst of warmth exploded in his chest at Thomas's words.

"Of course you did," Newt mused, leaning in and placing his lips on Thomas's on impulse, giving the boy a soft, lingering kiss.

The branches in Newt's lap got crushed between their bodies, and as they parted, Thomas rubbed his belly with a small grimace on his face. "Ouch," he whined.

"Sorry," Newt said apologetically, but the broad smile on his face didn't really match his words.

Thomas had the ability to make things feel inexplicably lighter and brighter. When Newt was with him, he felt like maybe, just maybe, everything would work out in the end, in one way or another.

He reminded Newt that even if they were lost, confused, and out-of-place, they were in all of it together.

Newt wasn't paying attention to the way his arms were shaking from the weight of the branches, but apparently, Thomas was. The dark-haired boy laid a warm, steady hand on his arm and asked, "Should we sit down for a while?"

Newt opened his mouth to argue and assure Thomas that he could bloody well handle it, but then he had second thoughts as he realised his win-win situation.

"Yeah, sure," Newt said with a smile.

They walked to a long, thick log lying on the soft and grassy forest floor. Newt let the branches fall into a pile next to the log, and then he sat down next to Thomas, their thighs brushing against each other.

Thomas took Newt's hand in his, scrutinizing the little cuts and fine bones, the long tendons and bitten nails, the bony knuckles and delicate fingers.

"You know I'm going to be a Runner someday," Thomas said with a quiet voice, his eyes on Newt's hand.

The sharp, cold talons of fear clawed at Newt's chest at the very mention of the topic. Newt closed his eyes tightly and drew in a long, sharp breath.

He dreaded nothing more than the day when Thomas would step into the Maze again. Somehow, after all that they had gone through, Thomas hadn't lost his fascination with the Maze. If possible, lately the boy was even more keen on solving it and discovering its secrets.

Newt had hated the place before, but now he feared it like never before. Whatever it was that had really happened inside the Maze was something new and different, something they couldn't possibly prepare for. If they had disappeared inside the Maze once, what would prevent it from happening again?

And what if next time, there are no survivors?

Going inside the Maze meant giving up control, now more than ever. And losing control over things was pretty much the worst thing that Newt had ever known.

Even if every cell in Newt's body screamed how dangerous and reckless it was to continue searching the Maze, he also knew how very inevitable it was in every way. The Maze was their only hope to escape this place. They couldn't give up trying to figure it out.

If only it wouldn't have to involve Thomas.

But of course it did, and Newt knew it. In his heart, he knew that being a Runner was what Thomas was made to do. It was his mission, his true calling. And he would be absolutely brilliant at it.

With Thomas, they might stand a chance.

With Thomas, they might actually someday get out of here.

And no matter how much it hurt, Newt couldn't possibly stand in his way. Not in this.

"I know," Newt answered after a long silence, opening his eyes and sweeping his thumb over Thomas's gentle fingers.

"I know you don't like it – and believe me, I hate to do something you don't approve – but Newt, I know this is the way – if we can find our way out, we can finally get to the Creators, and get our memories back. Also, we get to kick all their asses afterwards. Permanently," Thomas added, as an afterthought, his face a fierce mask of determination.

"Well, you're right there – I don't like it one bit, Tommy," Newt assured, looking at Thomas with pain evident in his eyes. "But I know it has to be done."

Thomas's expression warmed, and he raised his other hand to cup Newt's cheek adoringly, but Newt brushed it off, not having finished, "But you must promise me to be careful. Every second of every minute. And you'll take it easy. Starting with Minho, only when he's fully recovered, short trips, nothing too complex. And you promise me to always come back. Don't you dare get lost from me again. Ever."

Thomas looked at him with pure awe and deep emotion in his eyes, for a long time. Then the corner of Thomas's mouth turned upwards just the slightest bit, and he uttered out with a slightly broken voice, "I promise."

"Good that," Newt stated shakily.

Suddenly Newt could feel his eyes moistening, and he quickly blinked his eyes, avoiding Thomas's gaze now.

Soon there was a finger under his chin, gently turning his face towards Thomas again. The expression Newt found from the other boy's face was the most tender look he'd ever seen on any face before. And no matter how unbelievable it was, that gaze was pointed at no other than Newt himself.

"Newt," Thomas breathed, and then Newt couldn't take it anymore, his heart already thrumming in his throat, and he balled his fists to the front of Thomas's shirt and kissed him, trying to convey everything that he felt in that one determined, deep, and devouring kiss.

Thomas's hand was in his hair, combing through his blond curly locks. In one lean movement, Newt straddled Thomas's hips and leaned in, their chests and stomachs rubbing together as they moved to balance themselves, their lips hot and slick with saliva as they devoured each other.

Just as it was starting to get a bit too much, a bit too bloody amazing, for Newt to handle, Newt pulled slightly away and tried to catch his breath, knocking their foreheads softly together as his arms circled Thomas's shoulders in a light embrace.

Thomas tried to catch his lips again, and Newt let out a sound of complaint, but melted in for another breathtaking kiss before he pulled away even further, now speaking before it was too late, "Tommy, you do realise we're in the middle of a bloody forest where anyone could walk in at any time?"

"Anyone could walk in anywhere at any time, anyway," Thomas pointed out with a raspy voice, his lips searching for Newt's again.

You have a point there.

Newt could feel his resistance starting to crumble as Thomas's lips descended on his jaw, mouthing their way down his throat and sucking the sensitive skin there, making Newt moan and gasp in turns.

"Shh," Thomas shushed, his voice vibrating against Newt's skin, "let's keep quiet, yeah?"

Newt hummed in appreciation, tilting his head back as his eyes closed shut, finally giving in. Thomas lowered his head to his chest, dragging the collar of Newt's shirt down, and kissed his collarbones, nipping them with his teeth, making Newt whimper in spite of himself.

Newt's hands traveled up and down Thomas's chest before he slipped his eager fingers beneath the hem of his shirt. He let his fingers explore the hot, smooth skin for a good while before he settled them firmly on Thomas's waist as he simultaneously moved against him in a slow, grinding motion, making Thomas let out a stifled moan.

Newt chuckled, pleased, and continued the moves of his hips as he took in the open-mouthed, heavy-breathing dark-haired boy who was currently curling his arm around Newt's back and gazing at him with such lust and wonder in his eyes that it made Newt's stomach drop.

Lowering his eyes to Thomas's swollen, pink lips, Newt leaned in slowly, relishing in the small hitch of breath Thomas let out as Newt got as close as he could without touching, until he gave in and caught Thomas's lips again, bringing his other hand to the back of Thomas's neck.

Distracted by the way Thomas's tongue was tricking his own, Newt barely registered how Thomas's hand lowered on his back, smoothing down his side and stomach, until it finally descended on the bulged front of his trousers, palming him tightly.

A burst of curses left Newt's mouth as he jumped in Thomas's lap, momentarily thrown off the course by the sudden wave of pleasure washing over him.

Thomas nuzzled his nose along Newt's jaw, his breath hot on Newt's neck, and Newt could feel the smirk of his lips against his skin.

As Thomas's fingers started fumbling on the buttons of Newt's trousers, Newt dug his fingernails on the soft skin of Thomas's back, urging him on.

Sometimes, losing control wasn't all that bad.

"Tommy!"

Not bad at all.