Pairing(s): Established Newt/Thomas with implied Minho/Aris if you tilt your head and squint real hard ... or you can read it as unrequited Newt/Aris.

Universe: Book/movie fusion.

Word count: 1,433

A/n: Special thanks to Samantha for letting me know I uploaded the wrong document for this fanfic. This is the right one.

The sound of metal swaying beneath his weight probably should have worried him. But he could clamber through well enough, hands smoothing along the flat surface, feeling it waver beneath him just a bit. His knees were sore, a slight burn scraping across his skin as he moved through the small compartment, feeling it press against his sides. The brown haired boy lets out a soft sigh of relief when he presses his palms against the metal grating, pushing against the loose metal. It swing open easily and he crawls through, feeling the ends of it press against his back. A soft clanging sounds when it bangs shut, and he winces at the sound. But at least he was out of the vents and into the room where the Gladers were resting.

Aris raises a hand to run his hand his hand through his shaggy hair, feeling it flop right back into place. His skin felt warm, and he knew he could be caught at any given moment. He swallows thickly and moves from along the underside of the bed, thankful that it was raised on high legs.

"Thomas?" he calls out, knowing full well that the brunette was likely there; Aris had checked it out days before, so the chance was quite high. Which was exactly why he was surprised when a blond head of hair popped over the edge, eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

"Aris?" the accented boy mumbled, sleepily, as if disbelieving that the short brunette was currently crouched beneath the wooden frame. The telepath could feel surprise bleed into his emotions, could feel it morph his features into a bemused expression. The Glader seemed more confused than angry at the moment.

"... Uh, hi. Sorry, I don't .. know your name." His gaze wavers just a bit, "Sorry, I'm guessin' this is the wrong bed?" His voice quivered just a bit, uncertain touching his tone. "I'll just go, now."

The blond's eyes are unamused, gradually becoming more conscious as he stares at Aris. His face is becoming a bit more flushed with all the blood going to his head, hanging upside down like that. "No, you've got the right bed. What the shuck do you bloody want with him?" His voice grew irritated, accent thick, and his nose wrinkled just a bit.

"I just wanted to talk about -" he pauses, thinking of their telepathy before but stops himself, "- something. It's ... not important. It can wait." He's begun to backslide against the floor, his shoe hitting the grating and he winces at the loud sound it makes.

"No, you get your shank ass back here, and tell me what you want with him," the blond rolls his eyes.

"Just our telepathy thing," he says quickly, knowing that the Gladers didn't seem to appreciate it too much when it was brought up. He remembered their looks - like they thought that Thomas and him were freaks. "And something else about WICKED that I remember but it's ... yeah, I - I don't even know you, so I really shouldn't be - really shouldn't be telling you this." The nameless boy's accusing glance was making him nervous, make him rethink the whole thing.

The blond seems to consider the darker headed boy's words, closing his eyes - nauseated, perhaps? - then opening them again. Sharp, clear brown eyes focus in on Aris. "Name's Newt, greenie. You mess with Tommy, you mess with me. You listen nice and pretty, you got that?" He nods hurriedly. "I don't like you talking to him in his head too much, so I'd like it nice and good if you didn't do it too much. I don't ... I don't want you gettin' any ideas that he's available." His eyes narrow, "He's not, if our sleeping arrangement is anything to go by."

Aris makes a quick choking noise at the back of his throat, "Uh, no. I'm not - I'm not into Thomas, thanks." A flush began to blossom onto his face, and his palms suddenly felt very warm. Newt makes an unimpressed noise at the back of his throat, prompting Aris to continue. He averts his gaze, quickly, "I mean, if you are, that's great. I just - he's not my type," He looks back over at Newt, whose eyes have widened. Aris could feel a slight flush to his skin, "and if it's any consolation, I - would rather much prefer... uh, not important. But it's definitely not Thomas." The one I'm into doesn't even know my name, and doesn't trust me, he thinks.

"Good that," Newt responds, voice going softer, and suddenly Aris has an inkling of an idea of why he had heard overheard some of the Gladers mutter 'yes, mother' at him.

"S'course, there's nothing to be ashamed of, there," he says, fiddling his fingers against the floor. He looks back up at Newt, whose head is still propped over the edge, splaying of golden locks hanging over the edge. His eyes are gradually becoming unfocused, and Aris knows for a fact that he likely can't hold that position for much longer. "So... this is Thomas' bed?" he asks, a hopeful tilt to his words, watching the other boy's face become gradually flushed.

"Mhm."

"Good.. good, I, ... I'll just talk to him later... I guess, I'll just .. let you go back to sleep, then," Aris comments.

"Wait, Aris," Newt says, and all but climbs off of the bed, letting out a disgruntled groan when he lands on the cold floor. His short hair is ruffled and sticking up in shaggy pieces, a flush high on his cheekbones. He's attractive this way, in a completely non-romantic way, with half-lidded eyes and slightly parted lips as he's seemingly trying to overcome the world spinning around him. Aris knew the feeling. Newt licks his lips, then settles himself along the floor, chest flat against the ground. "There, now there's gonna be less of a crick in my neck now," he hears the blond mutter. "Tomorrow night," he says, a bit loudly, more directed to Aris this time, "I .. won't be in the same bed as him. So then you can talk to him, if you want. No funny business. Good that?" When all he gets as a response from the boy from Group B, he rolls his eyes and repeats himself, "I said, good that?"

"Yeah, good, uh, that," Aris replies, the unusual words slipping past his lips. "But, uh, Newt. I swear I won't bother you again if I know you're here, which, I assume you will be. Except for tomorrow?" Realizing he's rambling, he clamps his mouth shut. Newt could be downright intimidating when he wanted to be. "Right, of course. See you around?" Newt nods quickly, a thoughtful light in his eyes. Aris is turning around, shuffling through the surprisingly dust-less floor and towards the vents again when he hears Newt call after him. "Yeah?"

"Who did you say you were interested in?" Did Newt hear his heartbeat pick up at that question? Aris shifts slightly, feeling uneasy pressure begin to build up in his lower spine for being in this hunched position for so long.

"I didn't say," Aris says, eyes wide as he looks over his shoulder at the blond. There's a curious glint in the second in command's eyes, almost like he just had an epiphany.

Newt purses his lips, a contemplating look touching his features before he offers a quick shrug, although there's still a suspicious glint there, "Nevermind, just wondering. I guess it doesn't matter." Newt makes a dismissive noise, and begins to push himself up off of the floor.

"..Actually-"

"Newt, wha' 're you doing out of bed?" comes a sleepy murmur from above, slightly muffled through the mattress, covers, and wooden frame. Both of the boys go tense, their shoulders going rigid and eyes widening. Newt looks over, his head disappearing from view as he pushes him self completely from the floor, his curved legs being the only thing in view. There are quiet murmurs, and Newt's surprisingly gentle laughter.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming back to bed, Tommy. Hold your horses," there's the sound of the mattress dipping and the rustle of blankets and Aris knows that the conversation was over. But at least he's earned himself a chance at speaking with Thomas tomorrow night, for them to finally hold a conversation without WICKED's supervision, like in the cafeteria. Then, a quiet whisper that surprised him, "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," he responds, just in case the blond was still speaking to him. When he receives no responses, he leaves, the grate door shutting closed behind him and all is quiet.