𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗥𝗨𝗡𝗡𝗘𝗥 𝗚𝗜𝗥𝗟 ᐅ 𝙣𝙚𝙬𝙩

𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲

"Only Thea and I get to call him a stupid shank," Minho says harshly.

As I walk towards the door, I pat him on the shoulder. "Your stupid shank privileges have been revoked."

"Right," Gally mutters, his eyes squinting. Is Newt okay? Gally wouldn't come and get me if it wasn't serious, right? Is it bad? What's he done? Gardening can't be that dangerous now, can it?

❀

I charge into the room, fearing what state I might find Newt in as I fling open the old door. How bad is it? The door smacks the wall behind it, making me flinch slightly. As soon as my eyes glue to Newt, sitting on the edge of the bed, observing me with amusement, I instantaneously relax. His eyes are alert, not dreary and his face is bright — no signs of illness.

"What did you do, you idiot?" I say as I step towards the bed and pull out a stool, sitting across from him. His elbows are resting on his knees, his hands clasped together. My gaze travels down to his left hand, the palm wrapped in an ivory bandage spotted with blood.

"Cut my hand," he says plainly.

"With your bluntness?"

"Funny," he says sarcastically. "With a gardenin' tool." I carefully take Newt's hand in mine, grazing over the bandage with the tips of my fingers. My face must have pulled into a frown, because Newt dips his gaze to mine and reassures me, "S'fine."

"No, it's not."

I remove my hand from his but as soon as I do so, Newt places it back on his gently with a small laugh. "I take it back, it's not fine and holdin' my hand helps a tonne."

I chuckle, "Slim it."

"Or what?"

"A night in the Slammer," I threaten with a playful smirk. Newt looks into my eyes tenderly, and as his gaze travels down to my lips, a slight blush flushes his freckled cheeks. "What are you doing?" I ask quietly.

"Weighin' up my options," Newt says, leaning closer to me, setting butterflies loose in my stomach.

My breath hitches. "Conclusion?"

"The Slammers bloody worth it," he mumbles. His hands slide up to cup my face, his touch instantly relaxing me. Our faces are inching closer together, and my world consists of him, and only him.

"Again?" Gally's voice is harsh. Newt and I jump apart, both sending glares at the laughing blond by the doorway. "Man, you two need a wall between ya."

"I'm startin' to get real tired of ya showin' up at the wrong time, Gally. What d'ya want?"

Gally just raises his eyebrows with a sly grin and runs out of the room, making me growl and stalk towards the door, shouting down the corridor at him, "You're telling me you came here for nothing?"

"Yep!" He calls.

Newt grumbles as I enter the room, "He did that on purpose."

"How bad's the cut?" I ask, sitting on the bed beside him. The bed dips down slightly as I sit; our legs are now touching. Even that makes me shiver.

Newt's voice is soft, comforting as he talks to me. "Not serious."

I roll my eyes. Newt never makes a big deal of anything — unlike Minho, who'll make a Griever out of a beetle. "So it's bad," I decide. "On a scale of one to ten?"

"Seven," he mutters.

So it's really bad. Without thinking, I slide my hands around his neck and pull him close to me, my head resting in the crook of his neck. His arms wrap around me almost immediately, as if it were a reflex. My fingers draw light circles on his upper back, and he relaxes into me, his breath slowing and his thumbs slowly moving back and forth on my arm.