IT STARTED WITH A MAZE - Newt x Reader (F)

- ONE OF US -

One night all boys had all gone to sleep. Chuck was snoring two hammocks over, and Gally had finally stopped echoing from wherever he'd last been yelling. For once, I didn't feel completely drained or restless. I just... laid awake.

So I wandered.

The old radio was tucked beneath the usual supply crates, wrapped in cloth like it was something sacred or forgotten. I had seen a few boys fiddle with it early on - Minho messing with it for five seconds before getting bored, Ben once spinning the knob until he hit static and walked away. Only Mikey truly knew how to turn it on for the party. But no one really listened.

Tonight, I wanted to.

I brought it to the edge of the woods, just near the boundary of trees, where the shadows softened the sounds of the Glade. Alone, I turned the dial.

Channels 2, 3, and 4 had played soft, haunting melodies - songs with pianos and unfamiliar lyrics that scratched something in the back of my brain. Nothing I remembered. Nothing I knew. But they were pretty. I couldn't explain why they made my chest feel tight. I was turning the knob again when I heard footsteps.

"You doing alright, Darling?" My fingers froze. I looked up. Newt was approaching slowly, his silhouette tall and steady in the dark, only lit at the edges by the moonlight behind him. His voice was quiet but warm. That word - darling - landed in my ears like a soft stone dropped in water. My thoughts rippled around it.

He'd never called me that before.

I didn't hate it.

"Yeah," I said, blinking back to the moment. "I'm good." He stopped beside me, hands in his pockets, eyes flicking to the radio in my lap. "I've only gotten through a couple channels so far," I added. "Just... felt curious." Newt raised an eyebrow. "Have you heard them before?" I question him.

"Not really," he said, crouching beside me. "I don't think anyone has that strong a tie to the music. Not anymore."

"Then why'd they send it up?" I asked. "Why bother with old songs and scratched records? It feels... intentional."

He hesitated. Then, with that soft sigh I'd already come to recognize as Newt being honest, he said, "I don't know." He looked between me and the old relic. "I'm sorry," he added.

"Don't be," I replied gently. A small silence stretches between us, comfortable and unhurried. The radio hums faint static. Then I said, hesitantly, "Well... do you want to go through them with me?"

Newt looked over, and for a second I thought he might say no. But then he smiled - small, tired, real. "Sure." He lowered himself slowly beside me, the motion careful. I had noticed the way he kept pressure off his right leg. His limp. I'd seen it, of course. But I didn't say anything. Not then.

"I'm up to channel five," I said, turning the dial slowly.

The static melted away. A soft guitar strum started up. Then a gentle beat followed-light and bouncy, but not rushed. It felt like sunshine in sound form. Like waking up on a lazy morning with nothing to fear. A calm, familiar voice began to sing:

"Don't worry... about a thing...

'Cause every little thing... gonna be alright."

The rhythm swayed in the air. The melody curled around my ribs, warm and nostalgic. I blinked. My throat tightened.

"Singin': Don't worry... about a thing..."

We listened to the whole thing. Then the song looped again, starting from the top. I let it fill the silence between us. For once, I didn't want to speak. I wanted to feel.