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

- ONE OF US -

"Rise up this mornin'... smiled with the risin' sun.

Three little birds... pitch by my doorstep..."

We sat there like that, side by side in the dark, while the radio played on. The words felt like a promise. One I don't understand, but desperately need to believe. "This one's my favorite," Newt admits softly after a minute.

I looked at him. He wasn't smiling, but his expression was open, thoughtful. Like the song was talking to some quiet corner of his soul too. "I know this song," I whispered, more to myself than him.

Newt glanced over. "Like... from your life before?"

I nodded slowly. "I think so. I don't know how... but I do. I love this song."

I still don't remember the artist's name. Don't know where I'd heard it before. But my body remembered the peace it gave me. My brain might be blank, but my heart knew. The melody felt like it was brushing the edges of my missing memories, dusting off some warmth I thought was long gone.

Eventually, we moved on. Channel six through twelve - one was a fast jazz number, another a moody love song, one had no words at all, just piano and ocean sounds. Each one sparked something different, but none of them made my chest ache the way the Channel 5 song had.

By the time we hit the end, we were quiet again. The firelight from the bonfire had faded. The Glade was still. "We should head back," I murmured, rising slowly. Newt got to his feet, careful again with his leg. "Thanks," I said, tucking the radio under my arm.

"For what?" He questioned.

"For staying," I clarified. "For listening with me."

He gave a small nod. "Anytime, Darling," Newt told me.

I tried not to smile. I really tried.

But I failed.

We parted ways at the edge of the sleeping area. Chuck stirred as I slide into my own fabric, mumbling something incoherent. And even as my eyes drifted shut, the words clung to my mind like soft thread:

"Don't worry...

'Bout a thing..."

That night, I slept better than I had in weeks.

Because for the first time since waking up in the Maze, I felt like something out there might actually be alright.

~~~

Three weeks have passed since I showed up in that maze.

It doesn't sound like much when I say it out loud. Twenty-one days. A blink in the life I can't even remember. But here, in the Glade, where the days blend into one another and the sky looks the same no matter how long you stare at it, three weeks feels like an eternity.

When I first woke up here, everything in me screamed escape. I clawed at the walls in my mind as much as I did with my hands-looking for the cracks, the answers, anything that would make sense of the nightmare.

But now... I've gotten kind of used to the pattern of it.

There's something strange about the way routine settles into your bones. No one really welcomes you in the Glade - not with open arms - but they notice when you work. When you try. And slowly, without realizing it, I found my place among them.

Every morning, without fail, the doors to the Maze creak open.

They grind apart like the Earth itself is splitting, revealing that dark stone corridor, walls taller than anything I've ever seen. The sound echoes across the Glade like a warning. It's mechanical. Menacing. Alive.

And every night, just as precisely, the doors close.

That's when the Grievers come out.

No one's seen one and lived. That hasn't changed. But I've heard them. God, I wish I hadn't. Their cries slip beneath the skin, crawl through your ears and plant themselves in the cracks of your sleep. You can't forget a sound like that. A metallic shriek, something wet behind it - animal, maybe. But worse.

Some nights I lie awake, fists clenched in my blanket, trying to ignore. I never do. Other nights I lie awake due to the insomnia, a weird superstition that my reoccurring nightmares of the white laboratory are real.

I help Frypan during meal times. Just during those hours, but it's more than most. I've become something like his sous-chef. He says it with pride, handing me a ladle like it's something more than cooking equipment. I'm still terrible at prepping food, but I can serve up a stew faster than most.

Although my time isn't just spent in the kitchen.

I'm also Clint's apprentice. He says it like a joke, calls me "Mini Doc" sometimes. Jeff likes that I'm there - I can see it in the way he smiles now, easy and open, instead of guarded. He teases less. I think I've earned his trust. Most of the boys who come in with cuts or bruises already call me Doc. Like the name has weight now. Like I belong.

Some boys have tried getting to know me... better. But I've heard rumours that Alby put rules in place. Gally for one calls me trouble, yet I'm almost entirely sure it's out of a genuine dislike and not some scheme to get in my pants.

Farming is where I go when I want silence. The work is slow, methodical. Watering, planting, pulling weeds. No yelling. No chaos. Chuck comes with me most days. He talks more than I do, filling the space with stories, questions, observations. I let him. I like it. There's something about being in the dirt, in the sun, that feels... familiar. Like I've done it before. Somewhere else. With someone I can't remember.

It doesn't make sense. But nothing here does.

I spend more time with Newt than anyone. He doesn't flirt with me, which is rare. Most of the boys do. I don't think they mean harm - it's just their way of talking. But it unsettles me. Makes my skin feel too tight. I don't remember anything about my life before, except for my name. And yet, I know I'm not used to attention like that. It's foreign. Off-balance. Newt doesn't treat me like that. He treats me like Alby does. Like I'm just another Glader. Maybe that's why I feel safest with them.

Still, Alby thinks I'm pushing too hard. He doesn't say it unkindly, but the message is there. "Slow down," he tells me. "You don't have to prove anything."

But he's wrong.

I do.

Because what I want most - the thing that keeps my pulse high and my heart on edge - is to be a Runner. To run the Maze. To face the thing no one truly understands and come back knowing more than I did the day before. I crave it like air.

But becoming a Runner isn't simple. All the Keepers have to vote. I don't know when that vote happens. I don't know if I'm even supposed to be there when it does. No one tells me anything. But this morning... everything changed.

Alby came to me.

He didn't say much. Just handed me a pack with a water pouch and some food, and nodded once. "Today's the day," he said.

~