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

- MOMENT WORTH WAITING FOR -

"Newt," I murmur, quieter than I mean to. Nevertheless the word is a prompt for him to take it back. What he said was a bit too harsh, too close to the edge. But there's no stopping him now.

Newt's gaze never breaks. "Come on, (Y/n), this has never just been about rescuing Minho. Don't you see that?" His voice is low, but it carries the weight of every unsaid thing, every secret we've been dancing around.

Thomas looks genuinely confused. His hands drop from his hips, fingers curling into shaky fists. I watch him, trying to read beneath the surface - trying to see the cracks I know are there. "Wait... what are you talking about?" His eyes flick to me, silently begging for some kind of explanation, but I'm fumbling for one that won't make things worse.

"Teresa," Newt repeats, straightening abruptly and stepping forward until he's face-to-face with Thomas. Despite his limp, he still stands taller. I feel the pull between them like a tightrope, and I lean forward, caught in the middle. "(Y/n) said it right," Newt continues, his voice low but loaded. "She's the only reason Minho's even missing."

The words hit the table like a stone. I nod slowly, knowing he's right, but the weight of it presses down on me. "I said that, yes. But I understand Tommy's hesitation," I say. "I feel it, too... But we have to see the bigger picture."

Newt steps around me with a sudden, sharp movement, and then he's blocking Thomas's path, cutting off any escape. "No. Because now we finally have a chance to get him back. And what? You're going to let her stop you?" His voice cracks with frustration, raw and urgent. He's not just angry - he's desperate. I glance sideways, seeking something in Fry, Brenda, Jorge - faces I know so well after all this time. They're tense, wide-eyed. Gally looks confused, like he's watching a fight he didn't expect to be part of. Newt leans in, voice dropping to a brutal whisper. "Because deep down, you still care about her, don't you? She'll never be (Y/n), but she's still... something, right? Just admit it."

I want to tell him to calm down but the words stick in my throat. There's a heaviness in the room that drags me under. Thomas's back is against the wall now, Newt's face inches from his. The whole world narrows to this moment, this argument between them. and I'm stuck in the middle, watching everything fall apart. I see Thomas look at me - eyes searching, pleading for some kind of rescue, for me to stop this before it goes too far. "Newt, I-?" he begins.

But Newt won't let him finish. "Don't lie to me!" He yells, hands slamming hard against Thomas's chest, shoving him further back. The impact echoes in space. I gasp, the light sound caught somewhere between worry and disbelief. Brenda covers her mouth, eyes wide and shining. I feel like the air is too thick to breathe. Newt repeats, slower this time, each word deliberate, each syllable like a blade cutting deeper. "Don't. Lie. To me."

My heart hammers wildly. The room spins, and my mind races through a storm of thoughts: Why is this happening now? Why here? Why him? And beneath it all, a fierce, desperate worry gnaws at my gut - Newt. Newt, who's been so quiet lately, so controlled. Who's hiding something beneath that steady exterior.

"Hey, hey, okay." I rush forward, urgency thrumming through me like a frantic pulse. I throw my arm between them, desperate to create space, to stop whatever's about to break. But then - looking up at Newt - I see something that stops me cold. Not fury. Not defiance. Horror. Real, deep horror swimming in his brown eyes like a sudden storm. His chest heaves with heavy breaths, his whole body trembling as if he's been punched harder than anyone else in the room. For a moment, I'm frozen. Confusion wraps around me like a suffocating blanket, choking out my thoughts. I only manage to whisper his name, "Newt?" My hand lingering gently on his right arm.

His skin burns beneath my touch. Suddenly, his arm drops away as if I'd scorched him. A sharp, painful retreat that twists something deep inside me. Newt stumbles back, eyes wide and unfocused, the raw edges of his pain now plain for all of us to see. "Sorry," he mutters to Thomas, voice cracking, fractured with regret. Thomas looks just as shaken as I feel - equal parts scared for Newt, and bruised by the attack. Newt turns then, his gaze landing on me with something fragile, almost broken. "I'm sorry," he repeats, voice barely above a whisper, his apology wrapping around me like a fragile thread. Then he sweeps his eyes over the others: "I'm sorry," he says again, a final soft surrender to the weight in the room.