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

- BITTER REALITY -

My heart sinks.

Not in that fluttery, lovesick way. This is different. It's like my ribcage folds inward on itself and my blood turns thick and slow. I feel the stress hit my brain like a lightning strike - sharp and immediate. My chest tightens. I'm frozen for a second, staring at Thomas, hoping, almost begging, for him to say more, to give me some clue, some reassurance.

But he doesn't. He just turns, quiet and heavy, and walks away.

I swallow down the rising panic and push myself into motion. Every step toward the door feels slower than the last, like I'm walking into the unknown - like my body already knows something my mind is trying to deny. I try not to imagine worst-case scenarios, but they flood in anyway.

I manage to step outside.

The morning air is crisp and dry, thin up here where the balcony stretches out from the side of the building. The city looms in the distance - steel and glass and silence - a quiet beast watching us from behind its walls. The sun's low, bathing everything in a pale light that turns edges golden and makes the shadows longer.

And there he is.

Newt.

He's sitting on the edge of the concrete balcony with his legs dangling over the side, like the drop doesn't bother him. His back is slightly hunched, his fingers curled loosely in his lap. From here, he looks calm. Too calm. That's the first thing that unsettles me. There's no tension in his shoulders like there was last night, no fire in his jaw. There's something else instead - a quiet I don't recognize.

I approach slowly.

"Newtie?" I say, softly, almost afraid to disturb the silence between us. He glances over his shoulder, then shifts a little in prompting me I to sit beside him. I do, carefully, folding my legs as I lower myself down next to him. We sit in that silence for a breath or two. We're facing the outer walls of the city - looming high, impenetrable, distant. A border between what is and what might be. And in this moment, I'd give anything to stop time here, just for a little longer. "Did you and Thomas chat?" I ask gently. I don't push. I don't ask what it was about. I already know it matters, maybe more than I want to admit. But I want to pretend - for just a few more seconds - that everything is okay. That last night didn't end. That there's no cliff ahead.

"Yeah," Newt says, his voice low. He glances sideways at me. But he doesn't look at me like he did last night, not with the soft reverence of someone in love. Not with that spark of hope and warmth. He's looking at me like someone memorizing a photograph. Like someone trying to make sure the image burns into his brain before it's gone. His eyes move over my face slowly, tenderly - but there's a sadness in them that makes my stomach twist. "I apologized to him," he says. "And now it's my turn to apologize to you."

"Newt," I say, and his name comes out wrapped in more emotion than I expect. "You have nothing to be sorry for," I repeat. And I mean it. God, I mean it. I lean a little closer, desperate for him to see that. To feel it. "Honestly, I woke up feeling quite incredible after last night," I add, a small, shaky smile pulling at my lips as I try to meet his eyes - to find the same softness there again. "Everything I said was the truth."

I hold his gaze.

There's a silence after my words - not an empty one, but a loaded one. Like the air is thick with everything he wants to say but can't quite bring himself to. Like he's weighing something unbearable behind his quiet stare. And still, that look on his face... it guts me.

Because he looks like someone about to say goodbye.

Nonetheless, Newt smiles.

It's not a forced one, not the kind he gives when he's pretending everything's fine. It's quiet, warm, and so completely genuine it makes my chest ache and confusion swell. His whole face softens, and for just a second, the world pulls back, and it's just us. "I love you," he says.