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

- NOT LIKE THIS -

The words repeat like a broken prayer, over and over, as if repetition can make them true. As if saying them again will pull him back. "You're here," Newt breathes, but he's not looking at me. His eyes dart past my shoulder, hollow and distant. He's slipping again.

"I'm here," I repeat firmly, bringing my forehead to his, pressing us together. "Look at me." I feel the tremble in his fingers as I take his hands, squeezing them tight - tight enough to ground him, I hope. Finally, after a long, ragged breath, his eyes flicker toward mine. Just for a second. Just long enough. I smile, even though my lips feel like they're made of glass and could shatter at any moment. "See?" I whisper, voice soft but urgent. "Now it's you and me, Newtie. And I know you. You're strong. You've always been strong. You've survived everything they threw at us - the Maze, the Scorch, all of it. You can do this, too."

The words come out cracked and uneven. A breathless plea disguised as encouragement. He nods once, then winces. Then he shakes his head. His mouth opens, and what comes out is so quiet I almost miss it. "I'm sorry."

I squeeze his hands harder, my grip turning desperate. "What have I told you about your bloody apologies, huh?" I say, forcing a faint teasing lilt into my voice. It's weak, trembling.

Then I see it - a flicker in his eyes. The kind of look only love can leave behind. "I'm sorry," Newt repeats, trying painfully to match my lightness. He wears the kind of look that says thank you and goodbye all in one.

But I won't let it be goodbye.

"You don't get to do that," I say, leaning closer, my voice fierce now. "You don't get to say sorry like you're already gone. You're not. We're still in this," I emphasise.

Newt blinks slowly, lips parting, barely breathing. "Okay," he whispers, but his voice is so soft it's almost lost beneath the chaos around us.

"Okay," I echo, nodding too fast, too hard, like I can convince the world to bend to that one fragile word. "Now we're gonna move. I'm gonna help you up, and we're gonna walk. Just a little farther. Minho's coming, you know he is. He's racing back right now, and when he gets here, he'll have what we need. You just have to hang on until then, yeah?"

"Okay," he breathes.

I slide one arm under Newt's shoulders, the other beneath the backs of his knees, my movements jerky and uneven. My fingers are slick with sweat, maybe ebony blood - I can't even tell anymore. My pulse is hammering in my ears, louder than the crack of gunfire that ricochets around the scorched alleyways behind us.

"Okay," I whisper, more to myself than to him. "On three." He doesn't respond, just groans- deep, guttural, like every inch of his body is on fire. "One... two... three."

I heave.

It's not graceful. My knees nearly buckle with the effort, and Newt lets out a raw, strangled sound, his head falling forward into my chest. I stagger under his weight, every muscle in my body screaming as I adjust him in my arms. He's heavier than he looks - not because of size, but because he's deadweight now. Limp. Weak. Fading. And I'm the only one keeping him tethered to this world.

"That's it, Newtie," I breathe, my voice shaking with effort and panic. "Just hold on. I've got you."

But he winces again, his breath catching, and it's so clear he's in agony. Every bump, every step sends a new wave of pain through him - I can feel it in the way his body twitches against mine.

The alley ahead is a gauntlet. Smoke clouds the air, burning the back of my throat with every gasp. Fires blaze in trash heaps and broken buildings, flickering like angry mouths. Shadows dart through the smoke - some human, some not. All threats.