Y/N's POV
It started with a note.
Folded neatly, slipped under her pillow, written in Newt's familiar scrawl:
Meet me by the old oak tree after sunset. Bring a blanket. And maybe nick a few biscuits from Frypan. —N.
Y/N smiled as she read it, heart fluttering. A date. A real one. Or at least, as real as it could be in the Glade.
She spent the afternoon gathering supplies—a blanket from the laundry hut, two slightly squashed biscuits, and a flask of lukewarm berry tea. By the time the sun dipped low, she was ready.
The old oak tree stood near the edge of the woods, its branches sprawling like arms reaching for the sky. Newt was already there, pacing slightly, hands in his pockets.
When he saw her, he lit up.
"Bloody hell, you actually came," he said, grinning.
She raised an eyebrow. "You thought I wouldn't?"
He shrugged, playful. "I dunno. Maybe you'd decide I wasn't worth the biscuits."
She tossed him one. "You're lucky Frypan didn't catch me. He nearly skewered me with a ladle."
Newt laughed, catching the biscuit mid-air. "That's true love, that is."
They settled under the tree, blanket spread across the grass. The sky above was streaked with violet and gold, stars beginning to blink into view.
"So," Y/N said, sipping her tea. "Is this your idea of romance?"
Newt leaned back, arms behind his head. "Absolutely. Risking death for baked goods, sitting in the dirt, and hoping the bugs don't bite. Classic British courtship."
She giggled. "You forgot the part where you charm me with your accent."
He smirked. "Oh, love, that's just a bonus."
Newt's POV
He couldn't stop looking at her.
The way her eyes lit up when she laughed. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was nervous. The way she made the Glade feel like something more than survival.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small jar.
"What's that?" she asked.
"Fireflies," he said. "Caught 'em earlier. Thought they'd make good ambiance."
She stared at him. "You caught fireflies for me?"
He shrugged. "Romantic, innit?"
She took the jar, holding it up to the fading light. The tiny creatures glowed softly, casting golden sparks across her face.
"You're ridiculous," she said.
He leaned closer. "You love it."
She didn't deny it.
They lay back on the blanket, watching the stars emerge one by one. The Glade was quiet now, just the hum of crickets and the occasional rustle of wind.
Newt turned to her. "I've never done this before."
She looked at him. "What, dated?"
He nodded. "Not properly. Not like this. Not with someone who makes me feel like I'm not broken."
She reached for his hand. "You're not broken, Newt."
He swallowed. "Sometimes I feel like I am."
She squeezed his fingers. "Then let me be the glue."
He laughed softly. "Bloody poetic, you are."
She smiled. "You bring it out of me."
He leaned in, kissed her gently. It wasn't rushed. It wasn't desperate. It was quiet, steady, full of everything they hadn't said.
When they pulled apart, she rested her head on his shoulder.
"This was perfect," she whispered.
He kissed her hair. "You're perfect."
And under the stars, with fireflies dancing in a jar and biscuits half-eaten between them, they had their first real date.
No Maze. No fear. Just them.
