The Glade training tent was vibrating.
Not from Grievers. Not from explosions.
From bass.
Baby stood in the center, surrounded by mirrors, fog machines, and a suspicious amount of glitter.
Newt stood at the edge, arms crossed, visibly regretting every decision that led him here.
Y/N whispered, "You got this."
Newt groaned. "I survived the Maze. I shouldn't have to survive choreography."
Baby clapped his hands. "Okay, Glader boy. Time to unlock your rhythm."
Newt blinked. "I don't have rhythm."
Baby grinned. "That's what they all say before the breakdown."
💃 The Lesson Begins
Step one: basic footwork.
Newt tripped.
Step two: body rolls.
Newt looked like he was being electrocuted.
Step three: emotional resonance.
Newt paused. "What does that even mean?"
Baby spun dramatically. "Dance is emotion. You channel your trauma into movement."
Newt muttered, "I have trauma. I don't want to channel it."
Baby clicked his mic. "Too late."
🧠 The Meltdown
As Newt tried to mimic Baby's steps, something shifted.
The music pulsed.
The mirrors shimmered.
Newt's memories surfaced—Chuck's smile, the Maze walls, the fear, the loss.
His mic glowed.
Baby froze. "Uh... Newt?"
Newt's eyes glazed over.
The tent shook.
A psychic wave burst from his chest, shattering mirrors and triggering every fog machine.
Hope Wilde burst in, wearing a glitter helmet. "Did someone emotionally detonate?"
Y/N ran to Newt. "You're resonating too hard!"
Baby ducked as a glitter cannon exploded. "This is not part of the routine!"
🎤 The Recovery
Abby arrived, singing a soft healing note.
Romance whispered a grounding lyric.
Mystery dropped a verse that stabilized the tent.
Jinu stood in the doorway, sipping tea. "I told you not to teach him body rolls."
Newt collapsed onto the floor, breathing hard.
Y/N held his hand. "You okay?"
He nodded. "I think I just danced through my trauma."
Baby sat beside him. "You've got power. You just need control."
Hope tossed him a juice box. "And a glitter therapist."
🌌 Final Scene
Later, Newt sat outside the tent, watching the stars.
Baby joined him, quiet for once.
"You did good," Baby said.
Newt smirked. "I destroyed a tent."
"You released something," Baby replied. "That's what rhythm does."
Hope cartwheeled past, shouting, "Next time we teach him jazz hands!"
Newt groaned. "I'm not emotionally ready."
Y/N leaned on his shoulder. "You will be."
And somewhere in the Maze, the echoes of Newt's meltdown lingered.
Because rhythm wasn't just movement.
It was memory.
And Newt Wilde had just learned to dance with his ghosts.
