Night Visions (TMR) (Newtmas)

18

Newt found him in the depths of the forest, still sweaty, lying under a tree. His head was slightly tilted to the right, resting on his shoulder, and the muscles of his face, which were usually contracted in tension, fear or concentration, appeared completely relaxed now, confering him an innocent and calmed expression.

He couldn't help smiling. Biting the side of his lower lip, he bent besides Thomas, and carefully pushed some strands of dark hair away, caressing the boy's forehead with pale fingertips as he moved his hand. His cheeks were slightly puffed; Newt guessed that he had run into the Maze. Taking into account his fixation with the hell that surrounded the Glade, it was more than probable.

Sighing, he was about to shake Thomas awake when he thought about it twice. He had gone through many things during the last days; and if it had already been harsh for Newt himself, he couldn't imagine how it must be being a Greenie and not knowing a thing about his new home. Thomas was truly strong to endure what he was enduring, and Newt admired him for it.

Admiration... Was it what he felt? Yes, at least partly. But there was something else going on. Something more... Intense. Something that was waking up inside of him, and that he was afraid of letting go. Something that promised to be wonderful, but that could destroy his already fragile existence in the Glade.

He shook his head, and bent down in front of Thomas, his back facing the sleeping boy. He threw his arms over his shoulders; his dark-haired head fell over his right clavicle immediately. Snorting, Newt passed his own arms under Thomas' legs, and gritted his teeth as he lifted him. Jumping slightly, he made sure that Thomas' weight was well distributed so as not to hurt his back, and he began walking towards the Homestead.

Thomas breathed lightly and steadily, and Newt could feel his warm breath on his ear and cheek as the boy inhaled and exhaled. It made it even harder to erase the smile from his face; it enlarged it instead. Even though he had denied it to death in the Gathering, he was getting used to being like that with Thomas. Sharing their things, helping each other out, having visions. Occasionally hugging. Not that he would ever admit it, but he actually enjoyed the Greenie's presence.

When they reached the Homestead, Newt had to make an extra effort to tiptoe between the sleeping Gladers, who were spread everywhere. You knever knew how many of them there were until you tried to traverse their sleeping zone. He finally managed to find Thomas' hammock and sat on it, allowing himself to rest for a moment before carefully letting Thomas' body slip backwards. He cupped his hands around his cheeks, and placed his head over the upper part of the hammock.

He waited another second before standing up, just looking at the boy's face, which emmited a pale gleam under the moonlight. He could've stared at him for ages, and wouldn't have ever felt any urge to do another thing; but he had to sleep well. His boys had finally found Gally in the forest, and he would have to judge him the next day. It wasn't going to be an easy journey.

"Hey! Morning, Newt," Minho greeted him, patting his shoulder. "Got some work, right?"

"Yep," Newt answered, groggily rubbing his eyes. "The Gally slinthead was in the forest. Gotta judge him today."

The Keeper of the Runners shook his head. "I don't know why you're that tolerant with him. I would've kicked his ass outta here after what he said in the Gathering."

Shrugging, Newt looked away. The sun shyly peered over the walls of the Maze, bathing the Glade in a golden light. Seeing it dyed in orange and yellow tones, no one would've said that the Glade was such a dangerous and desperating place. "I know. But I can't do that —the shuck-face has some allies."