Newt stopping by the Medjack tent had become a daily thing. He’d complain of headaches, stomach pains and literally everything in between just to stop by for a few minutes a day. And you didn’t object.
Although you’d told yourself you’d keep your distance, there was no harm in flirting. Yes, too much was going on in your life for a boyfriend. I mean hell you didn’t even know your last name, but Newt was kind to you.
So when he walked into your tent with a hand to his forehead, you couldn’t help but smile, “What is it today?”
“I have a headache, love.”
You rolled your eyes, “Oh sure you do.”
“Hey! It’s bloody hot out there…… but not as hot as it is in here.” He gave you a look, before you both bursted out laughing. God, that one was cheesy as hell.
“How many times did you practice that!” You turned to where he was lounging on the cot, sweat gleaming off his forehead, “’Cause that was pretty bad.”
“Okay, okay, okay.” He was laughing now too, “That one was pretty bad- I’m gonna kill Minho.”
“And how is this Minho’s fault, love?” You mimicked his accent, doing a terrible job.
“Because he told me to use the bloody line in the first place! Nice accent by the way.” Newt ran a hand through his already mussed up hair, grinning. You could feel yourself getting pulled in, egging him on because you wanted more. Cheeky comments and long looks were starting to not be enough. But as much as you wanted to let yourself fall, every time you looked in the mirror that tattoo was a god damn reminder why you couldn’t.
You knew it was silly to antagonize yourself over something you couldn’t even remember, but it was eating away at you. There was nobody you could talk to, no answers. So in the mean time, you wouldn’t let yourself fall. You wouldn’t let yourself do that to Newt. He didn’t deserve it.
So far you’d pieced together this: the people at WCKD were the ones who had put all of you there, and you must have been helping them. Their brand was all over the food, tools and medical supplies. Hell, it was even on the Box greenies were sent up in every month. And with that tattoo on your neck, nothing else made sense.
You dared a glance at Newt, who was lounging in a cot in the far corner of the tent. The sight of him laying there, with his shaggy hair and sun-kissed skin, you just couldn’t stay away.
“Love, you’re staring.” He chuckled, sitting up with a groan of the mattress, and you rolled your eyes, “No I’m not.”
“Can’t help yourself?”
God, you were so obvious. And it just wasn’t fair to him. So you walked to the tent’s flap and held it open, “Okay, you’re fine.” Pausing, you weighed your words before you spoke, “Come back if you get another headache.”
Newt smirked, “Your wish is my command.”
What were you getting yourself into?