Work Text:
Newt saw flashes.
Flashes of darkness and sudden light revealing blurry fragments of images he couldn't shake off. The knife burying into Chuck's chest. The view down below from the night he climbed the walls. The commotion when Teresa arrived. Thomas barely making it into the maze when he dashed to save Minho and Alby. Alby's screams.
With a jolt and an abrupt shout, he woke, scrambling for the flimsy beddings. But once he looked around and found no grime or crowded Gladers, he remembered he was free. Free from the maze. But with all the death, could he still consider it an achievement? He shook his head, as if it wards off the thoughts threatening to spread in his mind. He lied back down as quietly as he could, hoping that none of the boys heard his loud wake from his nightmares. But, his attempt was in vain, because Minho was already groggily walking up to his bed.
"Newt, you okay there?"
Newt forces on a smile. "Peachy."
Minho smiles sympathetically and sits next to Newt, both of them leaning back against the headboard. The room was near silent, save for the snores and faint murmuring of Thomas in his sleep. It's Newt who spoke first.
"Do you think this is for real?"
Minho gave a bitter laugh. "I can't really afford to believe that none of this real. I need to...Well, at least for the night."
Newt nodded slowly.
"Do you think Alby would've liked it here?"
The question earned a flash of hurt to appear on Minho's face, his hands twitching a little. Newt even felt his own heart plummeting, but no tears came. Only numbness and a bitter sense of longing which he wasn't sure was boiling in his chest or in his parched mouth. Alby.
However, Minho replied before Newt had to eventually choke back a sob. "I don't think so. Whatever he remembered, he didn't want it. He wanted to be with us, but this?" He said, nodding towards the expanse of the room. "I don't know. There's something about this world he doesn't want to face."
Newt nodded curtly again. "Yeah, I guess...I'm just...I don't know what to believe in anymore, you know?"
Minho sighed. "Yeah, I know." Then he slipped his hand into Newt's, gripping it tight.
Newt, slightly taken aback, enclosed his hand. Just letting it be. When he looked up, he caught Minho casting a wary glance at him, his eyes darting away they met Newt's. "I won't do it again. Just because Alby's gone..." he pauses, sighing. "I don't have a fucking death wish, okay?"
Minho shook his head, but there was obvious relief in his eyes. "I didn't ask you that."
Newt scoffed. "Right. Look, I believe in you, okay?"
Minho looked at him, puzzled. "What?"
"Everything feels like a lie. Like we're being set up. Like there's nothing left we should believe in," Newt explained. "But I believe in you. And all I ask is for you to believe in me enough to know that I would never leave you like this. Ever."
Minho opened his mouth to protest - to lie, probably- and say that he didn't think that Newt would try to end things again. That he didn't think Newt was falling apart beyond any imaginable repair Minho could do without Alby. That he didn't think that Newt would be too vulnerable to think clearly. But as he looked into Newt's eyes, he sighed and nodded. "I'm sorry," he muttered, facing Newt completely now.
He reached up, and tucked in a stray lock of hair behind Newt's ear. But instead of withdrawing his hand afterwards, he let it linger there against his cheek. His thumb stroke Newt's cheek lightly as Minho muttered, "You're right. About all of this. I don't believe that it's the end. I don't believe that we can trust anyone other than the Gladers. I don’t believe any of that...." he trailed off; Newt leaned forward and cupped Minho's face.
By the time they were so close that their foreheads were touching and they could feel each other's heaving breaths against their skin, Minho let his other hand get lost in Newt's golden locks, running through the length of his hair. Then, he continued,"....But I believe in you too. I believe in you...and that's enough." Newt felt a rush of warmth surge through his heart and grinned, before kissing Minho lightly on the lips.
It was gentle, but it felt heavy and raw. Like everything he needed. Minho held onto him tighter, deepening the kiss, crashing their lips together passionately. It was all teeth and and dry lips and felt like everything their hallowed chests were carrying; fear and desperation. And, god, Newt shouldn't be doing this while he's thinking of Alby. Not when these are Minho's lips, skin, hands...
But at this point, he's so far gone into the blissful oblivion that is the taste of Minho's lips that he doesn't care. If he had to feel pain in his bones and shards in his heart, he should be allowed to taste Minho on his tongue and feel Minho between his fingers. It's the closest thing to fair as he can get.
Newt pulled away by barely an inch before kissing back fiercely, as if it was a desperate attempt to reclaim everything he knows he deserves. The ecstasy of each other was frantic and frenzied, for they knew that didn't need much more. Just this. Just now. Just sweat-slicked skin and hands tangled into hair and soft, broken gasps. But they broke apart long enough for Newt to whisper, "Maybe some things are real..."
Minho nodded quickly and muttered, against Newt's mouth," Yeah...They are..." before pressing his mouth against Newt's once more.
If he wanted anything in this room to be real, Newt would choose this. This rising heat, this warm, wet mouth, these clammy fingers. This boy, almost as broken and weathered down as he was.
This boy.