Maze Runner Imagines and Preferences

Angels who fall from Heaven -- Newt

*your perspective*

I'm watching Newt again. Something about him seems off, almost like there was a light in him that's been extinguished. He and the other runners have just come back from the Maze, which means that it's getting later in the day. Newt looks around the Glade before heading into the Maps Room and I quickly turn back to the fence I'm supposed to be working on, hammering at a piece of wood.

"(Y/N), what the hell are you doing? There isn't even a nail in that," Gally puts down his own hammer, and I shrug.

"You were watching Newt again, weren't you?"

"No," I reply, too quickly. "Ok, maybe I was," I concede, "but I'm worried about him."

"Why? He looks fine to me," Gally eyes where Newt disappeared, squinting slightly in the bright sunlight.

"He's..." it's hard to describe, "He seems off lately." Gally raises an eyebrow and I continue:

"He's not talking to anyone, he's avoiding us, I can hear him walking around the Glade at night, he's barely eating anything, he's always distracted, it's like he just doesn't care."

"Well," Gally turns back to his work, "we're all a little down after George, but there isn't exactly anything we can do about it."

"Hmm," I pick up a nail, casting one last glance at my friend and hammering the board onto the fence.

Gally's right, things have definitely been grimmer and more sombre since George was killed. I remember the way his body convulsed and his screams, then the spear through his chest and his bright red blood.

I shake my head, no use dwelling on things that can't be changed.

I should just let Newt sort things out himself, give him time. But I love him; he's smart, funny, charming, cute, caring and a really great second in command. Or at least he was, not so much in the last few weeks. I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to him, he's really one of the few bright spots of my life in the Glade.

That night, I watch Newt again, still worried. It's not so much that he's withdrawing himself from everyone like he has been recently, it's that he's so engaged with everyone. He's talking, laughing, cracking jokes just like he used to, which somehow makes me even more concerned.

Frowning, I get up from the ground where I was eating and head over to my hammock, collapsing sideways into it.

I lie for a while, listening to the others talking and laughing, until I feel my eyes start to get heavy. I can't get Newt off my mind. I'm so tired, I just want to sleep, but he keeps circling my thoughts, his bright golden hair in the sunlight, his deep brown eyes, his adorable accent, the smooth graceful way his body moves when he runs in and out of the Maze every day.

"(Y/N)," at first, I think I've drifted off, then the voice comes again.

"(Y/N)," it's more insistent this time, and a hand shakes my shoulder. I open my eyes, looking up into Newt's face. I start, my face flushing as if he could somehow know that I've just been thinking about him.

"Newt," I mumble, sitting up and pushing my hair out of my face, "what are you doing over here?" I look up at the sky, it's probably just passed midnight. I realise that I must have dozed off, because everyone else is asleep around me.

"Shh," he says gently, crouching on the ground in front of me.

"It's the middle of the night," I complain softly, rubbing my eyes.

"Yeah, I know. Sorry." He gives me a slight smile, and where I'd usually feel like I'd just drunk hot tea, I feel a swell of anxiety.

"Why are you over here?" I ask, trying to dismiss the feeling.