Just Date Me, Shank
Authors Note: This is my first Maze Runner fic so critique would be great! Also, I bash rhyming couplets in this, and I swear I don't mean it! Couplets are great in the right hands. Just like free verse (hint: I a not the right hands).
Newt laughed as Alby crumpled up another piece of paper and tossed it into the waste basket sitting beside Newt's bed.
"Oh, Alby! Oh, Alby, turn in this one! It's bloody exceptional!" Newt practically cackled as he held up another crumpled poem from the basket.
"Could you stop reading everything I shucking write?" Alby asked, turning to glare at the boy sitting on the floor.
"Cupid's bow's impaled me,
I'm bleeding in your love,
Arrows rain down on me—"
"I said to stop reading it!" Alby yelled as he sat his notebook down in front of him on Newt's bed.
"But, Alby, the imagery! It's just so bloody powerful!" Newt said before dodging a weak swing from Alby.
"You're supposed to be helping me, ya shank." Alby practically growled.
"Sorry, 'm sorry. You're just so bloody awful at this, Alby. I didn't think it was possible to be this bad at poetry." Newt explained before tossing Alby's poem back into the trash and moving to sit on the bed across from him.
Alby groaned. He hadn't thought it was possible either.
He'd never really tried to write poetry before this stupid assignment. He'd never cared for reading it either. But now that his English class had started their poetry unit he didn't have a choice in the matter.
Up to this point they had just been analyzing poems and taking quizzes to make sure they'd read them, and Alby was fine when it came to that. Where he struggled was in writing his own poetry. Especially since their teacher had given them the guidelines of writing a love poem.
Sure, she'd said it could be any type of love; friendship, family, romantic, or whatever, but Alby still hated that. He'd never been good when it came to expressing feelings other than irritation or annoyance, which was probably why the only person who ever knew what he was feeling was Newt. And sometimes Alby thought he should get down on his knees and thank God for that, because he had no idea how Newt ever understood because Alby definitely wasn't good at spelling things out.
"Come on, stop your belly aching. All that moaning and groaning isn't going to maintain your 'A' in English." Newt told him, giving his knee a light shove.
"How did you write yours?" Alby demanded.
"Well, I didn't wait until the day before to do it, for one thing," Newt said with a look of reprimand.
"Neither did I." Alby admitted, his tone telling Newt that he didn't need to make any further comment on that.
Newt looked almost horrified.
"This— The stuff you're writing now isn't an improvement, is it?" Newt asked, joking tone aside.
Alby tossed his notebook to the other side of Newt's room signaling that what he was writing now actually better than what he'd been writing at the start.
Newt winced.
"Okay, that's pretty buggin' sad. But well, maybe there's still time to fix it before I have to go," Newt said in reference to having to leave for his grandma's at three. "What are you thinking about when you write it, other than bloody babies in diapers?"
"What do you mean?" Alby asked. He knew he sounded irritated, but Newt didn't seem to notice. Newt rarely acted like he noticed Alby's permanent state of mild irritancy.
"I mean what's your muse? Who are you thinking about when you're writing your poems? It's a love poem. You've gotta be getting your inspiration from somewhere." Newt explained.
Alby scowled deeper than he had been before.
"I ain't thinking about anyone." Alby snapped.
Newt laughed before shaking his head at Alby.
"Well, that's probably why you're having problems. You can't just pull the feelings out of nowhere. I mean, when you write an essay, do you just write klunk down or do you look for some sources?" Newt asked.
Alby made a noise that told Newt that he wasn't going to actually supply the answer to that question, but that he knew Newt was right.
"Exactly. Poetry takes sources too. If you want to write a poem about your mum, you've gotta think about her. Want to write a poem about how much Frypan's bacon means to you, you've got to remember the taste. Think about your topic and then write. Don't just pull it out of your klunker." Newt explained easily.
"Yeah, fine." Alby agreed, already hating the assignment more now that Newt had told him to do the one thing he'd been trying not to do.
"Good, now what are you going to write about?" Newt asked, leaning forward and putting his elbows on his knees.
"I don't shucking know." Alby replied bitterly.
"Well, personally, I think you should write about what you know best," Newt said before leaning forward even more. "Which obviously means writing about how bloody in love with me you are."
Alby immediately picked up Newt's pillow and shoved it into the blond boy's face.
"More like writing about how full of klunk you are." Alby retorted, although on the inside he felt his chest constrict. Newt had no idea how many times writing about him had crossed Alby's mind.
Newt only laughed and threw the pillow on the floor. It looked like he was about to say something else before they heard Newt's dad yell from somewhere in the house that it was time to go.
"Seems like our time is up," Newt said smiling before getting up and retrieving Alby's notebook from the floor. "Just remember, when in doubt write rhyming couplets. Mrs. Paige probably won't love it, but she can't bloody fail you over it."
"You don't think I'll figure this out?" Alby asked sounding a little offended.
"Never said that. Would never say that." Newt replied before offering his hand to pull Alby off of the bed.
"You're a stupid shank." Alby said before taking his hand, a warmth flooding him as he did.
"Just write the buggin' poem, Alby." Newt said before pulling the other boy up and leading him out of the room.
"He said I should write about how bloody in love with him I am." Alby grumbled later to Minho and Thomas.
It wasn't often that Alby spoke openly in regards to, well anything really, but especially not in regards to anything resembling his crush on Newt.
But it also wasn't often that Minho shut up about his crush on Newt.
"Dude, how big of a hint do you need. Newt definitely wants you." Minho told him from his spot lounging on Alby's bed.
"As much as I hate to agree with him, I think Minho's right." Thomas agreed, receiving a light punch from Minho.
"You love agreeing with me." Minho said confidently.
At the moment the three boys were in Alby's room, with Alby at his desk and Minho and Thomas on the bed. Although, seeing as Minho was taking up most of the room on the bed, Thomas had no choice but to sit between the other boy's legs.
"If Newt wanted me he'd just say that." Alby said while rolling his eyes and looking at his mostly blank computer document. He had at least written his name and class on it.
"Oh, yeah. You know Newt, always the one to take the lead. Never expects anyone else to do it. Especially not you. Nope, not that Newt." Minho said sarcastically, causing Thomas to let out a short laugh.
Thomas was hardly afraid of Alby, but he tried really hard to upset him just the same.
This time Alby turned to glare at him.
"Newt takes charge plenty." Alby spat defensively.
"No one's saying Newt never takes charge or isn't good at it when he does. Minho just means that Newt seems to prefer it when you do." Thomas explained.
"Yeah, so if you're hoping for Newt to take control in the bedroom, don't hold your breath." Minho added, only to get a glare from Alby that would probably make someone who didn't know him klunk themselves.
"There ain't no bedroom, you shank!" Alby said angrily.
"No, because you won't make a move." Minho retorted.
Just when it seemed like Alby was going to get up and hit Minho, not for the first time in their friendship, Thomas spoke up.
"Maybe you should just do what Newt told you to do." Thomas suggested.
"What do you mean?" Alby asked, his angry scowl now directed at Thomas.
"Newt said to write about how in love with him you are, so why don't you? Newt will obviously want to see it once you get it back, and then he'll know how you feel without you saying it." Thomas suggested.
Immediately Minho raised up and slung an arm around Thomas' shoulders.
"See, now this is a guy who knows how to woo someone." Minho said as he patted Thomas' chest with the hand that wasn't around his shoulders.
"Too bad he can't keep them around after he woos them." Alby muttered, speaking in regards to Thomas' last two relationships.
"That's low." Thomas declared although he didn't really sound angry. He'd managed to become friends with both of his ex's after a few months had passed.
"Like he should have been trying to keep them. Teresa and Brenda are both crazy." Minho announced, still not having removed his arm from around Thomas.
"They aren't crazy. Things just didn't work out." Thomas said more to Minho than Alby.
"Yeah, because they were crazy. Why do you always go for crazy chicks anyway? I don't get the appeal." Minho said, finally removing his arm from around Thomas' shoulder and crossing his arms instead.
"You don't get the appeal of dating in general. You only ever go for one night stands." Thomas retorted, causing Alby to let out a light laugh like noise.
"If the right person came along— oh, wait. I see what you're trying to do, Alby. Trying to distract Thomas and me from your dating crisis." Minho accused as he pointed an index finger at Alby.
"Ain't got a dating crisis. And I didn't have to try and distract you. You're obsessed with Thomas' exes." Alby replied.
"One, am not. Two, even if I was, it's nothing compared with your obsession with Newt. So how about you get to work on that poem?" Minho asked, although it was in no way a question.
Alby scowled but didn't say anything as he and Minho stared each other down. Finally Thomas spoke again.
"I really think this assignment is a good chance to tell Newt how you feel. And even if you don't end up showing him, you still need to write a decent poem. Maybe Newt's right and you just need to focus on some strong feelings." Thomas suggested.
Alby rolled his eyes before speaking. "Stop talking like this is some dire situation. You take things way too seriously, you shucking sissy." Alby declared before picking up the notebook sitting beside his computer.
Thomas only rolled his eyes in reply. He was used to his friends making fun of him by now.
For a while Alby did the same thing with Thomas and Minho as he had with Newt. He wrote things, realized they were awful, and then threw them away. It only took Thomas and Minho a little while to catch on to this and soon they were sitting on the floor reading the discarded poems and laughing harder than Newt ever had.
"How— how are you this bad?" Thomas asked as he tossed another read poem into the trash.
"I don't shucking know!" Alby cried out in frustration.
The boy was hardly used to being so bad at anything, and on top of that he'd really thought Newt's advice would help. Apparently not. Apparently he was doomed to be bad at poetry forever.
He would also probably never know how to tell Newt how he felt.
"Is this seriously how you think about Newt? Are these real thoughts you have inside your actual head?" Minho asked incredulously as he looked at another poem. "I mean in this one you say—"
"No more readin' 'em! I know what I shucking wrote, and I know it's bad!" Alby screamed as he threw his notebook across a room for the second time that day. "Just forget it. No more writing about actual feelings. I'm just gonna write the stupid rhyming couplets before I fail."
No one said anything as Alby turned around to face his computer, already thinking up bad couplets that were technically correct, but would hardly be considered good.
"A poem would've been a stupid way to confess anything anyway." Alby finally grumbled when it'd been quiet for too long.
"…You were actually going to confess to Newt?" Thomas asked sounding both surprised and somber.
"I don't know. Doesn't matter. Right now I just don't want to lose my 'A' in English." Alby responded, but there was something in his voice that made it obvious that it did matter.
"You can always tell him some other way. He obviously likes—"
"Slim it, Thomas. I said it doesn't matter." And for most people Alby's tone would have sounded final enough that they would have shut up about it.
However, Minho had never really been good at hearing that sort of thing.
"You know, I bet you could take lines from each of these poems and make a really killer, or really awful, free verse poem." Minho suggested, already having picked up Alby's notebook and pulled the trashcan next to him.
"For real?" Thomas asked, sounding doubtful.
"Yeah, yeah. Like, putting that line about Newt's leg next to this one." Minho suggested as he showed Thomas the poem in mention.
"That might not be awful," Thomas said, although it was unclear whether or not Minho had been being serious. "Alby?"
"I don't care what you do with the trash; I don't want it. Just be quiet. I'm trying to get this finished." Alby said, having already dismissed any further ideas for better poems.
But Minho was already writing down lines he liked and soon Thomas was helping him choose them. Meanwhile Alby continued to write, ignoring the boys on the floor.
The next day came way too quickly, and Alby was not being very cooperative with Minho.
"I ain't turnin' in your Frankenstein's monster poem." Alby said, referencing the fact that the poem had been pieced together from about fifteen others.
"Oh, come on, man! Thomas and I worked hard to make this work!" Minho argued as he waved the typed poem around.
They were currently sitting in their first period study hall, a class that Thomas and Newt didn't have with them. As usual the two boys were sitting in the back right corner talking quietly.
"Good. You turn it in." Alby said stubbornly.
"I would, but I don't need to have Newt thinking I'm in love with him," Minho replied extra quietly. He could be a jerk sometimes, but he'd never announce Alby's crush to the entire study hall. "I figure you'd be pretty upset if I took him from you."
"I ain't listenin' to this anymore. I'm going to the bathroom. When I come back, you wanna not still be on about this?" Alby asked.
"Fine." Minho agreed with an eye roll.
"Good that."
"Good that." Minho mimicked.
Alby got up and got the hall pass from the teacher before Minho made his move. It was easy for Minho to find Alby's English assignment in his pile of school stuff. Alby was super organized, something Minho wasn't sure if he'd picked up from Newt or Newt had picked up from him. Either way it was easy to find Alby's assignment in a clear plastic sleeve in a blue folder marked 2nd period English.
Minho quickly switched the poem in his hand for the one in the plastic sleeve. There was a good chance that Alby would notice that the assignment had been switched, and if he did Minho would give him back his intended assignment without argument. But if he didn't…
Well, Minho figured that was fair game.
Around a week and a half later Alby sat down in his English class. He wasn't in a great mood considering the fact that this was the day he was going to be getting his poem back.
He'd mostly gotten over the whole incident, but he still wasn't looking forward to getting a reminder of it. He'd already told Newt how he'd given up and written the stupid couplets in the end, but Newt had only smiled and clapped him on the back before telling him that it was nothing to be ashamed of.
Of course Alby was a little ashamed. But mostly because for a second he's convinced himself to tell Newt how he felt, and then all of a sudden he'd buried that thought down as low as he could get it. He'd get over the low grade. It would be a little harder to get over feeling like he'd been rejected without ever having confessed anything.
"So, I hear today is mostly going to be us going over different types of poems people wrote. I do hope you get chosen for the couplets. I've been itching to read more of your bloody wonderful poetry." Newt said as he sat down beside Alby.
Alby gave him a glare, but it was hardly as harsh as it could have been.
Newt had asked to see Alby's poem before he turned it in, but the shorter boy had turned it in without giving it a second look over himself. He'd told Newt he could see it if it was a 'B' or above, although Alby knew he'd probably end up showing Newt regardless of the grade.
At least the poem he turned in hadn't been so obviously about Newt, not like the disaster poem Minho and Thomas had put together.
"You can read it when I'm dead, shank." Alby told the blond boy easily.
"Aw, a reading at your funeral. That ought to be touching." Newt replied with a grin that managed to pull the scowl off of Alby's face.
Alby would have responded had Mrs. Paige not walked in at that second. Instead Alby tried to give Newt an annoyed look, but it failed when the corner of his mouth curled up into a smile, making the Brit snicker to himself.
"Alright, class, today we are going to be going over different types of poems, using the poems you wrote as examples. Now—"
Mrs. Paige was cut off as Minho busted into the room with Thomas at his heels.
"You boys are aware that you're late, correct?" Mrs. Paige asked as she and the rest of the class focused on the pair.
Alby hadn't even realized they weren't in class.
"That we are." Minho replied with a grin that wasn't quite charming, at least not to the teacher in the room.
"You'd expect two members of the track team to be able to make it to class on time." Mrs. Paige chastised as the boys in mention walked toward their seats.
"In our defense, Mrs. Paige, we aren't allowed to run in the halls." Minho retorted, although his reddened cheeks and Thomas' deep breathing suggested that they had in fact been running down the halls.
Mrs. Paige didn't call them on it though. She simply waited for them to take their seats, Minho in front of Alby and Thomas in front of Newt, before she continued.
When Thomas was situated he turned to look at Alby, the look on his face a nervous one. Alby raised a brow at him, but Thomas just smiled back nervously before facing forward again. Alby didn't question it.
Alby also didn't pay much attention to the lesson. Really he should have been, seeing as he wasn't good at what they were doing, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Poems were stupid, feelings were stupid, and poems about feelings were especially stupid.
So instead of paying attention Alby drew black swirls in his notebook to feign note taking. And at one point Newt leaned his notebook, full of neatly taken notes, to show Alby a note that read, 'What are you? The little girl from The Ring?' prompting Alby to realize that his swirls were starting to look like dark holes.
He quickly wrote a note that read, 'Minho. 7 days.'
Newt grinned and shrugged as though there were worse things than a friend getting horrifically murdered by a little girl.
It was at that moment that Alby realized his name had been called by the teacher.
"Huh?" He asked, hoping it wasn't entirely obvious that he wasn't paying attention.
"Your poem. Can I use it as an example?" Mrs. Paige repeated.
Alby was more than a little surprised, but then he realized that there was a good chance he was the only one who had succumbed to couplets. Or that she wanted to point out something he did wrong. He wasn't sure since he hadn't been listening.
He sighed before he shrugged. "Whatever."
Newt looked ecstatic. "Can't bloody wait for this one." Newt whispered.
"Me either." Minho said sounding amused.
It was around then that Alby realized that Thomas was giving Minho a very pointed look, which seemed to say that Minho should not be finding anything so funny.
Alby spent so much time looking between Thomas and Minho that he almost missed the title of his poem. Actually, he did miss the title of his poem. Because the title read wasn't from his poem, it was from the one Thomas and Minho had written. Because he wouldn't name his poem Just Date Me, Shank.
For perhaps the first time in his life Alby felt true panic. His face immediately went red, and he almost called out for her to stop, but it was too late. The first few lines were read and stopping it now would only make it worse. It was so obviously about Newt.
"Stupid accent no one understands,
words sound better from you.
Greenies crowd you.
You're so accidently charming.
Pretty fake smile,
but better real one.
Over organized,
but messy blond hair.
Your hand holding me back.
Your bad leg on my good one.
Your head in my thoughts.
You saying what I mean,
because I don't know how.
Sharing a hammock,
arms touching.
Me getting so angry,
you never caring.
You with me,
me with you.
Me feeling too much,
but not knowing how to say it.
So just date me, Shank."
Alby's face only felt hotter as the poem went on, and even when it ended he didn't feel any relief. He couldn't even look at the boy beside him, the embarrassment feeling like it might be enough to make him drop dead. So instead he covered the left half of his face to block Newt out.
There was some laughter around the room, and normally Alby would want to crush it, but at the moment Alby couldn't even muster up any anger. Just humiliation.
This was what it felt like to be truly mortified. This was what it was like to want to run out of a room and pack for another continent.
Mrs. Paige quickly quieted the few laughing offenders and started talking again.
"So, this was our free verse example, as you can see…" But Alby wasn't listening.
Alby stared directly ahead at the back of Minho's head, and within a few minutes was able to find some anger within himself for the other boy.
Alby wasn't sure when the other boy had switched his poem, but he knew he had. And obviously he'd let Thomas in on it, not that the slinthead bothered to say anything.
Alby tried to focus his thoughts on slamming his friends' heads together instead of on the boy beside him that he still hadn't dared to look at.
He could feel Newt's eyes on him from time to time, but Alby refused to look. He refused to run out of the room embarrassed, he refused to show any signs of embarrassment that he could control. But he also refused to look at Newt.
But soon the bell rang and somehow that was worse than being stuck in his desk. Thomas was quick to grab Minho and the two of them left the room swiftly. Alby considered going after them just to avoid the unavoidable, but in the end he couldn't bring himself to move.
Most people had left the room within a few seconds, but Alby could feel that Newt was still present. Could fee that he was standing directly beside Alby, staring at him.
"Don't say a shucking word." Alby finally said when he heard Newt intake a breath, like he was getting ready for a long talk.
He heard Newt sigh, and a second later he heard Newt grab his things. The blond boy walked past Alby, going around the back of his desk, before he stopped on the teens other side.
The blonde then dipped down closer to Alby's ear.
"It amazes me how you find new ways to completely enamor me while still being a complete shuckface." Newt confessed before leaning down to kiss Alby's cheek.
Again his cheeks burned, but this time it was almost pleasant.
Alby finally turned to look at Newt head on. The blond was smiling, his eyes filled with devotion that Alby didn't know how he could see.
"Come on. We're going to be late and there's probably a big group of people waiting outside to make fun of you." Newt said motioning for Alby to get out of his seat.
Alby finally did stand up.
"And let me guess, you want to be at the forefront of it?" Alby joked. There was no embarrassment that could outlast the joy Alby felt from Newt's lips on his cheek.
"Well, obviously. But I'll let you hold my hand while I shame you." Newt offered.
"Like I would want to hold your shucking hand." Alby retorted.
He made it precisely two steps before he grabbed Newt's hand.