A/N: I'm so not immune to newtmas. Somehow, after rereading TMR, I ended up writing this. Hope you enjoy it. No rights go to me, all to James Dashner who really should have shipped newtmas himself. He was so close.

"I'm perfectly willing to do it." Thomas crossed his arms and put on a defensive look. Newt frowned at him. He couldn't really explain it, but there was that knot inside of him that made him feel like he was on the verge of making a reunion with his breakfast if he kept thinking about this horrid idea.

"I know. And every single shuck-face in there will gladly let ya do it." He thought that for a second he could make out something like hesitation on Thomas' face, but it was gone so fast that he couldn't be sure. A sudden urge made him grab Thomas and push him up against the wall. "But I am not perfectly willing to let you kill yourself."

Thomas' eyes widened in surprise at seeing Newt this out of control, this emotional. The older boy had always seemed a master at hiding his feelings, at cowering behind his "order". But somehow in this very moment all his barriers seemed to go down in smoke.

Slowly he regained his senses and let go of Thomas, taking a step away. Stunned into silence Thomas put one hand to his neck where only seconds ago Newt's fingers had been. He obviously didn't know what to make of this situation. Newt didn't, either. What was going on with him? Why did he react in such … atypical ways when it came to Thomas?

"Newt, I ..."

"I just ..."

For a second they just stared at each other. They were so close, Newt could actually feel Thomas' heat radiating against him. But at the same time they were so far apart, too far apart … Newt's knees began shaking and he had to put one hand on the wall to steady himself.

Thomas, gathering that he would have to speak first, that Newt was too shaken up to say much, murmured: "Newt, I didn't mean it. I was just trying to make a point."

"Good that.", Newt answered, a little too fast, running one shaky hand through his blond hair. For another endless moment they stood looking at each other, the tension growing with every passing second. "I just" The older boy inhaled deeply. "I just can't lose ya, Tommy, ya know?"

"Newt ..." Thomas' face softened a little. For a brief moment he made as if to reach out for the other boy, then suddenly his gaze shifted to something behind Newt's back; his face contorted into something like a scowl, even though his eyes lightened up. The moment was broken.

"I should probably go back inside.", Newt said, still trying to regain his usual calm, stepping away from Thomas and feeling something inside him snap, as if there was a cord tying him to the younger boy that ripped apart when he put too much physical distance between them.

"Yeah, probably." Thomas said, his cheeks reddening, his eyes still fixed on the point behind Newt's back.

Newt didn't have to look to know who was standing there. He knew it was the girl, Teresa. He had seen the way Thomas was looking at her and right now it was that look on his face. That look of longing and caring and everything Newt wanted to see on Thomas' face when he was looking at him. He never did.

The Grievers were moving in on them, forcing the Gladers to step closer together, pressing Thomas against Newt. He knew it was the wrong moment for it. He knew it was totally irrational. But he started trembling at feeling Thomas so close by, his body pressing against Newt's, smelling of sweat and grass and … Thomas.

The whole world seemed to lose focus as all that Newt could feel was Thomas' body-heat radiating against him, all he could hear was Thomas' breathing, in, out, in, out, and all he could do to keep it together was concentrate on Thomas' heartbeat, beating steadily inside his chest, so close to Newt's own.

At the same time he knew that there was also Teresa, just a couple of inches away from himself, touching Thomas' other side, holding the dark-haired boy's hand. And it hurt.

Everything seemed to happen in a blur. He saw the figure running towards the waiting Grievers. He heard himself shouting something, he felt himself moving forward, away from Thomas' comforting presence, in the direction of where the figure had vanished, but he couldn't seem to put his finger on what was going on. Inside of him, there was only emptiness and the pumping of his own heart.

Suddenly he felt Thomas' arms around him and it was like a thick fog lifted from around him; he now struggled actively against these arms that were holding him back from where he was supposed to be, with Alby, that was, and he knew what he was yelling. "Let go!"

"Are you nuts!" Thomas' voice sounded strained and sad and somehow tired but his arms did not relent and he kept holding on to the older boy, pulling him against his chest. "There's nothing you can do!"

Newt was still struggling, not only with Thomas, but also with himself. He tried to calm down, he tried to fight the tears back that were threatening to come flooding.

"Newt.", Thomas said in a low, soothing voice. Newt felt the other boys breath against his neck and it sent chills down his spine, while his struggling ceased. "There's nothing you can do. Let it go. I'm here."

Newt seemed to crumble in on himself. With a choking sound he let himself be pulled against Thomas, into an awkward embrace, still trying to stifle the sobs threatening to escape him. For a moment there was only Thomas, Thomas' warmth, Thomas' heartbeat, Thomas' smell. There was no Teresa, no Grievers, no death or pain or suffering. Just Thomas. Thomas whispering to him.

"It's okay. I'm here. I'm still here."

Newt couldn't help himself from looking over to them. Thomas and Teresa where sitting at the opposite side of the room, eating their pizza together, Thomas leaning against her, holding her hand. Thomas seemed to have aged a millennium in the last couple of hours since Chuck's death. His face was stricken with grief, his every move slow as if he was in a kind of trance.

The older boy ripped his gaze away from the couple. It was the first time in his life that he did not feel like going over to where Thomas was to have dinner with him. In the Maze, there had never been a problem in doing that. But then again in the Maze there'd been no Teresa, no-one to hold Thomas' hand and make him look at home.

"You look like a right piece of klunk, shank.", Minho, who was sitting right beside Newt, said between two bites of his own pizza. "Rejoice, for we will see another day!" He made a dramatic gesture with the hand in which he had a slice of pizza dripping with grease.

Newt put on a grimace that was supposed to look like a smile, even though he knew it looked more like someone who had just come back from the dentist's. Minho wasn't paying close attention anyway.

"Really, Newt, you could look a teeny tiny bit more pleased we escaped the Maze and WICKED both. It's like Christmas and my birthday combined. Not that I know when my birthday is but I would wager it was a huge party back before I was placed in that stupid experiment."

"Good for ya.", Newt said, unable to go another second without looking over to where Thomas and Teresa were sitting. They were talking in whispers, their heads closely together, still holding hands.

"Aren't ya a little sunshine tonight.", Minho said with his mouth full of pizza.

Newt made an approving sound. He scolded himself inwardly for wanting to swap places with Teresa. He knew it could not – would not – happen. His and Thomas' world were too different from each other. And he could see that Thomas needed Teresa more than he did Newt.

Seemingly feeling Newt's gaze on him Thomas looked up. Their eyes met and Thomas' face split into a half-smile. Suddenly smiling came easy to Newt and he saw Thomas' face lighten up even though his eyes were full of anguish over his loss.

Newt had to take a deep breath and felt his cheeks reddening. Quickly he looked away. He couldn't think of Thomas that way. He couldn't hope. He just couldn't.