They'd been friends for what seemed like an eternity. Days upon days of cloudless blue skies and starry nights and they've always been friends. It had just come naturally, really.
When Newt had first arrived in the Glade, disorientated, anxious, crying, Alby had been there for him. Supporting him, giving him strength and the power to see the bigger picture. Or, at least, what he was told was the bigger picture.
"Hey, Alby? You awake?"
The words hung in the silence of the Homestead. As Leader and Second in Command, Alby and Newt had the privilege to sleep in one of the surprisingly tidy, spacious rooms, that always smelled like rotting leaves and wet and dust, but in a pleasant way. Like something that resembled a home, sometimes.
Alby was sleeping in the bed at the wall, his back to Newt who had gotten the bed right next to the window, moonlight turning his hair into silver.
After forever, Alby finally moved, slowly and unwillingly. "Yeah?"
It was different, in the Glade. Not, that Newt knew to what exactly it was different, but it just was. The dark could be intimidating, in the Glade.
So, as Newt woke up his friend in the middle of the night, the other wasn't angry or annoyed, he simply rolled over, actual concern in his eyes.
Newt worried his lip for a moment, forming the words and sentences in his head. He desperately didn't want to sound as pathetic as he felt. Gladly, Alby caught his distress, and raised his brows in slight alarm.
"What's wrong? Something happened?"
"No, I ... I just ... it's dumb..." he said, pulling the blanket up to his chin, trying to hide that he was feeling a blush creep into his face, warming his ears and cheeks uncomfortably.
Alby could be head-strong and stubborn and downright rude when he was, surprisingly professionally organizing things or complaining or yelling at Newbies and old Gladers alike. Though with Newt he was always very careful and deliberate, like he had 'Breakable' tattooed in his face.
"Nightmare?" Alby said, simply, the word crashing against Newt like a wave, an image of a beach and the vast ocean arising in the back of his mind, but fading soon after.
Newt nodded, stared at Alby, hoping he looked sarcastic and witty, not sad and scared. His hopes were shattered, as the look of worry deepened on Alby's face, making a home on his forehead, crinkling between his eyebrows.
"I know. Heard ya talk. Somethin' 'bout ... well, what a pile of klunk everything is."
Newt's gaze fell for a moment, embarrassed. "I'm sorry" he said.
"Nothin' to be sorry about, slinthead. We've all got night-terrors. Ya think Minho doesn't wake up almost wettin' himself or that Gally isn't afraid of the dark? Even I have troubles sleepin' from time to time. It's this shuck place, man. It does things to your mind. Makes ya be all on edge."
He just listened, let Alby's voice carry him. The other Glader was right. It was typical for Newt to think, that he was the only one fighting with things like insomnia and ever returning night-terrors. But they were all trapped in the Glade and an unsolvable Maze filled with killing monsters and no memory of home or generally a life before the Maze. It shucked you up in the head.
"I'm sorry" Newt said again. Now it was Alby's turn to nod.
"Yeah, it's okay."
They both looked at each other for a long time, minds emptying with every passing second, the stars outside seeming very bright that particular night.
Without a single word, as if acting on instinct or a silent plead, Newt arose from his bed, bare feet on the wooden floor, and walked over to Alby, who made space for the other in an instant.
Wrapped in Alby's arms, facing his now empty bed, Newt felt less damned, less like the night was drowning him. To the sound of Alby's breathing and the warmth of the other pressed against his back Newt eventually drifted off into a dreamless, blissful sleep.