A/N: Wrote this five years ago, thought I'd polish it up and post it now! Bc writing new stuff is hard these days - and ALSO bc Nalby is a great ship, and they deserve all the fluff in the world,

Alby is in the middle of a fruitless attempt at sleep when Newt comes to find him.

It's not that late yet, but it's late enough for Alby to recognize that if sleep hasn't happened yet, it most likely won't. Not at all or any time soon. So the interruption is more than welcome.

…Never mind that up until his sudden reappearance, Newt was mysteriously absent from his usual spot beside Alby. Which hadn't made falling asleep any easier, what with all that wondering where he could be and the gaping empty space at Alby's side and all.

Not that Alby will admit that specific problem to anyone – not even Newt himself, though he's the only one who could guess.

And of course there's also the fact that Minho is a few feet away, snoring obnoxiously. Alby wants nothing more than to pinch his nose shut until he suffocates (or wakes up, whichever comes first). It's good to know that some people still have it in them to rest. Alby's been glaring at him with resentment for the past half-hour or so.

But now.

Now Newt is here. Came from who-knows-where at long last. To get Alby, apparently, judging by the way he crouches at their bedside and motions for Alby to follow. A finger presses to Newt's lips in an unnecessary gesture for silence, his eyes sparkle in that playful way they have – and then he's off, his limp barely noticeable as he tiptoes careful over and around the handful of others occupying the room.

With a sigh, Alby pushes himself to his feet and follows. He's grateful for the distraction – not like he was sleeping anyway – as he tags along downstairs and out of the Homestead entirely, making sure to close the door quietly behind himself.

Newt remains a few steps ahead, still taking all precautions to avoid stepping on any of the sleeping Gladers as he navigates toward the Deadheads.

Ah.

So that's where they're going.

Somewhere in the back of Alby's mind, he'd assumed as much about their destination, but this confirms it. He picks up the pace a little and inches forward to close the distance between them some more. Newt's longer legs and head start gave him an advantage…

By the time they hit the first smattering of trees, the distance between them is nonexistent. Alby brushes up against Newt's side as they walk, and gets a soft smile in return – the kind that never fails to lift his stubborn spirits.

It's weird, he thinks sometimes. This effect that Newt has on him. How he can wrestle a good mood into Alby's head when it feels near impossible, or even coax his heart into a softened puddle when he's trying to stay tough. It shouldn't feel so nice to lower his guard, but it does; Newt hasn't let him down yet.

And in this life, Alby's learned to take what happiness he can and run with it, no questions asked.

Newt makes him happy, and that's all that matters in the end. Soft spot be damned.

The two of them walk on, and when they pass the graveyard Alby grabs hold of Newt's hand. A thumb brushes over Alby's knuckles in turn as Newt swings their arms a bit. Seems like someone's in a good mood despite the gloom of this setting – it makes Alby want to smile. (See what he means about that soft spot?)

Deeper into the trees they go, past the place their friends are buried and beyond. All the way to the very back of the Deadheads, along the edge of the Glade. There's a patch where the trees thin out, here, creating a miniature clearing that's backed by the ivy-coated Walls. Just a cramped oblong wisp of a space, but the grass is soft and the trees leave a gap you can see the sky through and it's perfect.

They've all been in the Glade long enough by now that no corner is really left unexplored and there's no such thing as a secret location, but this spot remains the closest thing they have to privacy. It's far from the main hustle and bustle, tucked away where no one will stumble upon them…

This is their place, Alby's and Newt's.

Alby had found it first while looking for somewhere to get some peace, and then he'd brought Newt along, and they've been coming here ever since. To steal moments alone.

That's apparently what they're doing tonight. Only on a grander scale than usual, because by the looks of things, Newt's decided they should sleep here.

The small space is stuffed with more spare blankets and pillows than Alby knows to exist in the entire Glade – an absurd amount that's got to be unfair to the others, all spread out in a nest-like pile. It's a sappy and ridiculous gesture that manages to be beyond inviting.

A rush of affection for Newt sweeps through Alby's chest – and here he goes, weak already.

Smile melting to life on Alby's face, he finds Newt watching him with a self-satisfied sort of expression. And Alby can't even be annoyed at that because Newt is right to feel that way, all things considered. He's an absolute angel.

Hell, Alby could spend all night marveling at Newt's ability to intuit exactly what he needs, but that's easily sidelined in favor of leaning up to kiss him square on his smug mouth.

It's a chaste thing. Doesn't last long at all, quick and soft.

But it's enough that it leaves Newt blushing and averting his gaze when Alby pulls back slow, lips catching on the gentle curve of Newt's.

Impossibly relaxed now, Alby snickers at the smattering of pink on Newt's cheeks – which earns him Newt letting go of his hand to punch him in the shoulder; that blush is already fading and he's stepping further into their little personalized clearing.

"You coming?" Newt asks, plopping himself right down, fluffing pillows and arranging blankets and still looking quite pleased with himself.

Shaking his head in wonder, Alby follows. "You're one sappy shank," he says, collapsing right next to Newt, on top of some of those blankets he's fussing with. Alby's grinning again at the irritated hand swatting his thigh as he leans back against the wall and stretches his legs out.

Newt hums in response, still pushing at Alby's thigh until he can get at the blanket he wants and flatten out a wrinkle. "You're the one that kissed me for this," he points out.

"Maybe, but you set up the romantic hideaway." And he's still setting it up, as Alby sits among plush comfort that only serves to cement his argument.

"Yeah," Newt grins, "but you just called it romantic." He continues to prod at the bedding that surrounds them, apparently trying to arrange it for maximum comfort or something like that. Fluffing a pillow here, folding the corner of a blanket there. "I was going for more of a slumber party feel, really."

Alby gives an honest to goodness laugh at that, and it feels good. "Didn't know you liked slumber parties."

"Love 'em," is all Newt says. He swaps the placement of two or three more pillows before shrugging and deeming the mess good enough. All that work with the pillows was useless anyway, because he's not even using them. Just sidles closer to Alby and leans on him instead…

Not that Alby minds, his head automatically falling to rest on Newt's shoulder as he inches over until they're perfectly aligned. Their bodies slot together in a warm and comfortable sort of way, cozier than they ever dare to get in the Homestead. Because some slintheads never learned to mind their own business.

Newt kisses Alby, this time. The barest hint of a thing, lips brushing Alby's temple before Newt shifts away like he's embarrassed – so Alby clasps their hands together again. Keeps him close.

There have been precious few moments like this one lately.

It's too soft of him, maybe, but all the same Alby relishes these times when he can sneak away with Newt and they can just be. Get away from all the responsibility and toil of this life. Exist somewhere they can relax in each other's company. No need to put up any brave faces for anyone else, they can be themselves when it's just the two of them, and Alby loves that.

There's nothing pretty about their life, make no mistake. But there are things that keep it worthwhile, and Newt…he's the most important of those things, to Alby.

Especially so on nights like this one.

For a long while, there's just them and the stars – until the peace of the night gets to be too quiet, and Alby's thoughts catch up to him.

Tomorrow, there's going to be a new Greenie. The first they'll be getting since Nick's death, and Alby is at an entire shuck loss as to how he's supposed to handle these things. Because Nick was perfect. He was just the right balance of stern and kind, always got the Greenies moving and kept them feeling secure until they fell in with the routine of the Glade.

But Nick is dead. Died just three weeks ago, and so now it's up to Alby to be all of those things and more, and he's already discovered that he can't. He's too rough and heavy-handed. Doesn't have enough patience. He can't help it, though he's trying.

Standing by someone's side while they lead is a lot different than actually doing the leading yourself. Alby's used to being an enforcer, maintaining order and making difficult decisions and all…it's the softer side of things that's lost on him. His personality just doesn't mesh with that.

To top it off, he hates that he's so nervous. He's been here for two whole years, handled plenty of stuff more difficult (to put it mildly) than the twenty-four new Greenies that have shown up during his time here –

But this is the first one that's going to be his, in a manner of speaking. Somehow that adds enough nerve-wracking weight to keep Alby from sleep even with Newt's help, and to send his thoughts circling like crazy around everything to do with his new position…

Self-doubt is a real killer, dragging him down like this. All he wants is to fall asleep so that he can wake up and get tomorrow over with, for better or worse.

Newt nudges him, hauling him back down to Earth. "What's got you so buggin' tense?"

Realizing that he's started grinding his teeth, Alby clenches his jaw still. "Nothing," he sighs, sharp through his mouth. Then he pauses for a second, head a mess, and admits, "Tomorrow," because this is Newt he's talking to. There's no lying to him. Not for Alby, anyway.

"Don't worry." Newt is, as ever, quick to reassure. He rests his head atop Alby's. "I'll be there to soften the blow if you scare the poor shank to death."

"Shut up," Alby grumbles. Blond hair is falling into his eyes and tickling his forehead, so he swats at it. He's frowning again, and he directs it at those stubborn strands that remain in place no matter how he blows on them. In the end, he has to reach up and push them out of the way, tucking them behind Newt's ear.

No sooner are the offending hairs vanquished than Newt nuzzles against him, setting long hair free to fall into Alby's face all over again. He's got a sneaking suspicion that Newt is smiling all the while.

"Newt. Seriously."

With a breathy little laugh, Newt lifts his head away, taking his invasive hair with him.

And Alby hates how Newt can be so relaxed while he himself is a tense mess – but he knows that he was the same just a few short weeks ago. As second-in-command, he was never nervous. All the pressure tends to fall on the person fully in charge, and now that he's on this side of it, he envies the carefree life that comes with not being the leader.

It's simultaneously irritating and reassuring, how calm Newt is. So Alby frowns at him to disguise how much he'd like to cuddle up to Newt or maybe kiss him again, because that's just…sappy klunk.

Newt responds to that frown by worming his hand out of Alby's grip to pat at his knee, squeezing once before letting go entirely. "Come on," he says, "let's go to bed."

As if sleep will miraculously come easy now.

Heaving another heavy sigh and feeling more than a bit pathetic, Alby sits tight and watches Newt crawl around. Seems their sleeping area wasn't rearranged enough the first thousand times, and so he's doing it again, going so far as to shove at Alby when he happens to somehow be in the way.

It's with a roll of his eyes that Alby stands, waiting off to the side with folded arms as Newt finishes up.

"There." Newt nods, satisfied at last.

To Alby, the pile of pillows and blankets doesn't look any different than it did when he left it, or even when he arrived in this clearing in the first place. It still looks to be arranged in a completely random order with zero rhyme or reason, but Newt apparently knows what he's doing and is very fussy about it. So Alby will leave him to his fun.

Newt shuffles over on his knees, reaching up to grab Alby's hand and tug insistently until strong arms unfold and collapse Alby along with them. (Internally, of course. Got to keep up some pretense.)

"C'mon," Newt says, with another little tug. "Bed time. Can't have you greeting the Greenie with a grumpier face than usual."

Huffing, but too tired and too fond of Newt to get properly mad, Alby grumbles out some klunk about tough love being good for Greenies. All the while he goes along with Newt's coaxing. The combination earns him another small amused smile, and he almost wishes he wasn't so weak to those…

There's barely enough room in this small clearing for Newt to stretch his tall form out, but he manages to do it and make it look comfortable. Positioned on his side with his back parallel to the wall, he pats the ground in front of him – and Alby doesn't hesitate to lie down. Offering his back to Newt. For optimum spooning. Because he might as well take advantage of Newt's long limbs.

It is comfy down here on the ground, Alby discovers. Especially so when Newt wraps an arm around his waist from behind and slides in closer, pressing them together. Alby can feel him breathing – the rise and fall of Newt's chest at his back, and the soft puffs of breath on his neck, and it's…calming.

They're never able to cuddle as open as all this, when the others are around. Alby will never, ever tell another living soul how much he enjoys it, Newt's arms around him safe and secure and comfortable.

"Tomorrow's gonna go just fine, you'll see," Newt is saying, voice as soft as his posture. His hand rubs upward until it rests over Alby's heart, lingering sure and warm as if it can feel the steady beating.

Mortifyingly, Alby's face goes hot. He's blushing. No idea why, he doesn't bother to try and formulate a reply through whatever turmoil this is. He opts for the simple act of placing his hand over Newt's – Newt will know what he means, even if Alby isn't quite sure of the exact words – and tries to force all thoughts from his head and relax.

It's easier, now. Like this, with Newt.

A moment later, Newt shuffles around behind him. By some instinct Alby rolls onto his back at the same time as Newt leans up on an elbow, and now they're face-to face. Watching each other's eyes –

And then they're kissing, the angle new and awkward at first, but Newt's mouth is warm and soft as ever on Alby's, and any remaining tension drains away. Melts into the ground and evaporates into the air until all that's left is the feeling of Newt's lips pressed to Alby's.

When they part, Newt is blushing again – and, to hell with it, Alby pulls him back down for more. Longer, deeper, with his hand tangled into Newt's hair, mouths bitten and wet –

Newt's lips brush gentle at Alby's cheek after that one, as the two of them settle back into their previous position: Newt's front aligned snug to Alby's back, one long arm slung over Alby's waist to hold him there. Safe and sound.

"G'night, Alby," Newt mumbles, squeezing Alby extra-close.

By some miracle (a miracle that happens to have long hair and a crooked grin and is altogether too-tall) Alby starts to drift off, too. Barely has time to whisper, "Night," before he's out.

It turns out to be the best sleep he's ever had.

A/N: Thanks for reading!