Unlike Homestead, Vivienne's room had no electricity. The only light dimed from outside, and a small, creamy candle, his features were only half visible but she didn't miss a smirk that quivered up his face. His tone was somehow calm yet acrid.
"You kept me waiting." His hair tinselled in the gloomy light like a flame during bonfires. A lump formed in her throat as her breath hitched. He was sitting comfortably on her bed with a perilous smirk, his eyes sparkling with amusement and dare.
She was speechless – not the first time in his presence – previous encounter left her trembling, sobbing. She wished she had taken Newt's offer; Ben would be busted and leave her alone. And Minho heartbroken, – Her mind whispered like a void.
She believed Minho when he told her she was strong for knowing her vulnerabilities, but now she felt weak again, struggling to let any word out and not a whimper.
"You look shucking hot in the dark." The remark made her want to run and vomit, but neither her legs nor her lunch moved. She stayed glued to the floor like a statue, while he began making his way up to her.
She could punch him and run, but the thought of everyone believing her terrified her more than no one doing so. If they believed her what would happen to Ben? How would Minho take it?
Anyway, it was not like she had control over her body. She was frozen as his footsteps grew heavier and louder – or maybe it was just blood pumping through her veins.
His shadow covered her petite body and only glimmer in his blue eyes didn't remain pitch black as ironic as it sounded. She looked down, avoiding his unpredictable gaze as she bit her lip to stop a whimper from escaping her mouth. With two fingers under her chin, he raised her head and whispered,
"I want to bite that lip," he confessed and bent to peck her temple. She hardly swallowed, and they both heard that disgusting sound. "Rest, Angel." She saw a glimpse of mischief in him as he passed her by. When she heard the door click shut her legs finally gave up and she fell onto the floor.
A crack of the floor was the first thing she heard before the daylight hit her. She whimpered, feeling the consequences of previous day's work out, and immediately felt a pair of hand on both of her arms. She squeaked not too loud, yet enough to startle the person behind her.
"Hey, hey, it's alright, love." She relaxed, recognizing the accent. Seeing her calm down, Newt asked, "What are you doing on the floor?" Her muscles tensed again.
"I… I must have been so tired, I collapsed on the floor," she laughed nervously, hoping Newt wouldn't comment. She turned to him and found his expression unreadable, but just as she hoped he didn't question her.
"Are you okay now? I can talk to Alby and Gally, get you a day off-"
"No, it's fine." She smiled at him, acknowledging it came out quiet unconvincingly. Whether he believed her or not he did not ask further.
The next week Newt rarely left her side. Any drop of awkwardness was gone. Yet, as Newt had mentioned tension between him and Alby grew. Usually when Newt wasn't around he was at Alby's discussing matters of the Glade. Now, he avoided Alby like a plague, spending as much time at garden with Track-hoes or anywhere his help was needed. He even escorted Vivienne to her training sessions with Minho, and Vivienne discovered he had trainings on his own – mostly for his limp.
Vivienne welcomed his company – it helped keep her mind off of Ben and builders that thought she did not deserve her position next to Gally's (yet Vivienne herself never thought she did). She even began drawing in her notebook, having filled almost every page with landscapes and sceneries she could not recall seeing yet felt so familiar.
Her only regret was not being able to put any colours on them. She could remember a sunset colouring twilight sky with mixture of orange, pink, even violet. When she drew her first cliff she could almost hear waves violently hit the rocks or smell the salty water – she'd never said anything to anyone about that.
Every time Newt – with only him she was comfortable sharing sketches (as he was the one who suggested she should start in the first place) – would question her about her drawings, but it was never an interrogation. She often said the scenery just came to her, which wasn't fully a lie.
"Can you teach me?" he asked one day after lunch, while they were hiding in the shade of a tree. His voice – despite her acknowledging his presence – startled her and she dropped a pencil, her hand shaking lightly. He reached out to pick it up and handed it to her.
"Why?" Her voice, though polite, was filled with curiosity. He brushed his sandy blond hair with a shrug of his broad shoulders.
"There's nothing much to do here." She couldn't argue with that.
That night was Legend's last at the Homestead, so Vivienne tried hard to think of a story to tell him, it'd been a while since she last told him one – she wasn't that good at story telling anyway, and since Newt was around she felt weird making things up while he sat there (she liked their conversations more as well).
After training with Minho – to which tiring-ness she grew used to – and a long, hot shower she grabbed the only notebook she had and wrote what first came to her mind. She used landscapes in her story, based on her drawing.
In reality, Legend interrupted her story every two sentences, arguing it was either too girly, dull or repetitive. Putting him to sleep that night was the hardest thing she had to do since she came to the Glade – working in the full sun included.
"That was some story," Newt spoke up after Legend's eyelids shut for good.
"I don't feel that bad for him now," she confessed with a snicker. Newt nudged her insisting she did not mean it – and she didn't.
"You want to start now?" He raised his eyebrow questioningly. "Learning how to draw?" Her shower obliterated any lassitude, and as Newt beamed she knew sleep was the last thing on his mind.
Sunlight awoke her the next morning. She tried to turn her head but something was glued to her cheek - a page from the day before. She turned to her side, wondering how she got to her bed for she couldn't recall leaving Newt's room when she saw the blond, lying peacefully next to her with his eyes closed.
His features were relaxed making him look that much younger – How old is he anyway? – his sandy hair were covered by warm rays, brightening his hair. Newt was – or at least seemed to be – calm, but when asleep there was a new sense of tranquillity about him Vivienne couldn't name yet.
Noticing she'd been staring and must have looked quiet creepy doing so she looked away. Within sight she did not find Newt's watch, but to be safe she decided to leave until someone spotted her there and got the wrong idea – she didn't need any more rumours to be spread about her, especially not the ones including the one and only second in command; she wouldn't hear the end of it.
But the mattress shifted at the loss of weight and Newt groaned, waking up, destroying all her plans. His brown eyes took a moment to get used to the light, yet he never fully opened them.
"Love?" His voice was husky, his accent heavier, making it so much more alluring. Wait, alluring? "What time's it?" She barely recognized the words that left his mouth, so she shrugged. He turned to his nightstand, and she noticed the watch was there all this time. "Too bloody early." She heard him mutter under his breath, but only sleepiness adorned his tone.
He pushed his head back into the mattress, as if trying to hide from the sun that bled with light. It was childish and cute – something she never accused him of before – and she barely managed to supress a giggle. She began moving again, preparing herself to leave him to sleep some more but without looking at her his hand caught her wrist and he whispered, "Stay."
She sighed, too tired herself to argue or refuse such offer, and laid back down, this time trying to avoid lying on her own work.
Newt woke her up what seemed like just a minute later, but was probably an hour or so. A finger was pressed against her delicate, pink lips as he… Is he rolling his eyes at me? She frowned wondering, What the hell…? When she noticed his gaze was pointing at a sleeping Youngling.
Oh, that explains a lot.
He looked as peaceful as every other morning since he was not sleeping on his own and sudden grief swept into Vivienne's heart. They'd have to wake Legend up anytime now and next time he fell asleep would be around other kids, outside, without anyone watching over him.
As if sensing her distress she felt a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Newt was smiling sadly, yet warmly at her as if saying he understood. Vivienne wanted to believe he did, but she doubted two boys were that close – sharing a room or not. Nevertheless, she welcomed the gesture and nodded in approval to wake Legend up.