The Maze Runner [trilogy] (C) James Dashner

FILLER UPDATE. Do you guys get upset when I update side stories or are they all amusing?

I've been doing a lot of prompt requests on tumblr and participating in Thominho Week this October so updates for Tribulations and Nightmare are going to be slower than they already are. I'm debating about uploading my Disney/Fairytale Parodies for TMR on here... but chances are, I probably will because why the fuck not?

Warning(s): Typos probably. Minho being a shank. (in a good way)

Side Story III: Newt's Sick Day

To Minho and Thomas, Newt was like a ray of sunshine. He wasn't necessarily an overly optimistic kind of guy or saw the world through rose tinted glasses. In fact, Newt was rather solemn. He had a tendency of being grounded and wasn't afraid to tell them when they were being stupid or not. Sometimes, Newt got into moods where it felt like a dark, heavy cloud was following in his wake. Thomas hated those times, it made him feel like all was wrong in the world.

Newt was their stability. He would wake up in the morning, dress in the silence and kiss them goodbye. Every day, He would send them a text to get them moving if they hadn't already. He would meet up with Minho in-between morning practice and classes, and bring him a light snack. He would call up Thomas if the boy didn't respond to his text and wait for them outside of Professor Janson's class when he could.

Newt was routine. He was safe. He was comfortable. He was the sun that rose high and bright in the sky. When the sun was cloudy, the world just didn't seem right.

When Thomas woke up that Wednesday morning, something felt wrong. Gloomy. At first he thought it was literal, the curtains were drawn over the only window in the room, casting a dark enough atmosphere to keep sleep going. His smart phone lay dark on the desk, no blinking light to alert him of a message or the shrill ringing of an incoming call. The clock on the wall read 10:00 AM and the birds outside chirped to a bright, beautiful morning, yet the cool darkness in the dorm made Thomas uncomfortable.

Perhaps it had something to do with the sizeable lump on Newt's bed?

Thomas flew into motion. His scalp nearly grazed the bottom edge of the higher bunk as he hopped haphazardly out of his blanket cocoon. He crashed spectacularly next to the single bed, startling the prone form wrapped comfortably like a burrito.

Newt's misty eyes peered down at him, his blond hair a knotted mess, his nose tinged pink.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you?" He complained, his voice odd. "You gave me a heart attack."

Thomas regained his bearings and sat up on the floor. He gave Newt a quick once over, taking note of the puffiness of his eyes, the redness of his nose and the nasally way his voice sounded. It meant only one thing and Thomas wasn't happy about it.

"It's 10 AM, don't you have classes at 8?"

Newt's groan cut off into a fit of dry coughs. Thomas scrambled to the mini fridge for a water bottle. He grabbed a plastic cup from the cabinet and hurriedly poured the poor blond a drink before rejoining his side. He watched as Newt drank his fill then fell back onto the bed with a dissatisfied sigh. He gave Thomas a look he wasn't sure he could read in the dark.

"Don't you dare say it."

Thomas's brows raised in surprise. "I'm not going to."

Newt's expression turned defiant. "Tommy, I'm being serious. If you say it, Minho's going to find out and he won't let me live it down for the rest of the month. You remember how long it took to get Minho to stop making fun you for getting sick? It'll be worse for me because it's me."

He grimaced. Oh yes, Thomas did remember. Minho wouldn't let it go for two and a half-weeks after he was released from the hospital. He had no doubt Newt would get teased about this for days to come, maybe even months. But more importantly, he was surprised. Minho didn't know Newt was sick?

"So Minho doesn't know you're—"

"Tommy!" Newt hissed, eyes narrowing.

Thomas rolled his eyes. He thought Newt's aversion to being called sick was cute usually, but sometimes the blond's stubbornness drove him up the wall. He saddled Newt a deadpanned expression that penetrated the dimness of their room. The older boy pouted beneath his gaze.

"You're sick." Newt huffed sulkily. "Didn't Minho wonder why you were still in bed? You're always up before him."

Newt twisted in his sheets to face Thomas properly. He sniffed, wincing at the horrid stuffiness in his nostrils. "He was late for practice. He didn't have time to wonder."

"How lucky of you," Thomas hummed. He set down the water bottle and reached for his phone. "I'm calling him."

"Tommy no!"

Newt yanked Thomas into the bed with enough force to disorient the poor boy. He flipped the brunet onto his back then straddled him, pinning down his arms in an attempt to keep Thomas from struggling. Newt was deceptively strong despite his appearance. Minho liked to joke that when it came to arm wrestling, Newt would always be the victor. He wasn't wrong.

"Don't tell him!" He pleaded. "He's going to want to help but that's only going to delay my recovery. I can get better on my own if you just let me rest, okay Tommy? Please don't tell Minho."

Thomas testily pulled on his arms. Newt's grip tightened against his wrists, a testament to the blond's mulishness. He wasn't going to let Thomas go until he agreed.

He exhaled heavily. "He's going to know when you don't show up for class, Newt."

"That's fine. You'll be there to tell him I'm okay."

"And Professor Janson? You're already struggling in his class."

"Everyone is," Newt chuckled softly. He gently shifted so that his head rested against Thomas's chest, his ear pressed against the boy's breast. The soft rhythmic thump of Thomas's heart brought Newt comfort against the pounding in his head.

"I'll get my notes from you. You write better than Minho anyway." He murmured sleepily.

Thomas smiled lazily. He ran his fingers through those golden messy locks, enjoying the way the blond's body melted under his touch. Newt's eyes fluttered shut, his breathing evening out.

"Don't fall asleep," Thomas whispered, a little regretful. "Or you'll trap me under your weight."

"Shouldn' be so comfortable then, Tommy." Newt slurred sleepily. "Better than my bed…"

Thomas chuckled. He continued tracing soft patterns through Newt's hair until the boy fell into a peaceful sleep. With painstaking gentleness, he carefully escaped Newt's clutches and quietly set about to get ready.

He waited for Minho outside of Professor Janson's class. He spent most of the lunch hour collecting assignments from Newt's classes for the boy to do. Minho had been unsurprisingly difficult to catch today, but Thomas wasn't worried. Newt was still sleeping when he left and judging by Minho's normal amount of explicative in his most recent text, the track stare was still oblivious about their blond haired boyfriend's condition. It wouldn't belong now until he discovered the truth, but, luckily, as far as Thomas knew, Newt didn't seem to have a fever. He was already doing three times better than when Thomas had gotten sick. If anything, the boy seemed to have a simple head cold—nothing lots of rest, water and soup couldn't fix!

He felt the collision before he registered the pain. Thomas crashed into the wall in an ungrateful display of flailing limbs, the back of his head thudding hard against the cement wall. Lights dotted his eyes before reality whooshed back into place. He was on the ground, his notes scattered everywhere. The back of his head throbbed angrily, a part of him bewildered by what happened, but his eyes zeroed in on a burly build marching past him into Rat Man's classroom.

Gally kept his nose in the air, his eyes focused solely on his destination, but Thomas could see the smug expression on his rival's face. Gally must have shoved him into the wall.

What an asshole! He seethed.

Thomas scrambled to gather his notes. He had just gotten to his feet when Minho finally joined him in the hall, breathless and holding a half-eaten rice krispy treat.

"Dear god can Coach Jorge talk!' The Asian gasped. "Sorry I missed lunch, coach wouldn't let me go." Minho righted himself once he caught his breath and shoved the last bit of the sugary treat into his mouth. He gave Thomas a quick once over as he chewed, a frown marring his features. "You okay? You look like you're about to jump some pathetic shank and where's Newt? Class is about to start."

Thomas steeled himself. He cleared his throat. "Newt's sick so he's not coming in today."

"Newt's sick?" The boy echoed, disbelieving. Thomas nodded. The concern immediately washed onto Minho's face. "What the klunk are we doing here then!? We should be with him! Nurse him back to health! Newt is sick and we're in class?! Learning?! What kind of boyfriends are we?!"

Minho made to turn back straight for the dorm but Thomas clutched his bicep, stilling the athlete. He wasn't strong by any means—in fact he was weaker than the both of them—but Minho was receptive to the boy's touch. He gave the brunet a petulant look, already knowing what he was going to say.

"This is exactly the reason why Newt didn't tell you he was sick. He needs us to take good notes today, Minho. It's just a head cold, he'll be okay. All he needs is rest and you won't be giving it to him if you try to pamper him!"

"You weren't complaining when I pampered you."

"Yes I was!"

Minho opened his mouth in retort, but found he had nothing to say. He snapped it shut, a childish pout forming on his lips. He released a sigh through his nose and gave Thomas a curt nod in defeat. Thomas flashed him a grateful smile. They stepped into Janson's class without another word, both wishing they could be with their blond boyfriend back at the dorm.

Thomas's day was shorter than Minho's. No matter how much he protested, Thomas sent the athlete to his next class with the promise of updating him on Newt's condition. It didn't satisfy him, but it was enough to keep Minho from ditching the rest of his classes. Thomas doubted Minho would go to his afternoon practice though.

Newt was still in bed when Thomas returned that afternoon. He was propped against a throne of pillows he had stolen from their beds, a cup of banana flavored yogurt nursed in his hands. He was invested in a movie on Netflix, a box of tissues was placed on the desk beside him and their small garbage can nearly overflowing with said tissues stood just underneath the desk.

"Hey," Thomas greeted with a smile. He dumped Newt's workload on the desk, wincing slightly as it rattled under its weight. (It wasn't so much because it was heavy, but rather Thomas had dropped it from an unnecessary height.) His smile turned sheepish at Newt's stare. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize to me. You'll be the one paying for that if it breaks." He chided. He lowered the volume on the TV then turned to Thomas inquisitively. "How did Minho take it?"

"Oh he's upset." Newt groaned. "I'm positive he's going to skip afternoon practice just to see you."

"That bloody idiot."

Thomas joined Newt on the bed, letting the blond lean his head against his shoulder.

"How are you feeling?"

"Loads better." He murmured. "With some medicine and more rest, I'll be good as new by tomorrow."

"For someone who gets sick a lot, you don't stay sick for long." The brunet chuckled.

"It takes a strong virus to keep me down, Tommy."

Thomas hummed, his mind wandering back to last semester when Newt was sick for weeks with that horrible virus. It still kept him up most nights. The possibility of what could have been haunting him. Newt's movements snapped him out of his reverie. A pair of soft limps pressed against his temple before Newt climbed out of bed to examine his workload. His brows rose into his hairline. He lucked out this time, his assignments weren't at all complicated.

"You're done for the day right?"

Thomas nodded, watching Newt's movements for any sign of fatigue or discomfort. He didn't seem to be bothered. In fact, he looked a lot better now than when he did this morning. Thomas couldn't help but feel relieved and a little envious. Newt was incredibly lucky he could bounce back from colds so quickly.

"Good that. Help me with this then." Newt said. He dropped half of his assignments into Thomas's lap. "Minho's going to try to spoil me when he gets here, so it's best we get this out of the way before then."

Thomas groaned, earning him a playful eye roll from the blond.

"Yeah, yeah. Consider this a favor you can cash in on when I'm feeling better." He planted another tender kiss on Thomas's cheeks. "Now, let's get to work!"

They had just finished when Minho came barreling into the dorm. He scooped up Newt in his arms and hugged the blond so tight Thomas winced just watching them. Newt struggled against him for air and barely managed to suck in a breath when Minho planted his lips against his.

"Minho!" He shrieked, shoving the athlete away. "I'm bloody sick you slinthead! I could be contagious! Blimey, what if you get sick because of that?!"

"Dammit Newt, why didn't you tell me this morning? I could have gotten you medicine or soup or something!"

"I'm fine Minho." Newt sighed. "All I needed was an off day from all the stress. That's it."

"Good that." The athlete huffed. "And you're gonna keep relaxing because I'm here now. Thomas and I are going to take good care of you." He wheeled Newt around toward the bed and urged the blond to hop inside.

With an exasperate sigh, Newt crawled into the mattress and allowed Minho to draw the covers to his chin.

"Now, we're going to get you medicine and soup and you're going to lay here, resting, until we come back."

Minho ignored the pout of protest on Newt's face. He grabbed Thomas's hand with surprising tenderness and led him toward the door.

"We'll be back Newt!" He called over his shoulder. "And don't you dare move from that bed!"

Thomas caught sight of Newt sticking his tongue out at Minho's back before he disappeared beyond the door. Minho huffed in disapproval, aware of Newt's childishness. He gave Thomas a silent, challenging glare, daring the boy to laugh. Thomas smiled innocently.

"You shanks and your illnesses." He grumbled. "Always giving me tachycardia." He stormed down the hall, dragging Thomas in tow.

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