A/N: Happy Valentine's Day to my lovely readers, I hope you've all had a wonderful day today! Here's my present for you, I hope you like it! As always, your reviews make me the happiest and they help me more than you know; all your words are very much appreciated. x

You got me shackled in my embrace
I'm latching on to you

"...It's been almost 24 hours, Jeff! How come he's not so much as stirred this whole time? And don't tell me you've got no idea what's wrong with him-"

"For shuck's sake, Alby, I do not have any idea what could be wrong with him – it's not like I'm a shucking doctor by profession -"

"Well, what use are you then, huh? Tell me, what exactly have you an idea about?"

Newt's fingers twitched. As the two other boys somewhere close to him started to raise their voices, Newt drew in a long, shuddering breath which soon turned into a groan as the movement of his chest stirred a stinging pain on the whole left side of his body.

The quarrel of the other boys ceased, and for a second there was a complete silence until someone croaked, "Newt?"

Newt gruffled in response and coughed a bit, cracking his sleep-swollen eyes open just a bit as he tried to raise his upper body off from the bed.

"What the bloody hell-?" he started with a slightly scratchy voice, but suddenly his words were muffled against someone's shoulder as a broad-shouldered boy lounged towards him to catch him in a tight bear hug.

Pain shot through Newt's shoulder at the force of the other body pushing against him, but he swallowed his grunt, and the boy pulled back quickly, taking the pressing ache away with him.

"Newt, you're alive! Where the hell have you been, you utter piece of klunk! We all worried ourselves sick about you!" he rumbled, eyeing Newt's face scrutinizingly.

"Alby," Newt gazed at his friend and the familiar look of worry etched on his face. Confusion clouded Newt's mind at Alby's words, his eyebrows knitting together as he asked with a weary tone, "What are you-?"

But suddenly, things started rushing back to him like a crushing blow to his stomach, one after another, leaving him gasping for breath.

"Tommy," he whispered, his eyes widening and looking madly around the room. Somewhere in the back of his mind Newt realised that he was actually in his own room in the Homestead, but he pushed back the puzzling thoughts rising inside him as he pushed Alby away with shaking hands and started to get up from the bed.

"Tommy!" he repeated, this time louder and with a slightly broken voice. "Where is he? Where is he?"

Alby and Jeff stared at him, stunned at his sudden change of demeanor. Newt stumbled his way out of the bed but his weak legs gave out, and he crashed to the ground before anyone could do anything about it.

Newt cursed in pain and started to get up on his own even though stars danced behind his eyelids, but then Alby and Jeff were kneeling around him, their arms outstretched, and talked over each other.

"Newt!"

"Newt, are you alright?"

Newt panted and leaned forward heavily, grasping Alby's collar, his eyes filled with tears and his voice raspy as he screeched, "Where is Tommy? Is he-?"

Alby took firm hold of Newt's trembling shoulders, looking him straight to the eyes as he said with as calm a voice as he could muster, "Newt, Thomas is alright. We found you yesterday – well, Wes found you first, actually – and-" Sensing Newt's distress and realising that the boy wouldn't be able to calm down before he had further proof, Alby quit his story short with a sigh and said simply, "Thomas is in the next room."

Having finally acquired the information he so desperately needed, Newt bolted straight up from the floor – or at least he tried. His body was in a weak shape, and Newt ended up scrambling up to his feet and falling down immediately with a yelp, but Alby and Jeff were ready this time, and together they held the boy up, their arms strong around Newt's shoulders.

Newt breathed heavily in and out and glanced at his friends briefly, gratitude in his eyes, before he urged them forward to show him the way with a nod of his head. His left shoulder protested painfully as Newt secured his arm around Jeff's shoulders, but he really needed the support to stay upright, so he pushed the ache to the back of his mind and kept going.

Arriving at the corridor, Newt noticed that the door ahead was slightly ajar. From the crack he could see a bed in the corner of the room as well as the back of a boy sitting on a chair next to the bed, blocking the view.

Newt picked up his pace, forcing Alby and Jeff to follow his haste as he kicked in the door to the room, startling Clint who was leaning on his knees beside the bed and sending the poor boy almost falling out of his chair, as well as Chuck who yelped in surprise but then shouted happily, "Newt, you're awake!"

Newt, however, registered none of these things happening around him as Clint finally stepped away and allowed him a clear view to the bed, causing Newt to momentarily freeze.

The sight before him made the tears pooling in his eyes finally slip down his cheeks. Thomas lay there on the bed, sleeping soundlessly, his chest falling and rising steadily, an array of neatly cleaned cuts and bruises coloring the pale skin of his face. He looked so peaceful and beautiful, resting on the sunlight splaying its warm rays through the opposite wall window, his skin and body wearing marks of violence that made Newt's stomach clench.

"Tommy," Newt breathed, and then he stumbled forward unsteadily, giving Alby and Jeff hard time keeping up with his trembling, surging feet.

His friends released him carefully once they were next to the bed, and Newt sank to sit on the edge of the thin but soft mattress. His eyes roamed over Thomas's face, and his hand cupped his bruised cheek gently while his other hand took hold of Thomas's cool palm, entwining their fingers. Thomas's long and fine-boned fingers rested lifelessly over Newt's knuckles.

"Tommy, it's Newt..I'm right here," Newt whispered, his thumb sweeping gently over Thomas's cheekbone as his fingers pushed into his soft brown locks in a caressing motion.

Thomas stayed completely unresponsive under his touches, his cool breath raising goosebumps on Newt's skin as his trembling fingers outlined Thomas's chapped lips.

All Newt's attention was solely focused on Thomas; the relief caused by the realisation that the dark-haired boy was alive ran through his system in warm surges, but at the same time the confusion as to why Thomas wasn't waking up sent cold drops of dread traveling down his spine, and a hollow ache gnawed at the pit of his stomach.

"Tommy, please wake up," Newt urged, squeezing Thomas's hand desperately.

Someone cleared their throat somewhere behind them.

"Newt? Are you sure you should be up yet? Thomas is-" Alby started hesitantly, but Newt cut him off, raising his voice without removing his gaze from Thomas.

"I'm bloody fine," he snapped, but had to swallow a bit of nausea that threatened to rise up his throat. He drew in a sharp breath and demanded with a stern voice, "Why isn't he waking up?"

Someone, probably Jeff, stepped closer and then answered, "I couldn't tell you what you two have gone through, so I don't exactly know what's wrong with either of you. But seeing that you just woke up on your own and seem to be mostly fine, I'd bet that our Greenie will wake up soon enough, as well. We just have to be patient."

Newt nodded jerkily, but he knew that his heart wouldn't calm down until Thomas actually woke up and Newt could see that he was alright for real.

A silence descended inside the room, broken only by Newt's quiet murmurs to Thomas.

Then Chuck slowly walked back to the other side of Thomas's bed, worrying his lower lip with his teeth as he glanced nervously between Newt and Thomas.

"Newt..What happened to you two?" Chuck asked, his voice unsure.

Newt's jaw clenched as he shook his head, "I don't want to talk about it." His mind was buzzing from worry towards Thomas, and he couldn't possibly think about anything else, not now. The most important thing was that they were back in the Glade now; they were both safe and they were alive, and that was all that mattered to Newt.

At least it looks like we're both safe and alive. But why isn't he waking up?

Chuck looked like he wanted to protest, but before he could say anything, Alby growled behind them.

"Newt, come on. You heard Jeff, and I completely agree with him in this matter. All we can do now is just wait for Thomas to wake up, and nothing else. In the mean time, why wouldn't you tell us what's happened?"

Newt closed his eyes and drew in a trembling breath. Through gritted teeth, he firmly stated, "I said, I don't want to talk about it!"

But Alby was having none of it. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Get your head out of your ass and think, Newt! Or is it really so hard to see things from any other point of view than your own love-struck, heart-eyed vision?" he shouted, his shoulders heaving from his furious breaths.

At that, Newt whirled around, and his eyes and voice were full of rage and ice as he snarled, "Shut up! You've no idea what you're-" Suddenly Newt's voice broke into a sob, and he quickly turned his head to the side, trying to get his wildly beating heart and irregular breathing back under control.

You're not going to lose it, you're not going to lose it...

Jeff placed a hand on his shoulder, peering down at his face worriedly, but Newt quickly shook his hand away, rising his chin up. "Just leave me the bloody alone. Please."

Jeff looked hesitant, but after Newt sent a murderous glance at his direction, he started to back away, gesturing for the others to do the same. "Let's give them a little time," Newt heard Clint agree as the Med-jacks retreated through the door. Chuck sniffled, but walked away as well. Newt glanced over his shoulder and found Alby still standing in the middle of the room, his fists tightly clenched. Newt was slightly stunned to find tears from his friend's eyes as well, and for a moment it looked like Alby wanted to say something, but then he simply pressed his lips together into a grim line and stormed out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

Newt tried to swallow the lump that had been forming on his throat, but it just made his eyes burn more. A flash of guilt twinged somewhere around his chest, but Newt pushed it away and refocused his attention and thoughts back to Thomas who dreamed peacefully beside him.

His head felt like a ticking time bomb. There were paths his thoughts tried to take to understand what had happened, why he was where he was, and how in hell he had got there, but it was all so confusing, his memories and thoughts seemed to somehow mix up and his head started throbbing dreadfully whenever he tried to push in too deep and recall what had really happened.

Somehow, his memories didn't feel quite right; they were blurred and blotchy and outlined with pain, and some of them were fading and disappearing out of his reach before he could even comprehend what was going on.

It wasn't that he didn't want to tell the others what had happened.

It was because he had no shucking idea about it himself.

*.*.*

Focusing on Thomas and waiting for him to wake up was torturous, but it helped to get Newt's mind off things.

Up to a certain point, anyway.

It was only so long he could keep straining his eyes to catch even the tiniest of movements Thomas would make or sweep his fingers gently over Thomas's cuts and bruises, unable to cure them, until he realised there really was nothing he could do to make things better.

That didn't stop him from trying, though.

After an hour or so, Newt could barely keep himself upright, a cold sweat was beading on his forehead, and his stomach churned and growled for food.

He could hear some Gladers talking behind the door, but he couldn't make out the words. After a while, the voices quieted and there were loud steps walking up and down the staircase of the Homestead.

Newt's brow furrowed deeply as he wondered what was going on outside the room.

Then his ears picked up a strange clicking noise accompanied by heavy steps. This combination of voices repeated itself over and over again, and if Newt's hearing wasn't failing him, it sounded as if it was coming upstairs.

There was a knock on the door, and Newt whirled around to face it, his neck cracking painfully.

Just as Newt opened his mouth to say something, the door was opened, and Chuck stepped inside, holding a plate of sandwiches and a bottle of juice in his arms. It was the person behind him, however, that made Newt gasp in shock and forced him to leap up to stand on his trembling legs as an exclaim full of wonder slipped past his lips, "Minho!"

His friend grinned and moved closer, leaning heavily into a walking stick which made a distinct noise when it hit the ground that explained the clicking Newt had heard.

"Hey there, little lion," Minho greeted, and as he stepped into the fading afternoon light of the room, Newt's eyes widened in shock as he took in the boy's condition.

Minho was smiling cheerfully with clipped and swollen lips, a drop of dried blood covering the wide cut on his lower lip, his left eye was almost swollen shut, and his cheeks and arms were covered with nasty-looking gashes and cuts and bruises. Newt dreaded what awful injuries were hidden beneath his layers of clothing. The mere thought of the torture his friend had gone through made his blood run cold in his veins.

"Minho, you're-"

"Yeah, yeah, I look pretty messed up but-" Minho stopped in his tracks as Newt suddenly closed the distance between them and hugged him, trying to be gentle about it. Newt could hear Minho's characteristic, smug grin back on his voice as the boy continued after Newt pulled back, "But you know me. Those shuckfaces ain't getting me down me that easily."

Newt shook his head at Minho's attitude as the boy winked and nudged him softly to his shoulder.

"You should sit down, that ankle of yours doesn't look too good for walking and standing around," Newt noted as he glanced down at Minho's heavily bandaged foot. Minho grunted and glanced at his foot, too. Newt returned to his spot by the bed, absentmindedly entwining his fingers with Thomas's again as he gave the boy a quick look-over before returning his attention back to Minho who was currently settling on the chair beside the bed.

"What the hell were you thinking, stromping up all those steps like that?" Newt asked, giving Minho an apprehending look as the boy hissed in pain while trying to adjust his position to the most comfortable one for himself.

Minho raised his eyebrow and looked at Newt with a slightly judging glint in his eye. "Well, I figured it was time to make a move myself since some stubborn slinthead couldn't drag his puny, apparently healthy ass downstairs and pay his poor, beaten-up friend a visit. Instead that same poor, beaten-up friend was forced to swallow his pride and rise all those dreadful steps up here to welcome that said slinthead back to the land of the living. So, did you hit your head and forget about me, or are you just being a shuckface?" Minho wondered, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

Newt's face flushed in embarrassment and he lowered his gaze to his lap. As impossible and unforgivable it sounded, he really had forgotten what had happened to Minho. He had simply assumed the Keeper of the Runners was just doing his usual duty in the Maze and thus Newt hadn't seem him yet.

"I-I'm so sorry, Minho. I swear if I'd been in my right mind I would've -" Newt tried to explain, then sighed. Minho's eyes narrowed in worry. Newt raised his gaze to meet his friend's, giving up. "Truth is, Min,.. I'm a mess," he confessed, turning his head to look at Thomas, his eyes gentle even if they were lined with worry. "And I just can't leave his side. Not until he wakes up, and I see that he's alright."

And most possibly not even then, he added inside his mind since Minho didn't need to know everything.

Minho gazed upon his friend pensively, and was just about to say something when he suddenly spotted Chuck at the other side of the bed, fidgeting from foot to foot awkwardly.

Addressing the younger boy, Minho said, "Chuck, why don't you place the food on that table and come back later? We'll keep you updated about Thomas, I promise."

Newt turned to look at Chuck who clearly didn't appreciate Minho's request; the boy's grip tightened around the juice bottle considerably and his cheeks flushed from irritation.

"But I wanna know what-" Chuck protested, but his voice faltered under Minho's stern gaze.

"Later," Minho assured pointedly, and eventually Chuck sighed in defeat, his shoulders slumping.

Newt looked at the visibly disappointed boy in a pitying fashion as Chuck tossed the plate and the bottle to the bedside table before whirling around on his heels and stomping out of the room, closing the door behind him. He was glad to be left alone with Minho, though, since he could sense that the moment of truth had finally arrived, whether he was ready for it or not, and he would much rather face it without constant interruptions from confused and scared Chuck.

"Now," Minho began, his tone anticipatory, "I gather we have some catching up to do. Am I right or am I right?" A smirk spread on his lips, lighting up his face despite his injuries.

Newt took a deep breath, and looked at Minho with a pained expression.

"It's just.. I don't know, Minho. I can't wrap my bloody mind around it. If I even so much as try to piece it all together, there's this piercing ache inside my skull and it drives me bloody nuts, so I keep pushing it out of my mind again, and next time I try to recall it.. Things seem to have changed. It's all so bloody messed up," Newt groaned, tugging his hair with his hand in a frustrated fashion.

Minho reached out to the table, wincing slightly as the movement strained his muscles, and grabbed a sandwich, tossing it to Newt.

"There, eat something first," he urged. "You look like you're going to roll off that bed and die anytime now."

Newt took the sandwich in his hand, glancing at Minho gratefully, and wasted no time as he bit into it, savouring the flavour-rich taste of it like never before.

Before he even realised it, he had wolfed down the whole sandwich and almost bit his own finger in his haste to get a new mouthful of food.

Minho snickered and wordlessly handed out another sandwich alongside with the juice which Newt accepted eagerly.

After taking a swig of the orange juice and a fresh bite of sandwich, his stomach grumbled warningly, and Newt realised it might be a good idea to slow his eating down a bit.

Swallowing carefully, Newt raised his gaze to meet Minho's again. The boy seemed to take this as some kind of a confirmation, and leaned slightly closer before uttering, "So, why don't you start with explaining to me exactly what kind of a demon possessed you and made you walze into the Maze like an utter lunatic, only a few hours before the Doors would close?"

Newt groaned in frustration. "Oh, not you, too! I've had well enough of justifying myself to Alby already-"

"Yes, I imagine you have, but I'm not Alby," Minho pointed out, raising his eyebrow. "So you better start yapping."

Newt growled under his breath, but he knew Minho wouldn't budge. He sighed, and turned his head to look at Thomas's unmoving face. "Isn't it obvious? I couldn't just leave him there. He never would've made it out of there himself, and I couldn't-" The lump in Newt's throat rose up worryingly high, forcing him to pause for a moment. "I can't lose him."

"But he didn't make it out," Minho said, and Newt quickly snapped his head back to stare at him. "Not that day, anyway. Neither of you did. The Doors closed, and you were nowhere to be seen. I was unconscious that whole day, thanks to Med-jacks' drugs, but Alby told me all this later when I woke up. He told me you had asked to keep your rogue rescue mission as a secret in order to make sure no one else would get hurt. People noticed you entered the Maze, but Alby reassured the few curious ones that you would be back soon, that there was nothing to worry. As the time passed, Alby wasn't able to keep his cool all that well anymore, but still he made sure no one else left the Glade that day. The Runners returned in their usual time, and none of them had seen any sight of you or Thomas the whole day. Eventually Alby had to explain it all to the Gladers, and then everyone was losing their shit here, and I doubt that anyone got much sleep that night, except for me, of course," Minho chuckled to himself at this, but seeing as Newt was not a single bit amused, he cleared his throat and continued. "When the morning arrived, an extra set of Runners was sent out to explore the Maze and search for you two, but when the sun started to set, they all returned empty-handed, and that's when everyone lost their last bits of hope. You were as good as dead to all of us. I don't think it needs to be said, but things haven't been too great here lately. Until suddenly, four days after your disappearance, and evident death, if I may add, one of my Runners, Wes, stumbles upon you during his round, and speeds back to the Glade to get backup and drag your unconscious asses here. And then, the next day, you stumble out of your bed and start trashing around like a lunatic. So, I trust you finally see as to why everyone here is just a teeny tiny bit of curious as to how, exactly, are you two still alive after you literally disappeared inside the Maze for four days? Not that I'm complaining, shank, not at all. It's good to have you back," Minho concluded with a smirk, gazing at Newt with an expectant look in his eyes.

Newt had listened to Minho's story in various states of shock and astonishment. He was still staring at his friend, his eyes wide and mouth hanging slightly open, when Minho suddenly snapped his fingers in front of him, making Newt startle and almost loose his balance.

"Shuck, Minho! Quit with those attempts to try and give me a bloody heart-attack, alright?" Newt snapped, curling his fist around the bed sheet and shaking his head a little, willing his confused mind to connect the dots in his mind.

"Sorry, but I just – Newt, what happened to you? How could you just appear back inside the Maze out of nowhere? Because I swear, the Runners ran through every inch of the Maze over the last few days- oh but wait-" Minho paused as a realisation hit him, his eyes widening as he hurried to pose more and more questions with an excited tone, "did the pattern change somehow? Did the walls move differently? Did you get stuck for a few days until the walls moved again to allow you to break free? Did-"

"Stop it, Minho, please just- stop," Newt pleaded, squeezing his throbbing temple with his fingers.

"Newt, are you alright? What's wrong?" Minho asked, taken aback, reaching out to Newt in worry.

"Yes, it's just – as I said, this all messes up with my head, and if I think too much- shuck, it hurts-" Newt moaned, his head bowed down and his forearm pressed against the mattress next to Thomas's side.

"Alright, just take it easy, okay? I'm sorry, you don't have to do this if you're not ready-" Minho assured him, placing his hand over Newt's knee reassuringly.

But Newt shook his head, drawing in deep breaths to calm himself and his nerves, "No, no, Minho, it's alright. I want to figure this out myself, believe me."

Rising back up slowly, Newt swept a hand over his sweaty forehead. Squeezing his eyes shut, he started talking, forcing the words out of him, "I remember..running into the Maze. I remember finding Thomas where I knew him to be, at the very edge of the Cliff, barely breathing and beaten up to a pulp. He looked awful, Minho, his body was so broken.. I was so scared that we wouldn't be able to make it out in time, not in the condition he was in, but I had to try, we had to try... And we made it, we made it halfway there, and it was all going fine, but then.. and it was all my fault-" Newt had to clench his teeth firmly together to prevent the tears from falling. He had had enough of tears for a lifetime. The guilt was there, as present as ever, but it was no use crying about it. It didn't change his failure, not one bit.

Swallowing hard, Newt continued with a shaky voice, "I remember the moment I realised I had lead us off the path taking us back to the Glade. I remember the exact moment because right then, the Grievers woke up and screamed, and I knew we were screwed. Because of me, we would never be able to get out. I just knew it. Tommy, he-" Newt had hard time swallowing another rush of emotions trying to drown him. "-he made us try nevertheless, and we did try, but we stood no chance against the Griever. It started hunting us down, and eventually.. eventually it got us. I remember.. I remember the pain, and I remember finally passing out because of it. And then.." Newt's voice quieted down towards the end of his speech until his voice drifted off completely, and his eyes were staring into nothingness.

Minho seemed to be holding his breath, and as it became clear Newt wasn't about to continue his sentence anytime soon, Minho urged him on with a soft encouragement, "And then?"

Newt blinked, once, twice, and sighed deeply. "And then it all goes black. I.. I don't know, or I just can't remember. I've tried probing that particular blank space in my memory, but my headache gets so bad it feels like I'm going mad, so I stopped trying to remember it, and now.. it's just gone. There's just empty blackness, right after that last moment in the Maze when I passed out, up until the moment few hours ago when I woke up here."

There was a long silence, until Minho broke it by whistling low between his teeth. "You're right, this is all so messed up that I'm starting to get a headache myself. Shucking hell," Minho mused, rubbing his non-swollen eye gently. "What I don't get, at all," he continued, staring Newt intently into his eyes, "is how you survived a Griever attack, just like that? Jeff told me you have Griever stings all over your body, but that they are all healing beautifully. No offense, but I'm yet to hear a miracle of a boy who survived the Changing on his own and lived to tell about it," Minho argued, letting his words sink in before raising his eyebrows at Newt expectantly.

Newt's brow furrowed in concentration. "So, you're saying.. Someone helped us?" Newt asked, and suddenly a new, horrible, incomprehensible thought occurred to him, making him gasp.

Minho was nodding along. "And I have a pretty good guess as to who exactly it was," he muttered darkly.

"The Creators," Newt uttered with a shaky voice, his heart beating rapidly in his chest.

"Exactly," Minho confirmed.

This is leading to nowhere. I just have more questions now than when we began.

"But why in bloody hell would the Creators intervene? They must have saved our lives that night – but why?" Newt asked, thinking out loud now, the frown on his forehead deepening.

"Who knows? We know nothing about them nor their motives," Minho muttered, and he seemed to be deep in thought. "I wouldn't be so quick to thank them, though. I doubt they merely saved your lives."

Newt looked at his friend, puzzled, so Minho went on to explain further.

"I'm just saying, those bastards are no saints, that's for sure. I bet they did something to you, altered your memories at the very least. Or do you remember something about the Changing? Do you remember anything about your past?"

This thought, this realisation, this truth struck Newt hard to the chest, making him grab his stomach in pain.

They took my memories.

They gave them back to me, just to take them away again.

What kind of people do something like this?

At that moment, Newt couldn't even be grateful for his own life since the feeling of loss, the crushing feeling of losing a collection of his own personal thoughts and memories felt more overpowering than the gift of life he had received.

"No. I don't remember anything apart from my life here in the Glade," Newt replied, deep bitterness lacing his tone.

Minho was quiet for a while, and then he nodded and sighed in disappointment. "That's a pity. I was hoping for an insight so we could finally come up with a nasty payback for the ultimate shuckfaces."

Newt let out a laugh despite himself, and Minho smirked in triumph.

Soon, they both sobered up again, and Minho tapped his fingers rhythmically against his knee.

"Right. I think this is quite enough chit-chat for now. You should get some rest. You truly look like klunk," Minho noted, looking at Newt pointedly.

Newt didn't just look like it; he felt like shit inside and out.

Not having the energy to argue, Newt simply rolled his eyes and turned sideways to face Thomas again, his face softening despite himself.

Minho eyed the pair of them, the smallest of smiles tugging at his lips, until he grabbed his walking stick in his hand firmly, ready to get up.

"Come on, Newt, let's get you to your room-"

Newt's muscles tensed immediately and he threw a dirty look at Minho, "Didn't you hear a bloody word I just said? I'm not leaving him," Newt snarled decidedly.

"But you won't get any rest by killing your back and hunching over him like that-" Minho disagreed but his voice faltered as he witnessed Newt making good of his words in front of his eyes.

Newt swung his legs up and gently crawled over Thomas, wincing slightly as his aching muscles were forced to hold his weight momentarily as he curled on his side right next to Thomas, being careful not to crush any part of Thomas's body with his own weight.

Once settled, Newt fisted his hand around the fabric of Thomas's shirt possessively, and glanced back at Minho contentedly.

Minho shook his head in amusement and snorted good-naturedly at the sight of his two friends miraculously stuffed in one too-narrow bed. Just as a witty remark was about to roll off his tongue, Newt narrowed his eyes in such threatening manner that Minho decided to keep his mouth shut, for now.

Smirking, he did a mock-salute and rose up from his chair, groaning in pain. Newt's brow furrowed in worry and he lifted his head from Thomas's chest but Minho quickly gestured with his free arm for him to stay down.

"Don't you worry, I can handle it," Minho assured with a tight smile. "I'll ask Jeff to check on you at some point, yeah?"

Newt nodded gratefully, and watched as Minho turned around and limped heavily to the door, clicking it shut behind him.

After Minho was gone, and he was left alone with Thomas again, Newt slowly lowered his head back to Thomas's chest, listening the steady beats of his heart under his ear. Slowly, he reached out and took Thomas's hand resting on his side and drew it gently forward, placing their entwined fingers next to his lips.

Drawing in the familiar, calming scent of the dark-haired boy, Newt closed his eyes and let his buzzing mind drift off to sleep.