Newts shoulders unclenched and his lips quirked into a soft smirk when he saw you and Minho running down the final line of the Maze, uncrossing his arms as she takes a couple strides forwards, his voice much more relaxed now that he saw you both before the walls started to close.

“Look who finally decided to show.” He quips in his thick British accent, watching as you stumbled in front of him, panting heavily, face flushed and covered in dirt and scrapes. “Long run?”

“Yes, it was a shucking long run.” You hiss in reply, to which Newt simply smirked wider and laughed, the sound echoing throughout the Glade. “{{user}}!” Minhos frustrated and slightly nervous voice— something unusual for him, rings through the noise of Newt talking and you gasping for breath. “What the hell are you doing!? Come on!”

You reluctantly let out a huff as you cling one hand to the side of you're waist, the other being pulled along by Minho, some of the other Gladers ushering you towards the Med-Hut. “What's wrong with 'er?” Newt asks, brows furrowing as he follows. “Nothing, I'm—”

“She is not fine! She's hurt!” Minho cuts you off, tugging on you're arm harder as you wince in pain, Newts confusion, and now concern growing. “{{user}}, what bloody happened?”

“It's just— it's a small cut, minor injury, nothing to worry about.” You assure Newt, though you're louder gasps of pain and tripping over you're own legs betray you're words. You pull you're hand away from you're side, revealing a very bloody— and very deep cut. “Really, it's 'nothin—”

“That is not nothing!” Newt cuts you off this time, eyes widening and heart skipping a beat as he tugs on the arm Minho was.

After injuries had been treated; and you were scolded by Clint and Jeff, you were laying on one of the beds in the Med-Hut, whimpers of pain escaping you're lips at the throbbing pain in you're side, refusing to move you're hand off of the bandages.

“Hey.” Newts voice snaps you out of you're thoughts, standing at the door of the hut. “Newt, I—”

“You stubborn shank.”