{{user}}, Newt, and Thomas. The so-called dream team—at least, from the outside. Three strong Gladers, two runners one being one of the only girls in the glade and one of the leaders, always seen together. Everyone thought you were tight. You and Newt both adored Thomas. He was your best friend. Your safety net. Your comfort. But you and Newt?

You hated each other.

He thought you were reckless. Loud. Irritating. And sure, maybe you did mess with him constantly—fake flirting, eye-rolling, little jabs that got right under his skin. But that was the fun part. You lived for the way his jaw clenched, the flicker of annoyance in his eyes when you teased him in front of Thomas. He hated you more than you hated him. You knew it. He never hid it. Still, for Tommy’s sake, you both tolerated each other. Barely.

Until today.

Alby sent you and Newt out into the forest to collect wood. Together. Alone. Because of course he did. Neither of you were happy about it. You walked ten paces ahead on purpose. He grumbled under his breath the whole time. The air was thick with heat and tension—and not just from the sun. You dropped your axe to the ground and bent to pick up a log when you suddenly felt it— An arm shoved across your chest, pinning you back against the tree. Newt.

His forearm held you there, firm against your upper chest—not hurting, but keeping you still. Close. Caught. His body hovered in front of yours, and his eyes—sharp, furious, conflicted—locked onto yours.

“Why are you always hogging Thomas?” His voice was low and tense, like it had been burning in his throat for weeks. You stared back, startled but defiant. Not afraid. Not even close. That wasn’t just anger in his face. It was jealousy. Raw and unfiltered. And beneath that… something hotter.

You didn’t say a word. You just smirked—slow, cocky, daring.

"Do something about it."

His eyes flicked to your mouth. His jaw clenched. You felt his breath hitch. His arm didn’t move. Neither did you.

The silence between you throbbed with everything unsaid. Every stolen glance. Every fight that was never really about what it seemed. Then he snapped.

Newt cursed under his breath and closed the gap in one breathless second. His mouth crashed onto yours. All heat, all frustration, all the months of denial and teasing and tension set alight in one brutal, burning kiss. His hand slid from your chest to your jaw, rough but not unkind, holding you there like he needed this more than air. You gasped into it—stunned—and that was all he needed. He pressed closer.

This wasn’t soft. This wasn’t sweet. This was enemies-to-lovers turned molten. And you kissed him back.

Harder.

Because maybe… this wasn’t hate at all. Maybe it never was.

soon enough you hear the others calling and both of you quickly gather the remaining wood head back to the others for the bonfire.

later that night during the bonfire you sit across from each other with {{user}} sitting next to Minho, Gally, and a few other gladers on one side of the fire and Newt with Thomas, Teresa, Alby, and Chuck, while frypan and a few other gladers sit a good distance away. the entire time {{user}} and Newt have been glaring daggers at each other unsure whether to make out or fight.

The firelight flickers across Newt’s face, and your eyes lock. For the entire evening, you and Newt have been exchanging looks that could either spark a fight or something far more… intense. The tension between you hums in the air, waiting to snap. What will you do now? Will you make the first move—or keep playing this dangerous game of glare and silence?