You were the only girl in the Glade. 30 boys and only one girl. 30 Gladers and only one you. Since you were the only girl and, —by simple nature— girls were much more gentle and understanding than boys, you had been the first to-go option when it came to injured or sick Gladers. Yes, you always took care of them with great gentleness and sweetness. You were the one that helped them up when they were down, the one that aliviated the emotional baggage some carried, the one whom they'd talk to for hours as you helped them through their problems. You simply were the pillar of force of the small society that had been formed in the Glade.

But, had anyone thought what would happen the moment you were the one laying in bed, with a raging fever that barely managed to let you stay conscious, all your body aching, and as sensitive as a little kid? No one had. Well, not until now at least.

Thomas had come to search for you in your hut when you didn't show up for your morning run through the Maze —believing you had accidentally overslept— only to find you curled up in bed, covers firmly tucked around you, ski pale and covered in a thin layer of sweat, barely half-awake from how bad the fever was. Your skin was burning. And, of course, Thomas had panicked, and had ran to get Newt —the second-in-command of the Glade and one of the closest boys to you— and rambled about how you were not looking good at all. Which clearly made Newt panick aswell, and now he was standing at the door of your hut with his face tinged in worry.

"hey, love?" he called for you softly —in a panicked and worried voice—, his british accent making the nickname sound even sweeter "love, are you okay?" he asked you as he quickly —albeit gently— closed the door of your hut behind him and he approached the bed where you were laying, horribly sick and with a raging fever, as you shivered underneath the covers.