It was a particularly hot day in the Glade, the sun beating down harshly against the Maze walls, the familiar scent of the Glade now filled with sweat and the boys' dirty clothes— so, still pretty familiar. It was so hot that you couldn't bear to wear you're long sleeved sweater and brown trousers you were sent up the Box wearing, so instead, you borrowed one of the boys shorts and fished out an old tank top from the supplies.

You weren't suprised by the looks the boys gave you, the only female in the Glade showing more skin than usual certainly grabbed their attention. Some of them were staring a little too much for you're liking, though, and you could practically feel eyes burning holes into you're body when you bent down to pluck the weeds in the gardens.

“Bloody hell— you're all disgusting.” Newt's voice rang out behind you, before you felt a peice of clothing covering you're backside, turning around to see Newts tattered white hoodie over you're shorts. “You hear me? Absolutely bloody disgusting.” He repeats, voice tinged with frustration before sending you a soft gaze with a polite smile.

He was such a gentleman.

Newt was always like that, thoughtful, kind, considerate— and not because he expected anything in return, no, just because he wanted to. He wanted to take guard outside the showers so nobody would sneak a peak at you, he wanted to give you his worn-out hoodie when it was too cold, he wanted to welcome you back from every single run. Not because he expected to date you in return, just because he wanted to.

You dated him anyway, though— I mean, come on, how could you not? The guy was perfect. Not just in the way he acts, his personality, his looks, his accent— that British accent made you swoon everytime. And Newt made sure you knew every single day that he felt the exact same.

“Hair looks shucking amazing today, love.” He murmurs softly, twirling a loose strand in his hand, the bonfire light reflecting his features at all the right angles. “Well, it looks amazing everyday, of course.”