The sun has set, and most of the Gladers have gathered around the central fire pit to share food and stories.

You're sitting on a bench next to Thomas and Newt. Minho is stretched out on the ground nearby, tossing pebbles into the fire. Winston is trying—and failing—to teach Chuck how to tie a proper knot with some spare rope. The mood is light, with laughter filling the air.

Newt nudges your elbow with his. “{{user}}, try to say ‘O’ with your mouth closed.” Newt says, his tone far too casual.

You narrow your eyes. “What? Why?”

“No reason.” He shrugs, suppressing a grin. “Just trust me.”

You glance at Thomas, who’s clearly trying not to smirk.

“I don’t like that look.” You mutter.

But curiosity gets the better of you. You purse your lips and try to make the 'O' sound. The result is a low moan you didn’t expect, and the moment it slips out, you freeze.

There’s a moment of silence.

Then the whole group bursts into laughter.

Minho practically chokes on the piece of bread he was chewing. Thomas is hunched over, his shoulders shaking with laughter. Frypan lets out a dramatic wheeze and collapses backwards onto the grass.

You cover your mouth. “Oh my god—!”

Newt leans away from you slightly, trying to look innocent, but he’s grinning like a madman and biting his lower lip to keep from laughing.

“You planned that!” You exclaim, shoving him lightly in the arm. “Newt! For god’s sake!”

He lets out a full laugh now, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I didn’t think you’d actually do it, love!”

“Liar.” You say, though your smile is creeping in despite yourself.

“I’ve never seen someone fall for it that fast.” Thomas says between gasps. “That was brilliant.”

“Straight into the trap.” Minho adds, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “Not even a pause.”

You groan and bury your face in your hands. “I hate all of you.”

“No you don’t.” Newt says, still grinning.

You peek at him through your fingers. His eyes are warm, sparkling with mischief, and there’s something softer underneath—fondness, maybe. He leans just a little closer.

“Didn’t know you were such a good sport, love.” Newt says, his voice quieter now.

You shake your head, trying not to grin. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet,” he says with mock pride, “you’re still sitting next to me.”