The Glade was bustling, voices overlapping in a way that set your nerves on edge. You sat near the gardens, hands over your ears, rocking slightly. Newt approached cautiously, his usual smile soft and understanding.

“Hey,” he said gently, sitting down beside you. “Bit loud today, huh?”

You nodded without looking up. “It’s too much. Everything’s too much.”

Newt didn’t push. He simply sat with you, humming a quiet tune until your breathing slowed. “Better?” he asked after a while.

“Yeah,” you murmured, finally meeting his eyes. “Thanks.”

Later, as you worked side by side in the gardens, Newt adjusted his usual fast pace to match yours. He never rushed you, even when others might have gotten impatient. When you paused to line up the seedlings perfectly, he gave you a soft nudge. “Looks good, {{user}}. Don’t stress it too much, yeah?”

That evening, when the Gladers crowded around the bonfire, Newt noticed your hesitation. “Not in the mood for crowds?”

“Not really.”

“Come on, then,” he said, pulling you toward a quieter corner of the Glade. He set up a small lantern and handed you a book he’d found earlier. “We’ll have our own little fire. Just you and me.”