[ alby used to give him looks when he'd bring up order, because--okay, he didn't say it that often, but everyone in the glade seemed to be convinced otherwise. for newt, their survival was dependent on how well they got their klunk together, and the gladers had, for the most part, pulled through with aplomb. it meant the loss of friends--his mind flashes to ben for a second, wonders if he'll meet him here--but it kept the majority of them safe. the outside world was chaos, and when they lost control, it was torn away from their hands for good.
the touch practically gives him goosebumps, if only because it's kind of surreal. in his last moments it felt like he was losing it, when he could hold onto little snatches of his memory, he tried for this. his best friend, his something more entirely, the person he shared a bed with and a job with, balancing life and duty in the little box that had been their calling as immunes. he wonders if alby would have been immune, considering they said newt himself had been the control; the flare was airborne and they must have kissed a hundred times from the first.
it didn't matter. the way he went out was painful, agonizing, and so was newt's. but now, it was done, and the guilt that comes with it sits on the shoulders of a man he hoped he'd watch succeed from somewhere up here in this kind of paradise, with alby at his side.
a soft chuff of a laugh escapes him, and he nods. ] Coupla shuckfaced morons.
[ when he leans in, it feels like the most natural thing in the world, because he's done it a thousand times, and the memories are something he clung to even when he could barely put his fingertips on his sanity, because no Creator could have forced this to happen, because newt hadn't wanted to live in a world without him, but he marched on anyway. it made the reunion just that much sweeter, and his fingers shift just a little before he closes the distance and kisses him, with all the desperation and warmth that he could muster. ]
[ For as much as he and the other Gladers teased Newt for order, for the lectures that he could get on sometimes, Alby missed the days where they could simply sit and talk about the things they needed to do to keep that order. Missed when he had the willpower and the energy and the lack of a crushing weight that let him maintain his ever important order, the very thing that kept the lot of them alive before control was taken from them.
The softness between them is just as surreal for him, too, when the last thing he felt was rubbery skin and cruel metal. But here Newt is again, touch gentle on his face, and he wants to just sink into it, thinks maybe that they have all the time in the world for him to be able to. There's no ruin, no rot, just fresh earth and wood and the one person that had come to mean more than anything in the world to him.
His other half, far from it all. ]
Can't say I've got a problem with that. [ So long as it's them, together.
When they'd started the theory that the Creators could control them-- hardly a theory, now-- there had been no doubt in his mind that this was real. Everything that had ever happened between he and Newt was real, would never be anything but. So it's easier than anything he's ever done to tip up and meet him in the kiss, soft and reassuring just as much as it's full of longing and relief. ]
[ this is where, was it fake, newt thinks things would break. this is hard to imitate--even when thomas met up with teresa before, she had kissed him to prove how real she was, or something. (as far as newt had been concerned, he was mostly with minho: she had turned out to be a bloody traitor, and he was starting to run out of second chances by the time they called him the control.) there's no faking this, no waking up, and he can't help it--
newt laughs. it's the first time in ages, and then he smiles and it's so big and wide that it takes up half of his face. when he pushes forward this time, it's to fling his arms around alby's shoulders, as tight as can be, tucking his face into the side of his neck. if they fall, they'll fall. (he doubts it.)
it's the first time in ages he hasn't hurt, either, the first time in a week that his mind didn't feel like something he was watching from the sidelines, the first time since the fall that he really felt something solid lift from his chest for a little while. he's his own person again.
figures it'd take till he died. but you know what? newt'll take it.
if the tears are coming again, he figures he'll probably playfully get called a wuss or something, and he doesn't even care. it feels like, with memories no longer floating around like balloons and death shrouding over his shoulders, that he might be home. and with alby by his side, he couldn't imagine it any other way. ]
[ Something lights itself in his chest, warm and bright like the sun was supposed to be but hadn't been in a long time. True, Newt has laughed many times since they'd met, but Alby hasn't heard it like this in a very, very long time. It's almost overwhelming, the level of fierce affection that strikes him that he very nearly does fall as Newt throws strong arms around him. But like always-- or, well, like he once had-- he keeps steady if only to keep Newt the same way.
A bark of a laugh startles out of him, and he winds his arms around his middle, lifts him off his feet effortlessly. He's always been taller than Alby, but he's also always been scrawny in contrast, easy for him to manhandle. ]
You crying on me again, ya shank? [ But there's no heat to his voice, and he's practically a hypocrite as he tucks his nose into his shoulder. They're both whole again, real people instead of lab rats running in a maze that spanned beyond their hidden corner out into the world beyond. The one that he hadn't wanted to be a part of, even with Newt. That's what the Changing had done to him.
But it's all gone now. The suffering, the hopelessness. And they're here, now. Yeah, it took dying-- but in the end, knowing that they have this now? It's all worth it, and he can't help but squeeze his arms around him, as if he's afraid for just a second that it's all going to be taken away again.
Alby could barely handle being broken once. Not again. ]
[ there's so much to talk about, so much he has to tell alby about that happened--he doesn't know what he knows, or what he could possibly know. it's the right thing to do, but newt figures he made it to some kind of paradise, he bloody well deserves the chance to be selfish for a few minutes.
so he breathes in the familiarity, the fact that alby's with him like he'd been for the past two years. a part of him thinks that he could just reach back and grab the memories that WICKED had swiped from him now, easy as anything, but he doesn't want to. whatever life there was before the maze, it doesn't matter now.
he had a family. it was there in that little glade. they lost so many parts of it, but it was still there. still here. it lived on in thomas, and he'd watch over it until years and years and years from now, maybe he could join them.
he rolls his eyes, but it's stupidly good natured, and the taller of the two basically curls over when he's picked up, complaining loudly (and only half for show) -- ] Put me down, you klunkhead, I just got my buggin' leg back!
[ any squirming is pretty much halfhearted, and if the slightly squinted smile he gets is any sign, newt is anything but complaining. in fact, his hands shift a little to rest on his shoulders again, and he lets alby do his manhandling, because, well, he'd probably do it anyway. (and because he likes it. ) it's such a little, trivial thing, but it hits him like a punch to the gut how much he missed it, and he gives the broad shoulders under his palm a squeeze. ] This is the cleanest I've ever seen you. You got real skin under there.
You can go runnin' as you please when I put you back down, quit your complaints. [ Alby knows better than to know he means his complaints, but there's just something thrilling about the knowledge that Newt actually can run again without it aching so much that it was in his whole body and not just his bum leg. But even if he can run and jump and even simply walk without trouble now, it's never going to stop him from lifting him up whenever he can.
It was one of his favorite things to do, just because of the (often half-hearted) protests and the way that something like this genuine laughter would be startled out of the younger boy. The Glade might have been a cage, but it was their home and the Gladers were their family, and roughhousing was no stranger amongst them all. Least of all the two of them, alone or otherwise. ]
And your hair's actually blond-- never thought I'd see the day it wasn't all ruddy. [ Which is a lie, but it's a good enough remark to throw back at him. While the feeling in his chest feels like a sunburst, something that could very well burn everything away if given the chance, Newt's hair might as well be the shucking color of it.
One arm secures around his waist to hold him against his chest, letting him curl and fit to the shape of his body as naturally as it always does, while the other reaches up so that he can slip his fingers into his hair. He thumbs at his temple, and he turns in a quick circle, just for the unbridled and stupid joy of it.
There's no one here to stop them, no one to keep up serious appearances for most of the time. They've either gone ahead of them or will come long after them, but there's no better people to do it. Minho, Thomas. He figures the world is in good hands without them, and he and Newt have earned their well deserved vacation. ]
Pfff-- [ and then they're moving in a circle, and newt basically yelps as he cracks up laughing again, practically falling over his head in an attempt to stay upright and keep his balance. everything feels so much lighter, and for a minute, he's kind of--well, it's not for a minute. it's a little sobering to think about, but he'd wanted-- he'd been ready. he'd been ready to die for ages. losing alby, losing so many members of their group, then becoming infected so quickly. it was like they knew, and hell, they probably did. newt had wanted nothing more than to die, and he paid the price for it.
somewhere, a small part of him was thankful, like he'd been released proper.
the rest of him felt at peace, like some gaping wound was stitched up, and a lot of it had to do that with the person who was currently making him dizzy in the best and worst way possible, if not with how they'd left the world in good hands. so maybe dying had turned out to be the right decision, after all.
despite the "surprise" that comes out of his mouth, the sarcasm doesn't quite match the grin, huge and toothy and making his cheeks hurt, and when he shifts up to basically koala around him, putting that healthy leg to good use, he puffs out a pleased noise. ] Guess Paradise has showers. Fancy buggin place they got here. 's it just me and you?
[ there's an unspoken "for now" there. he doesn't really mind. ]
[ There's some sort of benefit in Alby being so much shorter than Newt, but so much bigger in general. As he curls over his head, he can't help the booming laugh that leaves him as he holds him steady. He doesn't want to drop him, but at the same time he'd love to just fall over and roll through the grass that's spread out across the soft earth beneath them. Even the Glade wasn't as soft as this place feels, all hard walls and packed earth. He slows his movements so neither of them wind up tumbling over from dizziness, and he lets the easiness settle over him again.
It's so much better than the dread, the hollowness. The very thing that had propelled him into that group of Grievers, with the smallest trace of hope that his sacrifice would see them through beneath it all. He was holding them back, after all. He couldn't make the choices anymore, call the shots. That was for Newt, for Minho and Thomas, to do. That was what he'd set them up for, over their time together.
And he knew they wouldn't fail. For as many people that had come past him as he waited, they wouldn't stop.
Newt's legs around him are welcome, and he adjusts his hold so that he can slide the arm around him down underneath him as support. The other he sets on his side, the temptation to skirt his fingers up his ribs there-- but he resists, for now. ] Few people've gone by, but I was waiting for you. Dunno where they've gone ahead to, but figured we'd get there eventually.
Waited for me, huh? [ he could make another remark if he was more insensitive, but it doesn't have to be said--of course alby knew he'd be coming soon. newt didn't need to kid either of them, because alby was the only person in the world (well--tommy knew, now) who knew what had happened when he fell off the wall, and more importantly, why he'd done it. newt had hated every day in that maze, and when all of it had finally gotten to him, he'd simply tried to end it the only way he knew how. his survival had been literally contingent on alby saving him, pulling him through the doors before they closed for good and he became glader food.
like alby did.
their circumstances ended up being bone-chillingly similar, and it seemed kind of ironic, if not even planned. newt was supposed to die, he thinks, because he'd been a shucking test subject from day one, part of the control, the one who got all of his non-immune friends sick. in a way, he was glad that alby died when he did, if only because he didn't have to suffer the flare.
all of those thoughts feel kind of far away, now, with strong arms supporting him underneath his thighs, and he eventually softens his smile, to something full of warmth and affection as he rests his arms on the other glader, looking down at him. ] Fine by me.
[ they earned a little alone time. newt adds, something familiar and nostalgic in the tone-- ] Like sneaking off to the Deadheads off past curfew, remember? T'get some bloody alone time.
Mm. [ There's a lot behind him waiting here for Newt to show, but Alby had a small hope that Newt would have taken longer to get here. It had been unlikely, and he knew it, but he'd still hoped. Here, at least, they have that sense of happiness that they had only small tastes of in the Glade. The walls of the Maze didn't loom over them, and the strain of it all didn't weigh on Newt anymore. That was all that mattered-- he didn't have a reason to think about what he'd done except as a memory, no temptation for it bubbling up in that way that he'd caught in his eyes before.
And there wasn't any reason for him to think about how his mind had fallen apart after the Changing, willpower gone. His apologies have been given, and now they're together again. It doesn't matter anymore.
It helps that he's had enough time to think about what'd happened and how they'd mirrored each other so well. Maybe that was WICKED's plan all along, he doesn't know. Maybe they'd forced their hands and pushed them over that edge, but they'd never really know the truth of it beyond what they've experienced. Alby just knows that their lives were destroyed, but at least there are others that will survive on to rebuild their own because of the things they did to help.
A smile, soft around the edges, widens a little at the nostalgia as Newt looks down at him. In a crapsack place for two years, those moments alone-- and Newt himself-- had been a bright spot. ]
Only shuckin' place in a Glade full of twenty to fifty on the regular. Sure we can find something like it here.
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i also hate them
the touch practically gives him goosebumps, if only because it's kind of surreal. in his last moments it felt like he was losing it, when he could hold onto little snatches of his memory, he tried for this. his best friend, his something more entirely, the person he shared a bed with and a job with, balancing life and duty in the little box that had been their calling as immunes. he wonders if alby would have been immune, considering they said newt himself had been the control; the flare was airborne and they must have kissed a hundred times from the first.
it didn't matter. the way he went out was painful, agonizing, and so was newt's. but now, it was done, and the guilt that comes with it sits on the shoulders of a man he hoped he'd watch succeed from somewhere up here in this kind of paradise, with alby at his side.
a soft chuff of a laugh escapes him, and he nods. ] Coupla shuckfaced morons.
[ when he leans in, it feels like the most natural thing in the world, because he's done it a thousand times, and the memories are something he clung to even when he could barely put his fingertips on his sanity, because no Creator could have forced this to happen, because newt hadn't wanted to live in a world without him, but he marched on anyway. it made the reunion just that much sweeter, and his fingers shift just a little before he closes the distance and kisses him, with all the desperation and warmth that he could muster. ]
You hate everything now.
The softness between them is just as surreal for him, too, when the last thing he felt was rubbery skin and cruel metal. But here Newt is again, touch gentle on his face, and he wants to just sink into it, thinks maybe that they have all the time in the world for him to be able to. There's no ruin, no rot, just fresh earth and wood and the one person that had come to mean more than anything in the world to him.
His other half, far from it all. ]
Can't say I've got a problem with that. [ So long as it's them, together.
When they'd started the theory that the Creators could control them-- hardly a theory, now-- there had been no doubt in his mind that this was real. Everything that had ever happened between he and Newt was real, would never be anything but. So it's easier than anything he's ever done to tip up and meet him in the kiss, soft and reassuring just as much as it's full of longing and relief. ]
i do a lil bit [melting cat]
newt laughs. it's the first time in ages, and then he smiles and it's so big and wide that it takes up half of his face. when he pushes forward this time, it's to fling his arms around alby's shoulders, as tight as can be, tucking his face into the side of his neck. if they fall, they'll fall. (he doubts it.)
it's the first time in ages he hasn't hurt, either, the first time in a week that his mind didn't feel like something he was watching from the sidelines, the first time since the fall that he really felt something solid lift from his chest for a little while. he's his own person again.
figures it'd take till he died. but you know what? newt'll take it.
if the tears are coming again, he figures he'll probably playfully get called a wuss or something, and he doesn't even care. it feels like, with memories no longer floating around like balloons and death shrouding over his shoulders, that he might be home. and with alby by his side, he couldn't imagine it any other way. ]
[glee]
A bark of a laugh startles out of him, and he winds his arms around his middle, lifts him off his feet effortlessly. He's always been taller than Alby, but he's also always been scrawny in contrast, easy for him to manhandle. ]
You crying on me again, ya shank? [ But there's no heat to his voice, and he's practically a hypocrite as he tucks his nose into his shoulder. They're both whole again, real people instead of lab rats running in a maze that spanned beyond their hidden corner out into the world beyond. The one that he hadn't wanted to be a part of, even with Newt. That's what the Changing had done to him.
But it's all gone now. The suffering, the hopelessness. And they're here, now. Yeah, it took dying-- but in the end, knowing that they have this now? It's all worth it, and he can't help but squeeze his arms around him, as if he's afraid for just a second that it's all going to be taken away again.
Alby could barely handle being broken once. Not again. ]
no subject
so he breathes in the familiarity, the fact that alby's with him like he'd been for the past two years. a part of him thinks that he could just reach back and grab the memories that WICKED had swiped from him now, easy as anything, but he doesn't want to. whatever life there was before the maze, it doesn't matter now.
he had a family. it was there in that little glade. they lost so many parts of it, but it was still there. still here. it lived on in thomas, and he'd watch over it until years and years and years from now, maybe he could join them.
he rolls his eyes, but it's stupidly good natured, and the taller of the two basically curls over when he's picked up, complaining loudly (and only half for show) -- ] Put me down, you klunkhead, I just got my buggin' leg back!
[ any squirming is pretty much halfhearted, and if the slightly squinted smile he gets is any sign, newt is anything but complaining. in fact, his hands shift a little to rest on his shoulders again, and he lets alby do his manhandling, because, well, he'd probably do it anyway. (and because he likes it. ) it's such a little, trivial thing, but it hits him like a punch to the gut how much he missed it, and he gives the broad shoulders under his palm a squeeze. ] This is the cleanest I've ever seen you. You got real skin under there.
no subject
It was one of his favorite things to do, just because of the (often half-hearted) protests and the way that something like this genuine laughter would be startled out of the younger boy. The Glade might have been a cage, but it was their home and the Gladers were their family, and roughhousing was no stranger amongst them all. Least of all the two of them, alone or otherwise. ]
And your hair's actually blond-- never thought I'd see the day it wasn't all ruddy. [ Which is a lie, but it's a good enough remark to throw back at him. While the feeling in his chest feels like a sunburst, something that could very well burn everything away if given the chance, Newt's hair might as well be the shucking color of it.
One arm secures around his waist to hold him against his chest, letting him curl and fit to the shape of his body as naturally as it always does, while the other reaches up so that he can slip his fingers into his hair. He thumbs at his temple, and he turns in a quick circle, just for the unbridled and stupid joy of it.
There's no one here to stop them, no one to keep up serious appearances for most of the time. They've either gone ahead of them or will come long after them, but there's no better people to do it. Minho, Thomas. He figures the world is in good hands without them, and he and Newt have earned their well deserved vacation. ]
no subject
somewhere, a small part of him was thankful, like he'd been released proper.
the rest of him felt at peace, like some gaping wound was stitched up, and a lot of it had to do that with the person who was currently making him dizzy in the best and worst way possible, if not with how they'd left the world in good hands. so maybe dying had turned out to be the right decision, after all.
despite the "surprise" that comes out of his mouth, the sarcasm doesn't quite match the grin, huge and toothy and making his cheeks hurt, and when he shifts up to basically koala around him, putting that healthy leg to good use, he puffs out a pleased noise. ] Guess Paradise has showers. Fancy buggin place they got here. 's it just me and you?
[ there's an unspoken "for now" there. he doesn't really mind. ]
no subject
It's so much better than the dread, the hollowness. The very thing that had propelled him into that group of Grievers, with the smallest trace of hope that his sacrifice would see them through beneath it all. He was holding them back, after all. He couldn't make the choices anymore, call the shots. That was for Newt, for Minho and Thomas, to do. That was what he'd set them up for, over their time together.
And he knew they wouldn't fail. For as many people that had come past him as he waited, they wouldn't stop.
Newt's legs around him are welcome, and he adjusts his hold so that he can slide the arm around him down underneath him as support. The other he sets on his side, the temptation to skirt his fingers up his ribs there-- but he resists, for now. ] Few people've gone by, but I was waiting for you. Dunno where they've gone ahead to, but figured we'd get there eventually.
no subject
like alby did.
their circumstances ended up being bone-chillingly similar, and it seemed kind of ironic, if not even planned. newt was supposed to die, he thinks, because he'd been a shucking test subject from day one, part of the control, the one who got all of his non-immune friends sick. in a way, he was glad that alby died when he did, if only because he didn't have to suffer the flare.
all of those thoughts feel kind of far away, now, with strong arms supporting him underneath his thighs, and he eventually softens his smile, to something full of warmth and affection as he rests his arms on the other glader, looking down at him. ] Fine by me.
[ they earned a little alone time. newt adds, something familiar and nostalgic in the tone-- ] Like sneaking off to the Deadheads off past curfew, remember? T'get some bloody alone time.
no subject
And there wasn't any reason for him to think about how his mind had fallen apart after the Changing, willpower gone. His apologies have been given, and now they're together again. It doesn't matter anymore.
It helps that he's had enough time to think about what'd happened and how they'd mirrored each other so well. Maybe that was WICKED's plan all along, he doesn't know. Maybe they'd forced their hands and pushed them over that edge, but they'd never really know the truth of it beyond what they've experienced. Alby just knows that their lives were destroyed, but at least there are others that will survive on to rebuild their own because of the things they did to help.
A smile, soft around the edges, widens a little at the nostalgia as Newt looks down at him. In a crapsack place for two years, those moments alone-- and Newt himself-- had been a bright spot. ]
Only shuckin' place in a Glade full of twenty to fifty on the regular. Sure we can find something like it here.