Newt Imagines (The Maze Runner)

A Matter of Confidence

It would be fantastic if Newt could get himself together.

He swore he'd manage it earlier this morning, when he was talking with a bunch of his other friends and teasing them about the fact that none of them seem capable of talking to the latest Greenie without blowing a gasket or twelve.

"Just talk to her," he'd commented, "she's just a girl, not a monster or something." He'd said it like it was easy, like he was so past being unable to talk to Y/N that he could hold conversations with her on the daily if he so desired.

The problem is that Newt definitely so desires this, but every time he's alone with her, he just can't manage it. It's one thing to talk with her in front of people, because although he hates to admit it Newt is definitely compelled by his urge to not look stupid in front of Minho and Alby that he can get his act together long enough to have a proper discussion with Y/N.

The problem, of course, comes after all the eyes leave him. They'll be walking together back from a rest break, or getting up in the morning, and Newt is suddenly stumbling over his words like he just learned to speak a day or two ago. He thinks he's mentioned the weather to her about a hundred times. The skies haven't changed in weeks.

It's just, well, Newt was never supposed to have to deal with any of this. He can admit that he was secretly glad there were no girls in the Glade when he first arrived, because at least that was one fewer variable tossed at him. The guys here are like his brothers, for the most part, even if Newt trips and faceplants while walking back from the gardens the embarrassment would fade in a matter of minutes. None of the other boys ever made Newt self conscious.

That changed when Y/N showed up. Newt can't even blame her for his tidal wave of nerves, he knows for a fact that it's all him, yet he still finds himself unable to do a thing about it. Forget the Maze, forget the bloody Creators, the worst threat to Newt's entire existence is one pretty girl.

It's not like he has any experience with talking to someone like her, either. The blasted memory wipe keeps finding ways to make his life a living hell, although he's not sure that anyone counted experience flirting and trying not to be too obvious about one's own bleeding heart to be a key memory that should have been kept around. Just once, he wants an audience with the monsters who stuck them in here so he can ask to have a little more of the game he surely had before all this.

It's not like he's alone in his feelings, either. Newt is fairly sure that at least half of the other Gladers are crushing on Y/N, even if they refuse to admit it. Hell, he even saw Gally tongue-tied the other day when Y/N dropped by to hand over some excess building materials, although the Keeper of the Builders would never admit it under the fiercest torture.

All this means to Newt is that Y/N pretty much has her pick of the Gladers if she wants to fall in love with any of them, which isn't great news for him. If she's going to crush on anyone, Newt doubts a blond, limping gardener would be her first choice. Doesn't mean he doesn't wish she would notice him every once in a while, though. Even if he stumbles over himself every time she does.

For the billionth time, Newt wishes he had an instruction manual for his heart, some sort of legend or key that would explain just how he's supposed to go about all of this. In truth, Newt has no idea at all if he really loves Y/N. What if this is just a strong crush, or the aftereffects of seeing a girl for what feels like the first time in his entire life?

If he's being honest with himself, Newt can admit that he has no idea what love could or should feel like. Like he said, his memories are a blank slate. Maybe this is hatred, deep and fiery. Maybe he's such a battered and beaten wreck that he can't even pick out love in his own heart if it winked at him across the Glade.