𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐒 ⌯ Newt [The Maze Runner]

[0.15] the changing

         𝑨 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 pounding reverberates through Rue's skull, an unwelcome reminder of the previous night's indulgence.

With a groan, she reaches for her aching temples, her fingers gently probing the source of her discomfort. The throbbing ache echoes in her head, a relentless drumbeat of pain that refuses to be ignored. 

As she tries to piece together the fragments of the hazy puzzle that is her memory, a smile tugs at the corners of her lips.

The previous night's festivities slowly come into focus, like sunlight breaking through the morning mist. She recalls laughter that filled the air, the warmth of camaraderie, and the shared joy that had momentarily eclipsed their harsh reality.

As she attempts to swing her legs out of the hammock, a jolt of pain courses through her body, and her expression contorts with discomfort. Her shoulder, the source of the pain, throbs insistently as if to punish her for last night's drunken antics.

Rue's groan escapes her lips in response to the painful reminder. As she recalls her inebriated challenge with George and their comical struggle, her feelings of amusement from the previous night now seem distant.

She takes a moment to collect herself. The world seems to sway gently around her, matching the fever within her throbbing head. Frustratingly, her memory remains muddled; she can't recall how she found her way back to the hammock that cradles her now.

The Glade has already come to life with the chores of the new day; Gladers bustle about, performing their daily duties. A content smile creeps upon her face, and she sighs softly, savoring the refound peacefulness of it all. 

As she gingerly sits up in her hammock and lets her eyes fall once again, a familiar voice breaks through her haze. "Rough morning, huh?" The voice carries the warmth of familiarity and a tinge of amusement.

Newt stands there, the hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. She swears his arms would be stubbornly crossed over his chest hadn't it been for the crutches occupying them. His posture hints at a combination of sympathy and lightheartedness.

Rue's throbbing head and aching shoulder make her response more of a grumble than a verbal reply. "You could say that," she mutters, not hiding the effects the pounding headache has on her. "You're looking better. Up and about, and all."

Newt's smirk grows at Rue's grumbled response. Her discomfort doesn't go unnoticed, and he chuckles softly. "Yeah, well, you should know your limits by now," he says, casting a teasing glance at the remnants of the night's revelry.

His crutches dig the ground as he shifts his weight slightly. "As for me, I figured a bit of fresh air might do me good," he adds. The hint of lightheartedness in his tone remains, a testament to their shared experience from the previous night.

Rue, still nursing her pounding headache, musters a weak smile. "Well, you seem to have mastered it," she comments with a touch of admiration. Despite her discomfort, there's a fondness in her gaze as she looks at her friend, appreciating his presence in the morning aftermath of her tipsy escapades.

Newt's gaze meets hers, and he offers her a warm and understanding look. "I'll fetch ya some water, alright? Might help with that headache," he suggests, tapping a finger against his head.

She tilts her head, pursing her lips. "And how do you suggest getting it back here?"

He has already turned around, using the pair of wooden sticks to maneuver through the terrain. "I'll figure it out!" he calls back at her.