Thominewt oneshots

five

A/n: Sorry, I don't really have an update schedule-basically whenever I find the time to type stuff up.  I'm facing some writer's block rn so if I don't update in a while, I promise I'm not dead...just lacking inspiration.

Aaaaaaaaaanyways, this one's part of a secret santa project I'm doing with my (internet) friends.  I don't think the person it's for has Wattpad, but I'm still putting it on here because why not.

This one's a Minewt fic where they wake up in the Glade holding hands.  Some things might not be entirely accurate, and it takes place in a weird mix of the book and movie universes (mostly the book universe but with the monthly bonfires), so sorry about that.

WARNINGS: A few minor swears, vomit, bad use of British slang, unintentional gaslighting

Newt

The boy woke with a gasp.  His mind was blank, he couldn't remember anything-why couldn't he remember anything?  A name popped into his head, and he clung to it, as if it would disappear if he didn't actively focus on remembering.  Newt.  My name is Newt.

He took a shuddering breath, trying to calm himself.  Maybe if he wasn't panicking, his mind would work a little better.

Newt sat up and looked around.  It looked like he was in some sort of courtyard, four walls boxing him in.  As he looked around, he realized with a start that his hand was gripping someone else's, tight enough that his knuckles were white.  He loosened his grip but didn't let go as he looked to his left.  The guy next to him was still asleep.  He had black hair and looked to be pretty athletic.

Wait.  What did he look like?  Newt looked around frantically-noticing other boys starting to get up-as if there would be a mirror conveniently lying around somewhere.

His thought process-how do I know what a mirror is but I can't remember looking in one?-was interrupted by a groan coming from his left.  It was the guy he had been holding hands with-was still holding hands with, he realized.  Oddly, the thought made him smile.

"Ugh...where am I?" the guy mumbled, still half-asleep.  A moment passed, and he sat bolt upright.  "Wha-what the hell?  Who are you?  Why can't I remember anything?"  He noticed his hand clutching Newt's, and even more confusion clouded his face.  "W-what the hell?" he asked again.

"I don't know," Newt answered honestly.  "My guess is that they don't, either."  A thought occurred to him, and he asked, "can you remember your name?  I can-my name's Newt."

The other boy stood up and started pacing, extracting his hand from Newt's in the process.  "I...Minho.  I think."

"Okay.  Minho," he said, trying the name out.  It sounded nice on his tongue.  "We should probably talk to them.  Maybe someone knows something."

Minho sighed.  "Doubt anyone knows anything, but yeah.  It'd be good to touch base, figure out what we're gonna do next."  He glanced up at the walls surrounding the area.  "How to get out."

Minho

It had been a few months, and the Glade had settled into a tentative routine.  Minho was a Runner, and he ran through the Maze every day, searching for a way out.

Newt, the blond boy whose hand he had been holding on the first day, was a Runner too.  Minho saw him every day at some point or another, but they never spoke, both too unsure of what to say.  At first, it had worked fine for Minho, but lately he had been rethinking it.  Sure, he was friendly with Alby and some other kids, but he still felt...distant.  Almost as if no one really knew him.