[ the homestead is dead quiet, an unusual sight and sound for most days. it's something newt's sort of become used to, as the boys are typically pretty obedient about curfew. most nights, everyone's so exhausted that when 11 rolls around, the gladers are all already snoring in their bedrolls. it's newt and alby's job to check over them, often their job to comfort a boy terrified by nightmares, the low, piercing moan of a griever in the night, but tonight, not so much. tonight, someone else could do their jobs.
newt rouses from his bedroll around ten thirty, slips out from his spot sprawled on the floor beside minho. he has yet to move into alby's room but he thinks it'll be soon, thinks the rest of the gladers know that there's something going on here that's different than just friends. newt knows he's obvious. he knows he's been obvious, but he can't help it. can't help the way they don't even need to speak to know what the other's thinking, how alby has a secret smile that newt thinks he might be the only person who knows it. he can't help where they've come to, this point that seemed inevitable.
(he thinks he should have told him when he was going to jump, but he didn't.)
either way, newt limps to alby's room quietly and knocks on the door, three short, sharp taps to let him know it's him before he opens the door and slips inside, offering a small smile to the figure inside. newt thinks he has butterflies, wonders if he's ever felt this for anyone before and it knows that if he had, it was for him. it was always alby, memories or not. ]
Ready to go? [ he whispers, quietly--a walk in the glade, out to the deadheads--and holds out his small hand. his leg is still healing and he shouldn't be walking but he found that his and alby's quiet midnight walks were one of the things he would have missed if he'd died.
alby was that thing, really, so he bucks up and tries to keep moving, for him. ]
♥♥!!! i was so happy to see this this morning LMAO
newt rouses from his bedroll around ten thirty, slips out from his spot sprawled on the floor beside minho. he has yet to move into alby's room but he thinks it'll be soon, thinks the rest of the gladers know that there's something going on here that's different than just friends. newt knows he's obvious. he knows he's been obvious, but he can't help it. can't help the way they don't even need to speak to know what the other's thinking, how alby has a secret smile that newt thinks he might be the only person who knows it. he can't help where they've come to, this point that seemed inevitable.
(he thinks he should have told him when he was going to jump, but he didn't.)
either way, newt limps to alby's room quietly and knocks on the door, three short, sharp taps to let him know it's him before he opens the door and slips inside, offering a small smile to the figure inside. newt thinks he has butterflies, wonders if he's ever felt this for anyone before and it knows that if he had, it was for him. it was always alby, memories or not. ]
Ready to go? [ he whispers, quietly--a walk in the glade, out to the deadheads--and holds out his small hand. his leg is still healing and he shouldn't be walking but he found that his and alby's quiet midnight walks were one of the things he would have missed if he'd died.
alby was that thing, really, so he bucks up and tries to keep moving, for him. ]