𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘆

                                    

                                          
╔═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗
                          
Fine. It was a little funny. 
                          
╚═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝
                          
Squinting at the sudden light filling my vision, my eyes fly open, my senses overloaded. Bile rises in my throat, but I push it back down, leaving the bitter taste of sick in my mouth. From here, I can just about see Newt's hammock, and I look at him for as long as I dare, his arms hung loose by the side of his hammock and chest rising and falling evenly. He looks so peaceful; I can almost pretend that everything were as normal. 
                          
Newt would come and wake me up as per usual, and I'd protest and groan at him, to which he'd only smile or laugh at me. I wish we weren't fighting. Two days ago, the mere notion of ever having such an argument with him would make me laugh — if there was one thing Newt and I did well it was get along. 
                          
I regret what I said. I wince as my own words play on repeat in my head, taunting me. 
                          
I didn't ask you to care! 
                          
The hurt that flickered across Newt's face when I said that is ingrained in my memory, making me wish I could take it back. But I wouldn't take back the argument, even if I could. We don't agree on certain things, and that's fine. This was bound to happen, in fact, I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner. 
                          
That doesn't change the fact that it still hurts.
                          
❀
                          
I jog over to the walls, my legs aching from the combination of the past week's running and my exhaustion. I probably only slept for a hour last night, tossing and turning in my hammock — Chuck had to whack me a couple of times to get me to stay still. I wouldn't be surprised if it shows, I bet I look awful. I brushed my hair this morning with the brush that came in the little box of stuff for me, so at least I don't look completely battered. Minho is already by the wall, his hair gelled to perfection, leaning against the cool stone. He almost laughs when he sees me. Rude. 
                          
Do I look that rough? 
                          
He gives me a small smile and a classic Minho eye roll before his eyes fix on something behind me. I don't want to turn around, I can practically already smell the vanilla scent I correlate with only one Glader. Newt's jogging up to me, Ben not far behind. Newt doesn't look like he slept much — if at all. His golden hair is tousled on his head, and deep bags are set under his eyes. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, and the rest of his shirt is crumpled. He avoids my gaze like the plague. 
                          
He spares me a look, but not into my eyes. It's only now that I miss the eye contact that he used to keep all the time, even if it was a little intimidating. With that, he walks past me and over to Minho, who raises his eyebrows at him as he arrives. I turn back to see Ben smiling at me as he runs over, his blonde hair shining in the sun. His clothes most likely used to be white when he first arrived, but over the months, the white has faded out into a yellow toned beige, much like the rest of the Glader's clothes have. My green top has only faded slightly, and since it's a dark colour, you can barely see the dirt on it. 
                          
"Hiya, Greenie," he says. "I'm meant to run with ya today. Bet you wanted to run with Minho, huh?"
                          
"No," I say, a little too quickly. 
                          
Ben only laughs at me as the doors open, a horrible screeching noise echoing around the Glade, making me cover my ears. Ben pats me on the back and pulls me along next to him. "S'okay, Greenie."
                          
I shove him off me with a smirk. "Stop calling me Greenie. I do have a name."
                          
I smile at Minho before Ben and I sprint into the Maze, and I inhale deeply, the cold air filling my lungs with cool relief.