.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Running Up That Hill ‧₊˚ ⋅
The day you had arrived in the Glade was a blur amongst events—a faint mixture of anxiety and shock that settled in your bones that lasted until the next Greenie came up in the box, just as scared as you were.
The one thing you did remember was the long nights you’d spent awake in the homestead, refusing to eat even a morsel as concerned eyes whispered more than lips could—and when most had seemed to give up on you, there was a peculiar blonde boy who always seemed to hover, always watching and waiting.
You’d barely spoken to the blonde in your passing days within the Glade, barely spoken to most in fact. Most of the boys didn’t know what your name was, unaware of what your voice even sounded like amongst the bustling living of Glade life. The only person who’d really come and talked with you, waiting patiently until you felt just comfortable enough to respond—was Newt.
Newt seemed sympathetic to your plight of being the only girl in the Glade, the anxiety of being in a completely new place with no memories of who or where you’re from already had weighed down upon your mind enough—but to add in being the only girl amongst boys, most being stronger and faster than you? Now that was truly terrifying. His eyes were gentle, not expectant of some sort of grand gesture from you where you burst out talking and showcase all you know—simply just waiting and watching as he sat beside you on cool spring nights.
“Try it.” Newt offered you an odd jar full of an even odder colored liquid. Hesitantly, you took it into your hands and took a small sip, only for the liquid to burn as it traveled down your throat and turn your taste buds bitter. Gagging, you spit out what you could as Newt barely stifled a laugh. “Bloody awful, isn’t it? It’s Gally’s own special mixture.”
“It tastes like piss.” You mumbled, and Newt’s eyes seemed to widen for a moment—before softening as he laughed just a bit louder now.
“It’s nice finally meeting the person behind that face of yours.” He commented, removing the jar from your hand as he took another sip. The crackling of the distant bonfire was enough to illuminate the rosiness of his cheeks, warmth flooding throughout him and Newt couldn’t tell if it was from some weird form of joy or from the mysterious alcohol.
“Say that again and I won’t speak for a month.” You threatened with a certain softness that gave away the fact that you didn’t truly mean it, reaching out to take the jar once more—the liquid burning just a bit less this time than before.
Defensively, Newt put his hands up, shrugging his shoulders, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “My sincerest apologies.”
“I honestly think Gally would be trying to poison us with how badly that piece of klunk tastes.” Resting your back against the base pillar of the homestead, you took one last chug of the liquid before handing it over to Newt—the flush on your cheeks finally starting to match his as a calming buzz began to float through your brain.
“Yeah, I bet he would if he could. That shank has a piss poor attitude even on his best days.” Newt responded just as smoothly, finally drawing a laugh from you that wasn’t a scoff or an eye roll—but genuine laughter. “But don’t mind him, his bad attitude and knack for rules has its uses.”
You only sighed out, allowing your eyes to fall shut for a moment. There was a moment of silence—one that wasn’t quite uncomfortable, yet exactly something you’d prefer. Newt was first to break the silence, as he always had.
“You seem to be getting more comfortable.” His words were followed by a hum, smooth and barely there. “Are you enjoying working as a med-jack?”
“It’s… nice. Nicer than working as a slopper, at least.” You murmured, still quiet but a bit more sure of yourself with each word. “The builders come in far too often and the track hoes don’t come in enough.”
You punctuated your words with a nudge of your elbow towards Newt, a scoffing laugh resounding from him. He knew you were right, the track hoes and himself included had the worst habits of ignoring their injuries until they were infected.
“Do you remember anything? About the past—your past?” Newt suddenly changed the topic, not exactly meeting your gaze but not looking away either.
Sucking in a breath, you began to think—and think, yet nothing from such thoughts came to you besides a headache and frustration, something that was evident on your face as your expression scrunched and your lips turned into a sneer. A hand clasped onto your shoulder, gentle yet firm—full of warmth and surprising comfort.
“Don’t think too much about it. You know your name, and even if you didn’t, you’re still you.” Newt had shifted to look at you head on, holding an empathetic gaze as his thumb traced small circles upon your shoulder. Even with the alcohol in his system, he still managed to show a certain amount of care that managed to warm your bones. “Let’s do something—anything, to get your mind off it, yeah?”
“Do what? Like a game?” You quirked your brow at Newt and his expression lightened, a smile peaking through.
“Yeah, why not.”
“How about a race then?”
And that’s how you ended up at the edge of a small hill within the Glade, an overconfident smile upon your face as Newt lunged into a position to ready himself. You both agreed to count till three, breaking off into a sprint up the hill.
Your lungs ached and your legs tired, but running had never felt so calming as you sprinted up the silky green terrain. Your head tilted, making note of how Newt was a few paces behind and you were growing close to the finish—only for you to never reach it as arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you toward the earth.
A startled sound soon followed by a laugh left you as Newt rolled down the hill beside you, tumbling and turning—one hand around your waist while the other thoughtlessly cradled the back of your head. As you reached the bottom of the hill, you landed atop Newt—a large grin, far too cheeky and toothy for your liking but altogether genuinely joyful, upon your face.
Newt spoke your name, the word being mixed with a laugh as he gazed up at you—his warm brown eyes bright with starlight—and you swore you felt your heart clench and throb in a way that felt far too real and far too vulnerable.
You screamed out as the bullet pierced through the flesh of your thigh, grazing the skin—yet the pain flooded your system nonetheless.
Teresa had betrayed you, choosing to turn your lot over to WICKED in exchange for the exchange of a cure that may never come. The first thing that came was fire, then bullets as soldiers rounded up all whom they could. Recklessly, you’d stepped in front of a member of the Right Arm as Janson’s gun was trained on them—taking the bullet in their place, yet the pain that followed was unimaginable.
You don’t know when you’d hit the ground, nor did you know when Newt had started shouting your name. All you felt were arms wrap around your middle and underneath your armpits, heaving you forward when you felt too weak to do so. You whined out in pain as that familiar blonde haired boy was shouting atop the panic and gunfire. “Stay with me—just breathe and stay with me, please.”
Newt supported your weak leg, and you supported his limp with your own—working together to break into a decent jog that put distance between you and the chaos. Maneuvering your weight just enough, Newt laid you down upon the dusty sand—turning his back to you as he readied himself to return to aid the Right Arm.
“Newt,” Your voice came out more desperate, more harsh than intended—your hand grasping along his hand in a grip far too tight, yet he didn’t fight it. “Please… come back to me.”
Newt didn’t respond, but the subtle twitch in his jaw and the softening of brown eyes in firelight was enough to quell a bit of your fear—he felt whatever you were fearing as well. He only nodded, breaking off into a jog away from you as once more, your heart did not only beat for yourself.
“Stop!—just stop. Why do you feel the need to pity me?” Newt practically shouted at you from across the room—his arms crossed over his chest as he sneered and scowled.
“Since when is worrying about you pitying you, Newt?” Your voice raised as well, tears pricking the edges of your eyes—yet refusing to fall, refusing to crumble in front of him. “I just want to make sure you’re okay—is that such a big deal?”
You began to approach once more, grasping at the sleeve of his jacket only for him to jerk away as if you had just burned him—as if you were infected. Scoffing, anger overcame you for a moment as your hands made contact with his chest, shoving harshly. “What the shuck is wrong with you? You’re acting so cold all of a sudden and I just—“
You couldn’t finish as a sob broke through you, the tears finally spilling down your cheeks as you looked away—feeling stupid for breaking down finally, for allowing yourself to be overcome with all the negativity you’ve felt since your time in the Glade. “…I feel like I don’t even know you anymore.”
Newt had been acting oddly toward you—distant, far too distant for your liking. You two were once so close, in the Glade, with the Right Arm. It felt as if everything had changed within a month, his heart becoming chilled as his eyes no longer met yours with warmth—but with apathy.
You turned your back to him, taking in harsh ragged breaths to clam yourself—though in truth, they did little. Warm hands found your waist from behind, encircling as they drew you near—yet you fought against them this time. “Don’t—don’t, please—I can’t…”
Newt continued to draw you in closer until you stilled, allowing him to do so—pulling you tight against his chest as sobs raked through you like a raging storm. He held you tight—tighter than he ever had before, and it felt as if this moment wasn’t just a moment of comfort, but a moment of finality. As your tears quelled and your breath evened, a tense silence overcome you both—full of something unspoken.
“Newt,” you breathed out raggedly, refusing to face him as you spoke. “…I love you.”
Newt’s movements stilled, his breath ceasing as he stood—until he suddenly broke away from you, taking slow steps away from you. “Well, I don’t.”
You didn’t speak, only listening to the sound of his footsteps disappear as his lie resounded around the room like an echo.
Your heart sobbed when your eyes couldn’t.
Sickness, pure and utter sickness overwhelmed your senses as you stood upon the berg within the Last City. Brenda grabbed what she could as she began to leave the aircraft, her expression tight as she knew she had limited time to reach Newt. Your stomach felt tight, looped in knots as realizations that came far too late began to plague your mind.
Newt was infected—and that explained quite a lot. The anger, the distance… his rejection.
Before Brenda could possibly break the threshold of the berg, you’d ripped the serum from her hands—sprinting into the demolished city. She screamed your name, yet it was nothing compared to the pounding within your ears as blood rushed throughout your body.
The Last City, once a place for the elite who were lucky enough to avoid the Flare, was now a place of ruin as rebellion forces ransacked each building—setting them ablaze with death and destruction. Rounding the corner of a building, you’d barely managed to dive away from a group of rebels and soldiers in a stand-off, gunfire piercing the atmosphere violently.
You rolled back onto your feet, coughing a bit as ash flooded your lungs. You limped into a run, your bones aching as you began to sprint once more—this time, even faster than before. You hadn’t even realized you had been crying with each pounding of your foot against pavement, trying to calm yourself as best as you could—yet you knew you were on borrowed time—Newt was on borrowed time.
You don’t know when you fell in love with him. You don’t even know when you’d began to think he was more than just a random boy within the Glade—but you found yourself longing for those nights back when you both found peace in each other’s presence, when the world didn’t feel like it was trying to constantly kill you—when life and love felt easy and natural. When time didn’t feel like it was working against you.
Your lungs burned, your legs ached, and your limp became more pronounced the longer you ran—but you didn’t dare stop. You couldn’t. Newt—that lovely idiot, the one who held your hand when you cried and wiped away tears as a bullet was torn from your leg, the one who held you like you were fragile when you felt like the world was collapsing around you, the one who looked at you with love and not hatred, not scorn, but genuine—real and soul shattering love, was relying on you.
Breaking past the last block, you’d rounded the corner—your heart thrumming and vomit rising within your throat as you’d envisioned Newt standing there, sick but alive.
Yet fantasies were such a beautiful and false thing.
Thomas crouched beside Newt’s lying body, his expression disconnected with the world as tears pooled from brown eyes that expressed the hurt and anger that words couldn’t. And poor Newt, laid upon the ground, unmoving.
You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. You could only feel as Thomas stood up, hobbling as he grabbed the gun from the floor—staring at you distantly before turning his back entirely. He left.
One step, then another, you approached the boy you’d loved with all your heart as his eyes stared blankly up at the sky above—and he looked just as beautiful as he did back in the Glade, when his heart beat wildly as he spoke of the moon and stars. Yet this time, there would be no talk of stars and no warm touches or the soft rasping of breath.
You collapsed, a choked scream coming from you as you grasped his shirt tightly within the palms of your hands—warm hot tears pooled within your eyes and you could no longer stop the pain that took over your heart, feeling itself be torn into tiny pieces that you were unsure could ever be put back together.
“Please no—stay with me. Please, come back to me. Newt! Please…” You shook him, fingers tightening around his collar as you sobbed louder. “Don’t leave me—please… not like this… I love you, I love you so much…”
You pressed your forehead against his own, his skin lacking the same warmth you’d once relished in. Your entire body shook with each rasping cry.
“Please, you beautiful fool…” You whispered, placing a singular kiss upon forehead—pouring all the welled up heartache you’d ever felt into the touch.
Strong arms hooked from beneath your own, hoisting you up as you continued to sob and soon, you began to fight. You screamed, begged and kicked even as Minho pulled you further and further away from the scene—feeling the threads that tethered your soul to Newt’s with each step snap until finally, there was nothing left.
You don’t remember what had happened after you’d been dragged into the streets of the demolished city. You’d blacked out far before you’d reached the berg, but when you awoke, you were in a new place—a place they called a safe haven far away from any suffering.
The breeze of the shoreline sent a shiver down your spine as you spent hours just walking along the coast, remaining within your own company. Many had tried to urge you out of your self-induced loneliness, yet you didn’t budge—not until Thomas finally roused you.
He didn’t say much as he guided you to sit down upon one of the wooden benches, a small piece of paper clenched tightly within his fist as he sat down beside you—allowing silence to overcome the both of you for a moment. The silence was raw, uncomfortably so as it allowed your heart to whisper all its regrets into your mind and each thought stung more than the last.
Finally, Thomas spoke, his voice unsure and full of thinly veiled grief. “He loved you.”
Those three words were enough to have tears streaming down your cheeks as you leaned over, hunching as you brought your hands to your face, wiping the tears.
“He loved you far more than he could ever admit, but he was scared of losing you even more.” Thomas finished, reaching out carefully—taking one of your hands within his own as he gave it a firm squeeze. “Live, if not for yourself, for him.”
You barely managed to croak out an appreciative thank you before dismissing yourself to your hut.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into a month within the safe haven. It took hours for you to be ready, to prevent yourself from breaking down at the sight of that familiar name that rolled off your tongue like music and made you feel alive—but you had grieved, and you had mourned.
The bonfire shined bright, illuminating the large rock that sat upon the grassy coast. Each person took their turns carving the names of those who had all brought the gladers here, who had fought until the end and changed the lives of many. You approached with Minho beside you, feeling just a bit stronger—though full of grief.
His hands chipped away at the rock, carving and changing the sediments until they finally resembled the boy you’d loved. Minho traced his hands along the engraving before pulling back, giving you a bit to breathe as the world seemed to close in around you—just for a moment.
Tracing your hands along the grooves of the rock, tracing his name like a prayer. Placing your head against the rock, you finally whispered out your final goodbye. “Every night, I whisper your name because I don’t ever want to forget you. And I don’t think I ever will. I miss you so much… I will see you again… one day, but not yet, my love, not yet. Goodbye, Newt.”
Pulling away from the stone, you finally smiled—though sad, it was genuine.
You’d survived, and though part of you had died with Newt in the Last City, just as barren land does, your heart will heal and he will always be held within it.
