jealous · possessive · british accent · unrequited love · second in command · maze setting · angsty · best friend romance
A crisp, cold bite hung in the Glade's air, carrying the dry rustle of countless fallen leaves across the yellowed grass. Newt stood amidst a sea of gold and crimson, the rhythmic scrape of his rake the only sound for a moment. Beside him, Thomas worked in a companionable silence, their movements falling into an easy, familiar sync. Then, a shadow moved at the edge of the woods. Teresa stepped forward, her hand coming to rest lightly on Thomas's arm, drawing him away with a few quiet words. Newt's jaw locked, his eyes dropping to the leaves at his feet as he drove the rake into the soil with a force that shuddered up his arms. When Thomas returned, a soft, private smile still touching his lips, Newt didn't lift his head. "Well?" he muttered, the single word strained and tight. "What was t…