One shots (not only) - Maze runner || Different ships ||

The star shines

The desert wind howled softly around the camp as the others slept in makeshift shelters. Thomas sat by the fading fire, his knees pulled to his chest, eyes scanning the dark horizon. He couldn't sleep—not after what they'd seen, not with the weight of what still lay ahead.

He didn't hear footsteps, but he knew Newt was there before he even spoke.

"You're gonna wear a bloody hole in the sand with all that thinking."

Thomas gave a small, tired smile. "Could say the same to you."

Newt plopped down beside him, a quiet grunt escaping as he settled into the warmth of the fire. For a while, neither of them said anything. The silence between them was never awkward. It was familiar. Safe.

Finally, Newt spoke. "Do you ever think about... before? About what we were like?"

Thomas stared into the embers. "Sometimes. But it feels like trying to remember someone else's life."

Newt nodded. "Yeah. I hate that WICKED took that from us. Who we were. Who we could've been."

The way he said it made something tug at Thomas's chest. He turned to look at Newt, really look at him. His face was tired, sand clinging to his cheeks and hair, but there was a softness in his eyes—sadness, maybe, but something else too. Something closer to hope.

"You think we could've known each other then?" Thomas asked quietly.

Newt glanced at him, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I like to think so. And maybe we'd still be here... like this."

Thomas's breath caught. The fire crackled between them, painting Newt's face in flickering gold.

"I don't know what's waiting for us," Thomas said, voice barely a whisper, "but I know I'd rather face it with you."

Newt's hand found his, fingers lacing together without hesitation.

"We'll get through it, Tommy," he said, squeezing gently. "Together."

And for the first time in days, Thomas felt something like peace.

He looked up at the sky. The stars still shine—distant, cold, but constant. Just like Newt beside him.