In my dreams I'm dying all the time

[bloodyinspired]

He dreams of being back in the Maze, not in the Glade, but out in the Maze itself, with the light fading. He dreams of walls so high that he can't see the top. In dreams, sometimes, his limp is gone, and he finds himself able to run quicker, but it's never quick enough. Something is chasing him, in the corner of his eye. Griever. Crank. Gilly. Something. Someone.

In his dreams, Newt does the only thing that he can.
He flees.

This time, they're going to catch him; he can already feel that before the toe of his sneaker catches on a tree root and he's falling through space and...

He wakes up, tangled in sweat-soaked sheets and, from the way his ears are ringing, a moment ago, he must have been shouting.

"Bloody hell," he mutters, dragging himself up into a sitting position, pulling up his knees.

Comments

[shuck_you]

"In a second," Thomas said, leaning down so he could kiss each and every rib that he could see now that Newt's shirt was gone. He inhaled the soapy smell on his skin and felt the hard ridge of bone underneath his lips.

One hand skittered down, landing on the waist of Newt's pants and he tried to be slick, tried to get the buttons and zippers down without looking. He wasn't going to have much success, probably.