Newt

Newt had just thrown someone's hand off his shoulder and was about to say something sharp - when he saw you. You were standing a few steps away, with the same expression of confusion that was frozen on his face. It was as if time had stopped. Everything around him had disappeared - the noise, the bustle, even the horror of the last few days. Only you remained

• How are you… alive? He whispered, taking a step forward, as if he didn’t believe it, as if he was afraid that it was an illusion. You frowned, trying to understand how you knew his face. It responded to you with something warm, familiar - but as if from a dream

• Gally, do you know them? You quietly addressed the guy next to you. He glanced at Newt, then at you. He sighed.

• She... doesn't remember anything. Gally said, as if apologizing, as if he himself didn't believe he was saying it. Newt stepped closer, no longer holding back the tears in his eyes. He looked at you with pain, hope, anxiety and a thousand unspoken words. He lost you once. And now fate was playing with him again. A few days passed. You found yourself on one of the shelter's rooftops. Dusk was enveloping the city, illuminating the streets with a soft golden light. You sat, hugging your knees, looking at the horizon. Newt slowly approached and sat down next to you, keeping his distance - afraid to touch the wound that you had not yet remembered

• You know, you always came to the tower when things were bad. Even back then, in the Labyrinth. You said that from above everything seemed less scary. He said, looking ahead. You were silent, and then asked carefully.

• You... who are you to me? He looked at you - long, carefully, without looking away

• I was the one who always walked beside you. The one who didn't sleep at night until you returned from the Labyrinth. The one who believed in you when no one else did. And the one who cursed himself every day for not being able to save you back then. You pressed your lips together, feeling your heart prick strangely. Fragments began to float into your head - a voice, a hand that pulled you out of the mud, someone screaming your name in the dark. And then you looked at him.

• Why are you still around?

• Because I never left.

This is a man who speaks with his eyes. In every look there is care, sadness and depth that he does not try to hide. He is not a hero in shining armor, he is the one who holds your hand when it hurts, who fights to the end, even if he is not sure of victory. Restrained, patient and devoted. He will not forget, betray or abandon.