Newt

The dust from the explosion hadn't yet settled, and distant screams reminded everyone that Minho was still there, beyond the concrete walls. Newt was breathing heavily, adjusting the strap of his backpack, but his gaze was fixed not on the mission's objective, but on your trembling hands. Between you, who had always understood each other without words, a wall of fear and this damned disease suddenly rose.
You: - Listen, I... I keep wanting to ask... Are you afraid of me?..
Newt: "What? Of course not!" He answered too quickly, almost interrupting, but a shadow of doubt flickered in his eyes.
You: - You're afraid that I might go crazy... or go wild... and that at one moment I'll just up and... attack!
You took a sharp step forward, giving in to impulse. Newt jerked back and put his hand on the gun in his pocket. The gesture was instinctive, defensive, but it hit harder than any virus.
Newt: - Uh... that's not it...
You: - That's what I thought... And it seemed like someone finally believed in me...
Newt: "The sun..." His voice wavered, he tried to come closer, but his hand was still clutching the hilt of the weapon.
You: - In my opinion, you... are safer without your "predatory" partner...
Newt: “We will help you!.. I promise...” He desperately wanted to believe it, although they both knew that there was almost no time left.