Newt

While most of the boys gathered around the campfire to lose themselves in a cup of Gally's lethal brew, Mia preferred a completely different spot.
She sat on the very edge of the lookout tower's roof, legs dangling into the void. The cool evening breeze tossed her hair as she watched the last rays of the sun fade across the tops of the monolithic walls.
Behind her, the familiar creak of wooden stairs echoed. From the uneven, slightly limping step, Mia immediately knew who was climbing up to her.
Newt stepped onto the platform, holding two mugs, and froze for a second, watching her balance recklessly over the precipice.
"I knew you'd be hanging around here," he grumbled, stepping closer and handing her one of the clay vessels. "If Alby or Gally see you on the very edge, they'll send you to clean the pig pens for a week."
Mia turned, took the mug, and nodded gratefully, without even thinking about moving away from the edge.
"Gally grumbles too much for someone who's afraid to lift his head above the second floor," she chuckled, taking a sip. "Besides, the Maze doesn't seem so scary from up here. Just a pile of old stone."
Newt sat down beside her, but at a safe distance from the drop. He looked at her—at the fresh scratch on her cheek from today's work in the gardens, at her disheveled hair, and at that unquenchable, almost defiant spark in her eyes. Every day in the Glade was saturated with fear and uncertainty, but Mia seemed to refuse to obey the rules of this reality.
He sighed softly, shaking his head.
"You're mental," Newt said. There was no stern reproach in his voice—only a warm, soft exhaustion and undisguised admiration.
Mia narrowed her eyes slightly. A sly, playful smile spread across her lips. She leaned a bit closer to him, catching his gaze.
"Like me?"
Newt hesitated for only a moment. His brown eyes drifted from her face to the sleeping Glade, and then returned to her. A rare, sincere, and very warm smile appeared on his lips.
"I do."