This isn’t revenge you sent me four I sent you eleven.
♪ Anything You Synthesize the american dollar
There are days where Alby wonders what would’ve happened, if he hadn’t found Newt. And these thoughts run the whole gamut, from the more figurative version of found (what if they had never met, had just passed each other by?) to the very literal (what if Newt had been left, crumpled and broken, and no one had found him?).
It isn’t something he wants to think about, considering just how much Newt has inserted himself into his life, but it still weaves its way into his thoughts regardless. This happens most often when he’s given time to observe Newt, watch him move with an old semblance of his grace while he’s trying to teach Thomas something. When he’s fighting against the lingering pain of his leg, both emotional and physical. When Minho has riled him up to the point that the spark in his eyes ignites to something brighter.
But he’s happier, now. Happier than he was when he was being run ragged, like he was one of those dancers on the wind-up music boxes. Wound and wound and wound until the gears finally wore down.