𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥 - 𝘕𝘦𝘸𝘵𝘮𝘢𝘴

Fancy a Walk?

Newt began walking towards the darkness without looking back, trusting Thomas to follow him. He hesitated, but finally jogged till he was on the blond's side; he took the opportunity to carelessly inspect him, his clothes, and his body. He was tall and slender, his fluffy hair resting lightly over his face, which displayed a serene, calm expression. He wore a few layers of ragged clothing — though Thomas presumably thought, Newt just didn't have an interest in preserving his appearance, like most of the gladers — his outfit consisted of some brown cargo pants, an orange tank top, and a dirty white shirt over it; he also had various leather pouches, armbands, and belts on his surprisingly small waist.

Newt must've somehow sensed Thomas' relentless eyes, because he turned his head in his direction, giving him a sly grin. "No one's told ya it's rude to stare?" he drunkenly chuckled, shaking his head. "You're too bloody curious, that's what."

Thomas ignored Newt's slander, still not getting his persisting glance off him, and lowered his eyes at his thin hands, how Newt gestured with them. The brunet shrugged, not bothering to answer. "You weren't at dinner," he recriminated, in some way unaware of saying it out loud.

Newt looked back at him, a weird, unreadable expression on his flawless skin. "Yeah, missed it," he answered, but noticing Thomas was awaiting a further explanation, he followed; "Too bloody busy handlin' the kid, ya'now. Sorry for that."

Thomas pushed his eyebrows inwards, confused. "What do you mean?"

"What happened before, I must've scared ya, pinnin' him to the floor that way." Newt pushed his hands down, describing his past position with a dramatic scowl to match it. Thomas almost smiled, amused by his physical representation.

"It wasn't precisely a treat, yeah," he shuddered, but Newt chuckled, apparently finding it quite funny. "Is he gonna be alright?" He looked up, meeting Newt's eyes, forcing him to tell the truth. Most people couldn't lie if you stared at them in the eyes.

What people? Thomas thought he hadn't met any other people.

"I don't know. We'll have to wait till the changin'," Newt mumbled, rubbing his arm consciously as he took a deep breath out of the icy slush breeze.

"What's the changing?"

Newt scowled at him, a mischievous smile curling his lips. "Done askin' questions, told ya."

"Fine," huffed Thomas, rolling his eyes.

The air was humid, and freezing; the further away they walked from the bonfire, the colder it got. Thomas didn't know where Newt was taking him, but some strange impulse forced him to trust the boy beside him; the longer he spent talking with him, the more intense that feeling got. It was dumb, to obey such an unfounded suspicion, — but it was far from Thomas' hands, he just followed his instincts without hesitation, that hurtfully being the only truth left in his brain. On top of that, Newt seemed to have answers, information Thomas desperately needed to know, it was just logical to stay at his side... for that reason only.

"Come on now, mate," Newt smiled apologetically, elbowing him. "Don't get'll sulky with me. Tomorrow's the tour, Alby'll tell ya everythin' you need to know."

Thomas slowly looked over at him, trying his hardest to remain serious and visibly annoyed; but Newt made it utterly impossible, his grin as playful as joyous. "Leave me alone," he pushed the blond impishly, who turned on his feet gracefully, like a plastered ballerina. He jogged till he was standing in front of Thomas, and started walking backwards, his arms crossed teasingly.

"Come on, look at me." He raised Thomas' jaw, who limply complied, meeting Newt's deep eyes with a defeated smile. "You're gonna get all the answers ya want, tomorrow mornin'. Right?"