Stars ➳ TMR, Thomas [1] ✓

Chapter {15}

It took more than just a few tries for Newt to calm down the raging accusations between Gally and other boys, loud shouting that thumped in my eardrums as a kind of old drum. Two opposed sides never needed a good reason to start yelling at each other, just one word would initiate an avalanche of insults. For me, I never took any side in those fight, maybe I didn't want to make Gally even angrier than he already was. Well, for what were a few days I found the older boy trusting, good-hearted even, yet all I got was a sudden turn of events that strangely I wouldn't guess were Gally's specialty, more Chris's.

As Chris slowly quieted down, fierceness that covered his shining eyes dying down in them, along with him did Winston and Zart. And yet, Gally, tall figure towering over Thomas whose features showed sureness and squared shoulders no fear at all, still yelled, anger now even more visible on his bright complexion. Brows drawn together, and jaw set, Gally resisted heavily as Fry and Minho dragged him away, and of course as he kicked and snapped at them.

Finally, the much needed silence fell, that it would not surprise me if my ears have bleed over the yelling and shouting. Completely still, boys stood, as if nobody could comprehend what had just happened there was no movement whatsoever. Only a few heavy breaths as boys drew them in could be heard. Low sounds of Gally's muttering later in our silence accompanied them, mainly insults from what I've heard, as his clenched jaw and eyes burning with hate gazed at Newt, then at Thomas and lastly at me. A few inches away from him stood Fry, shaking his head disappointedly at Gally, silencing him quickly as he had noticed Newt was preparing to speak up.

"That was too much, don't you think?" Newt pursed his lips, giving a warning look to each boy who took part in fighting. His usually cheerful state I saw him in has changed drastically; there was no glint in his earthy brown eyes that indicated the happiness, no smile or encouraging words left his mouth ever since the arrival of that girl. He was as still as a post. "Out, all of you." He muttered angrily, cold gaze piercing each of us.

Sure enough his words have scared most boys, never have they seen (or I guessed so) Newt so annoyed. Motioning for Gally to go first as his heavy steps sounded like a distant drum, soon the hut emptied as all boys eventually followed their leader, except Thomas and I. He glanced at me apologetically, eyes glistening with an adoring glint I could now recognise he wore a few times earlier. Disheveled hair lay in waves on his forehead, black on dim light as the hut's brown interior framed him on the other side of the room. Chairs stood, messily placed next to each other and scraped poles supported the building's roof.

Thomas took a few big steps, finding himself in front of me quicker than I would have expected. "Hey." His lips spread into a grin as he reached for my hand that hung loosely by my side and interlacing our fingers, simply drew shapes on my slightly cracked skin over my knuckles.

"Hey, you said you would tell me where did you found that." I pointed at the gray cylinder in his other hand, a small red button dead and without any beeping on its top. He lifted it up, showing the hardened layer of a kind of goo that has turned brown. I could see a small screen, producing a red number that shone on dark background.

"Yeah, it was inside a Griever." Thomas dropped my hand, quietly after answering my question observing the piece of metal in his hands. He spun it around, trying to crack it open a few times before annoyed, squeezing it between his palms forcefully. Features scrunched in anger, his shoulders have tensed ever-so-slightly that I could also notice by a few quick, ragged and angry breaths that unevenly left through his nose.

"Woah, woah," I put a hand on his, making him stop the unsuccessful attempts of cracking whatever code that small device had. All the tension have left his shoulders as he slumped them down and lowered his head. "The solution won't show if you keep being angry at the task." I took the cylinder from his hands, giving it a quick look before placing it on the chair nearby. It had a number on, number 7 that surely made no better sense of what the device's usage was supposed to be, and a few letters so dark on the shiny background they've felt unreal. WCKD. Just like Newt said, they were on our supplies.