𝓹𝓸𝓻𝓬𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓲𝓷 𝓫𝓸𝔂 // 𝓷𝓮𝔀𝓽𝓶𝓪𝓼 𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂 ✿

Worried

His lips tasted warmer than they did in my fantasies. More real and here. They're full and bright, bursting with the color palette of an Italian summer where the days are long and the nights are warm. The mere touch of his hands submits me to him. His touch carves out all my imperfections. His lips fit perfectly in mine. His touch is as soft as a single flutter of a butterfly's wing. He is eager, but I seem reserved. I hesitantly raise my fingertips to his shoulder as he pulls away.

"Did you want me to stop?" He questions genuinely.

"No."

I didn't even think it, but it was true. I didn't want this boy to stop kissing me.

He leans in once more and places a kiss on my jaw. His hands find mine and we barely grasp each other. His fingertips brush against my palm, my thumb grazing his index finger. In this moment I contemplate the idea of staying here all night with him. Everything being wonderful at his side. I stop myself and realize how foolish I sound.

"Newt it must be late." I whisper to him.

"Yeah." He nods with a glance at the sky.

"Maybe we should go back." I offer pathetically.

"Yeah, I know."

"I don't want to." He adds.

I sit in silence, unsure of how to respond to this. Thankfully he comes to my aid.

"But you're right, Minho is going to get worried." He groans as he rises and slips down from the tree.

His feet barely make a thud, while I fall quite ungracefully. He intercepts me and rights me by my shoulders.

"Sleep with me tonight." He commands me as we leave the willow.

I don't know whether the ominous darkness of the forest or the promise of his body against mine made me forget the rest of the world and my life as a runner.

"Okay." I agree.

Our fingers barely mingle as we walk back in silence. When we arrive into the Glade we immediately spread apart. A few stragglers are still up, gathered around dying fires and drinking the dregs of Gally's concoction. One of them happens to be Minho. I sigh inaudibly as he catches my eye. He perks up and looks nervous.

"Holy shit were you guys out there this whole time? I though I saw Thomas come back!" He announces loud enough for half the Glade to hear.

Suddenly all the fire lit eyes are upon us. My mind commands me to lie, but I can't think of anything quick enough.

"Yeah we got a bit lost, but I'm awfully tired so I'm heading in." Newt says with a small nod to the rest of the Gladers.

He lowers his voice for his, 

"Goodnight Minho."

"Goodnight you two." He says in response.

I take note of how Minho assumed I was heading to bed as well. Even though I never mentioned anything of the sort.

Newt guides me to his room and smooths out the right side of the bed where I shall sleep, tossing some books onto the floor in the process. Thankfully he has a larger sized cot, although I wouldn't mind being close to him. He crawls in beside me wordlessly and pulls the chain on his lamp. It flickers out and we are plunged into darkness. We lay still as our eyes adjust and I can finally see the shaft of moonlight dancing in through the window. The indistinct chatter of the Gladers below creates an ambient background music.

"I'm going to scoot closer to you." Newt warns.

I laugh softly and wrap my arm around his delicate waist. I feel him tense up. In an effort to calm him down I raise my hand to his hair and smooth it over with short strokes. I hear his breaths even out and within minutes know he has fallen asleep. I let my hand rest on his bicep and try to calm my nerves.

What will we do in the morning.

Will Alby notice we walked out of the same room?

Did Minho already suspect that we were sleeping together.

I had to stop myself from creeping out to my hammock, what would Newt think when I wasn't next to him in the morning. The creaks of the old ramshackle place would give me away anyways. But I needed to go back! People are going to find out and then wh-

"Thomas what's wrong?" Newt croaked, urgency still visible in his voice. Especially in the fact he called me Thomas and not Tommy.

"Oh my God did I wake you up?" I worry.

"Are you okay, you're breathing like a maniac." He avoids my question.

He raises his two fingers to my neck to feel my pulse. But afterwards he just lets his hand rest on my neck.

"What's wrong." He demanded more harshly.

"What about in the morning?" I choke out, sounding pathetic in comparison to his authoritative attitude.

"Oh Tommy." He strokes my neck with his thumb.

My heart flutters about my rib cage at that.

"You'll be fine, quit worrying." He didn't exactly snuff out my worries.

"But Minho and I are headed out early tomorrow." I explain.

"Just tell him you felt sick or something, and that you went to see if I had medicine. Then perhaps he'll show you mercy for your 'illness' and we can have an entire lazy monday morning to ourselves." He says wistfully.

It does sound wonderful.

"You're smart." Is all I say.

"Smarter than you." He smirks.

With that he curls into me and falls into a peaceful slumber.