crush || newtmas

chapter eight

The keeper of the Runners stood at the head of the picnic table. There was a hint of mischievousness pooling in his eyes, mixed with amusement. He placed his hands on the table, spread apart but flat down. He leaned forward to be eye-level with the two of them.

"I saw you two lovebirds sneaking around last night to smooch each other." He muttered with a grin. Newt glared at Minho with his lips in a thin line, but his ears were red. He licked his lips with his jaw set. "Nothing happened, and I'm not," he hesitated and took a deep breath, "you know..." he trailed off. His Adam's apple bobbed in his long neck.

With that, Minho smirked and sauntered away towards his sleeping place, a hint of a grin on the Asian boy's face. Thomas couldn't help but notice Newt seemed pretty defensive about being, "you know...".

He decided not to ask the boy about it, since he barely knew him. The blond abruptly stood and speed-walked away with his tray, his pale face still red with his interaction with Minho. 

Thomas sat there for a while, his head resting in the palms of his hands. This was a confusing place. Would he and Newt meet again tonight like last night? Would it be awkward? Too many questions, not enough answers. Thomas finally got up and stepped back to get out of the bench he sat on. Chuck had informed Thomas he would be working overnight with the other boys in the Map room to clean it, so that left Thomas to trek back to the tree. 

He reached it and slumped down the roots of the oak tree. The bark pressed into the small of his back, but he didn't care right now. He tilted his neck to gaze up at the stars, not different from what Newt was doing that night, which did not seem at all like it was yesterday. 

He wasn't aware that the boy on his mind was doing the same thing as Thomas, however, he was all the way across the Glade.