𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫 {𝐧𝐞𝐰𝐭 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫}

forty eight: the boy who hates archery

"Focus, Thomas! I might end up killing you before Vince's friends do." I huffed, getting seriously frustrated with the boy who seemed to have somehow gotten worse at self-defense since yesterday.

Thomas groaned loudly, before hoisting himself up off the floor. I know everyone was drinking yesterday, but when I left, he hadn't had that much – and I told him not to go overboard.

Clearly, he did not listen to me.

"Ugh, sorry, I know. My head is just killing me." He replied, rubbing his temple in attempts to relieve some pain.

"I don't care, I told you not to drink anymore."

"I barely had that much more! It was just one glass – and another smaller one." He added the last part much quieter, still massaging his forehead.

"Mhm yeah, okay." I replied, sarcasm spewing out of my words.

He was moving slow, his eyes drooped and his shoulders more slouched than normal. If I didn't have Newt to go back to last night, there's a large possibility that I could be looking exactly like him right now.

I thought back to last night. It was actually very simple; his gesture. And yet, it is now the best memory I have.

"Maybe instead of hand-to-hand combat, we could focus on shooting today?" The boy asked, a glimmer of hope and desperation shining through.

I really did not have any patience for this today – especially since Thomas is hungover and basically incapable of doing anything physical. So, to be honest, his idea was actually a good one.

Contemplating it quickly in my head as I wondered if there would be anyone down in the shooting range, I nodded slowly with a sigh.

"Fine; an hour with guns, an hour with arrows and an hour with knives. Does that sound more reasonable?"

Thomas nodded immediately, his eyes lighting up at the suggestion of less fitness training and more target practice. I did plan to do some shooting precision soon, but today was not supposed to be that day.

I don't think Tom is even bad with his aiming skills; after all the run-ins with Wicked we've had, I thought he was rather good with a weapon. So, I had quite high hopes as we were walking down to the section Vince cornered off for target practice.

Our walk there was practically silent, a comfortable quiet hung around us like the smell of fresh baked goods. That was, until he broke it.

"What's going on with you and Newt?"

I snapped out of my thoughts instantly, shock flooding my system at the boy's abrupt question.

"I- what are you on about?" I asked, keeping my tone cool and not answering straight away to seem less suspicious.

"Oh, come on, Y/n. We all see how he looks at you, and how nice you are to him compared to the rest of us." He said, stepping down the path slowly to avoid falling, keeping his eyes locked on the floor.

"I don't know what you mean." I replied, blankly. Thomas scoffed, "Really? You're going to pull that card?"

I wanted to snap at the boy, as I really wasn't in the mood to talk about this. I don't even know what's going on between me and Newt; after what he did for me yesterday, it was difficult to keep a stupid grin off my face.

But of course, being forced to train a hungover Thomas sure did the trick.

"What bloody card?" I hissed, stepping nearer to him threateningly.