Stars ➳ TMR, Thomas [1] ✓

Chapter {7}

Two days have passed rather quickly after the whole Chris thing went down. I was glad Alby has already forgotten it, but not so glad Chris somehow faked his good attitude and revealed the truth he had something against me. It scared me as much as it bothered me. It scared me because the last thing I needed in this place were enemies, and bothered, well for the same reason. Vividly I remember my second day and his kind act, the way he helped me, the way he behaved towards others, but realising it was only an act of fake kindness hurt me in some undescribable way, mostly because he made me believe it was his true personality.

On the seventh day, about an hour or so before lunch most boys left their working positions since today supplies would come. Nico and I slowly walked toward the Box, chatting about everything we could find interest in.

"So, have you sent them a message?" Nico asked, looking down at his feet as we walked, the crowd appearing in our views, stuck around the Box, awaiting the moment it rose up with our supplies.

"You can do that?" I exclaimed, partially confusion, yet nobody told me and partially in surprise, but in a good one.

"Yeah, nobody told you?" He asked.

"No, but when you say it like that I want to send a message, so they pick up Chris and leave." I joked, knowing they couldn't do that to please my wishes no matter how much I haven't been approving of the things Chris had done. Nico stared confused at me at first, but quickly recovered and laughed.

"Seriously though, if I haven't wished that about four times since that day I don't know what I did." He grinned joyously, and then seemed to fall into thought. "Oh, I just remembered something. Some cooks believed you and Chris were...a thing."

"What? Chris and I...a thing?" I spoke so quietly that it seemed I was barely whispering, only to stop talking when Nico put a finger to his lips, staring at me wide-eyed and pointing where Chris's group stood a little bit off of the side, him and I having passed by them a few seconds ago.

"Yeah, but it's not him, is it?" Nico smirked knowingly at me, making me shrug. "It's someone else."

"No, what makes you think that?" I looked at the crowd of boys around the Box, now much clearer then before, waiting for supplies (Apparently, that was a big deal), and amongst all managed to find Thomas, leaning on Minho's shoulder, in deep conversation with the older boy. Already about ten feet away from the Box Nico suddenly stopped walking and faced me.

"I won't force words out of you, but trust me, Fry and I have our theories about...whatever that is." He implied, rising his eyebrows suggestively as if he knew something completely unknown to me. I blinked a few times, a smirk making its way on Nico's face and never happened to leave his lips, it stayed permanent like a brick wall built together, connected in strong bonds.

"I don't know what are you implying." I stated, confusion evident since his assumptions were unknown, but realising what he meant made me rise my eyebrows in understanding. "I don't like Th..." I denied as quick as I could, noticing Nico's expression, turning my head around to meet the person we've been talking about. It surprised me a tiny bit, after what I quickly tried to compose myself, spotting Nico's permanent smirk directed to me, as I smiled a small, fake smile and greeted him. "Oh, hi Thomas." I laughed quietly a laugh in between relief because I was glad Nico can now throw his assumptions away and happiness. An undescribable small amount of happiness when Thomas casually draped his arm over my shoulder, withdrawing it as he remembered I wasn't alone. Since the day when all of the things with Chris happened, Thomas has been doing that a lot more often, especially after coming from the Maze or Map Room, when we ate dinner or just when we sat and talked. It was defenitely something like the phrase we would share often.