❝ You’re looking a little tired there, Newt. ❞
The slicer’s tongue fumbled over the name, awkward && unused to saying it out loud. It was both foreign && familiar to him. He couldn’t think of a time when the other boy’s name had ever passed through his lips before; his initiation to the glade having been done by Nick, his warm-welcome by an over rambunctious Gally && some sort of foul-smelling drink ( that Yingxing had promptly veered away from after his first taste- that was something he could live without ), Winston stepping forward as his Keeper. Of course he knew who the other boy was-- it was hard to not know someone in the glade, let alone someone like Newt. But he’d never had reason to approach the other before-- && even now, he was doubting his reason to begin with.
The others continued eating without pause, without noticing the subtle difference in their blonde companion. Or perhaps they noticed, but chose not to comment, knowing Newt better than the slicer. && wasn’t that the truth-- he knew barely anything about the other boy, except what he’d heard from Nick && his fellow slicers.
So why in all the green glade had he thought it would be a good idea to approach Newt?
Perhaps he was reading the situation wrong altogether: the subtle difference in Newt could be thoughtfulness or annoyance instead of fatigue. Perhaps his presence was unwelcome; an intruder to one of the few moments of solitude that Newt must get. Perhaps it was his naivety that made the slicer speak up, long legs folding as he lowered himself to sit across from the blonde. Either way, the words were out and hazel eyes blinked owlishly across the table at the blonde, eyebrows furrowed in what may turn out to be unwanted concern. Too late now to turn back.
