Thomas weaved his way through the busy Gladers, his gaze flicking around the Glade in search of one person. He just wanted a moment to clear his head, to talk to you. He didn't have any real reason—maybe you needed help finding herbs, or some other excuse he could think up on the spot—but the truth was, he just wanted to be around you.

He spotted you across the Glade, standing near the map tables, your face lit up with laughter. Thomas' heart skipped a beat, a small smile tugging at his lips just seeing you so relaxed. But then his eyes landed on Minho, standing right beside you, his arm casually draped over your shoulders. The sight hit Thomas like a punch to the gut. He stopped in his tracks, his stomach twisting as he watched the two of you laughing together, completely at ease.

Minho's arm stayed in place, and Thomas couldn't help but notice how natural it looked, how close you seemed. His smile faltered, jealousy creeping up his spine in a sharp, unwelcome wave. He swallowed hard, trying to push the feeling down. You're just friends, he told himself. Minho's just being friendly. But the longer he stood there, watching, the harder it was to convince himself. The sight of Minho's easy grin, the way you leaned into his side, made something churn in Thomas' chest.

He shook his head, forcing himself to take a deep breath. Stop it, you're being ridiculous. He tried to brush it off, but the jealousy burned hot, making his palms sweat. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides as he fought the urge to just walk away. But instead, his legs moved him forward, almost on autopilot. He had to get you away from Minho, even if it was for a few minutes.

Thomas cleared his throat as he approached, his heart racing faster than it should have been. "Hey, Minho." he stammered, barely able to meet his friend's eyes. His voice sounded awkward, too forced. He tried to play it cool, but he could already feel the heat rising to his face.

Minho raised an eyebrow, giving him a curious look, but Thomas didn't wait for him to respond. He turned his attention to you, his words tumbling out before he had a chance to think. "Uh, can you help me with something?" he asked, his tone a little too rushed, a little too eager. His mind scrambled for an excuse, any excuse, to pull you away. "I—I need help with, um, finding herbs for—uh, for dinner?"

It wasn't his smoothest moment, and he knew it. Thomas felt a wave of relief at your nod, but it was quickly followed by more awkwardness. As you started to move toward him, he fiddled with the hem of his shirt, unable to meet your eyes. His hand twitched, and before he could stop himself, he reached out and gently tugged on the fabric of your shirt, pulling you closer to him. It was a subtle move, but it felt too obvious, too desperate. He didn't care. He just needed you away from Minho, needed you beside him instead.

He turned on his heel, walking briskly away from the map tables tugging you along. He kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, trying to focus on anything but the fact that you were behind him.

After a few moments, the silence felt too heavy, too awkward. He couldn't help it; the question slipped out before he could think better of it. "So, uh... what was Minho telling you?" His voice came out strained, too tight. "What was so funny?"

He couldn't stop himself. He wanted to know. The jealousy he'd felt seeing you together still gnawed at him, and he hated it. Why do I care so much?