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As on so many mornings, Chuck was on his way to check on Thomas. It was the third time this week Thomas had skipped breakfast, and Chuck, ever the loyal friend, prepared two slices of bread—one slathered with peanut butter, the other with chocolate spread, just the way Thomas liked it. He wrapped the sandwich carefully in a napkin, despite the rules about taking food from the cafeteria. Chuck never really cared much about those regulations anyway.
He headed toward the observation room, where he knew Thomas would be. With the napkin-hidden sandwich tucked behind his favourite toy duck, which he held close to his chest, Chuck weaved through the maze-like hallways. He flashed his usual wide, innocent grin to everyone he passed. Most returned it half-heartedly, but the atmosphere had grown increasingly grim since the Maze Trials began, darker than ever before.
Thomas, too, had changed. He spent every spare minute glued to the observation room’s screens, watching his friends in the Glade. Chuck wasn’t as close to any of them, but he didn’t mind tagging along. Even when Thomas became quieter with each passing day and Teresa’s appearances became rare, Chuck still preferred his company over boring lessons or the invasive daily medical exams. He knew the WICKED staff, in their awkward one-piece suits, would soon come looking for him. They were insistent on his participation in the lessons with Mr. Glanville and Ms. Denton, so Chuck hurried, hoping to steal a few moments with Thomas before they inevitably dragged him off.
“Room service!” Chuck announced, swinging the door open without a knock. Manners weren’t something WICKED or his parents had taught him, so he didn’t even feel guilty when Thomas jumped, startled by his entrance.
As expected, Thomas was sitting in his usual chair by the door, chin resting in his hands, eyes fixed on one of the countless screens. The image zoomed out before Chuck could catch what Thomas had been watching so closely, leaving a wide view of the Glade, where most of the boys still slept in their hammocks. Chuck’s suspicions stirred when he saw the guilt flicker across Thomas’ face, but when he noticed the tightness in his friend’s lips and the faint shimmer in his eyes, he decided to hold back any teasing remark. Instead, he closed the door and proudly held out the sandwich.
“I brought you breakfast.”
“Thanks, Chuck,” Thomas mumbled, but his voice was distant, his gaze drifting back to the screen.
Chuck followed his eyes just in time to see a boy with tousled blond hair stretching out of a hammock.
“What’s Newt up to?” Chuck asked, settling into the second chair.
“I don’t know,” Thomas said quickly, too quickly.
Chuck glanced from the screen to the sandwich still in his hand. “It’s peanut butter and chocolate spread,” he offered, as if that might cheer him up.
“I—uh, I don’t really like peanut butter.”
Chuck blinked. “Then why do I always see you making it like this?”
Thomas shrugged, turning his attention back to the screen, where Newt, now dressed in his Runner's gear, was heading toward Frypan’s hut for his morning ration.
“Just a bad habit, I guess.”
“A bad habit of making food you hate?” Chuck asked, incredulous.
Thomas’ expression tightened. “I should probably stop now—” he cut himself off abruptly.
“Now that he’s gone?” Chuck finished the sentence for him.
Thomas hesitated before nodding. “He’s not gone... he’s just…”
“Not here?” Chuck supplied softly.
They both watched the screen as Minho joined Newt, the two exchanging a few jokes while stretching. Though their laughter was visible, their voices were lost to the Beetle Blade that hid among the ivy, watching. Chuck felt the distance between their world and the Glade like an ache—a separation he knew would eventually close when it was his turn. The thought scared and excited him in equal measure, but he pushed it aside. There was still time.
“Will you look out for me too? When they send me in?” Chuck asked suddenly, his voice quieter now.
Thomas turned to him, surprised by the question. “Of course,” he said, almost offended that Chuck would think otherwise. “You and Teresa... you’re the closest thing I have to family. I’ll always look out for you.”
Chuck chewed on that for a moment before asking, “Will you miss me as much as you miss Newt?”
The question hung in the air. Thomas didn’t answer right away, taking his time before saying, “I won’t miss you more or less than I miss him. I’ll miss you differently.”
It wasn’t the answer Chuck had expected, but somehow, it made sense.
“I could tell him,” Chuck offered after a pause, his voice small. “When I’m there, with them. If you want, I mean. I could tell him.”
Thomas shook his head slowly, a heavy sadness weighing his features. “No. He doesn’t remember me. And... neither will you.”
Chuck’s heart sank. He hadn’t thought about that. How everything—his friendship, his memories—would be wiped clean when his turn came. He gripped the sandwich in one hand, his toy duck in the other, feeling helpless. Thomas, the person he had always looked up to like an older brother, seemed more fragile than ever. For the first time, Chuck realised that even Thomas was just a boy.