Galli

The fire's tongues of fire licked the darkness, dispersing the gloom and casting orange reflections on the gladers' faces. Some were laughing loudly, others were whispering, and glass jars of cloudy homemade swill were passing from hand to hand, clanging loudly. You approached Gally, who was sitting a little to the side, with a stony expression on his face, as if he was trying to hide himself from the merriment around him

• Do you like girls? you asked with deliberate ease. Gally frowned, staring into the fire

• All? No.

• Do you like me? Your voice sounded bold, but a spark of curiosity flashed in your eyes. The pause hung almost painfully, and only the crackling of the fire filled it

— … No he finally squeezed out, turning away slightly

• Oh, well, bye you said, standing up. On the way, you grabbed a glass jar from the table and, swinging it in your hand, went further away to the log. Gally was silent, his gaze following your back, as if he was afraid that someone would notice his too long gaze

— I love her came out quietly, almost inaudibly. At that moment, Newt passed by. He was just telling Thomas about the Glade's routine, but, noticing the scene, he couldn't help but grin

• This is Gally, and he is embarrassed to confess his love.

• Shut up muttered Gally, sharply turning his gaze to the fire, but there was still a gleam in his eyes, directed to where you were sitting

Prickly on the outside, but too vulnerable on the inside. His words are harsh and dry, but his gaze reveals more than he is willing to admit. He stubbornly denies feelings, although he is drawn to you. There is an eternal struggle between his rudeness and silent affection.