Cats Writes

Requests open! rules post eventually but ill write for tmr for now :D art acc is @cancatsbecowboys

[cancatsbewriters]

Stitches and Kisses ~♡

tmr minho x reader (realized that I used no pronouns or gender descriptions for reader, so can be read with any gender in mind ^^) word count: 9.9k lawwdd have mercy i got carried away here... summary: You were proud to be a Medjack. If only a particular Glader didn't make it his mission to be your patient... warnings: injuries (poor minho), blood, medical procedures (stitches), cleaning wounds, FLUSTERED MINHO HELLO, literally the whole glade ships it, loooots of banter because I live for ts, also lowk touch-starved minho… perchance..

a/n: i got so carried away with this omg.. longest fic ive ever written i think?? If you dont count finches since its multiple parts? Anyways, thank you @gladii0lus for pitching me minho x medjack reader and flustered minho... ITS SO PEAKKKKK (A03 version here!)

The Med-hut was your sanctuary. It was dark and cool, a refuge from the blazing sun that otherwise shone brightly in the Glade. It was clean and sterilized, a necessity the boys had come to realize after one too many infections from dirty tools. Thankfully, that was long before you arrived in the Glade. 

Being chosen as a Medjack was an exciting and nerve-wracking moment for you. On one hand, you were proud that Clint trusted in your abilities. You found that you were somewhat skilled in the medical realm; on your Greenie visit, many of the skills Clint taught you came naturally. You had even proved useful in patching up a Builder who had caught his arm on a saw blade that day. On the other hand, you were nervous. The life of an unlucky Glader could soon literally be in your hands.

It had been a few months since you arrived at the Glade, and you felt you had become quite adjusted to your new life. You didn’t mind the work and were happy to help the occasional Slicer who got himself hurt. Nothing monumental had happened yet, but you felt as if it loomed on the horizon. It tugged at your mind as you organized some bottles, relishing the cool shade of the Med-hut. It was dawn; the rest of the boys were still sleeping. You had gotten up early to clean the Med-hut from the previous day. Having taken an unusual number of patients at once, the place looked like a tornado had passed through it. Clint and Jeff would be grateful once they woke up. 

Besides those two, the other Gladers were kind to you. They must appreciate the Medjacks’ work, and therefore went a bit easier on you as a Greenie. You could call many of them good friends by now. It was fun to spend time with Clint and Jeff while you worked, and you appreciated Newt and Frypan making appearances when you weren’t in the Med-hut. Occasionally, one of the two would drop by while you were on the clock just to converse with you. You enjoyed their company and happily talked with them for hours.

However, there was one Glader whom you had tried with all your power to avoid. 

When you first saw him, you were positively starstruck. Gorgeous, tall, with a confident posture and a swoop of hair that you couldn’t take your eyes off of. He jogged past you and Newt on your first day, on his way to what you later learned was the Map room. He had grinned at you and waved, something that Newt noted was rare for him to do with newbies.

“He must like the look of ya,” Newt had said. That had led to lots of teasing from him after your face had gone bright red. 

You stole glances at him after that and did your best to look cool in front of him at the bonfire. 

You had seen him around the Glade lots, and you swore you caught him looking in your direction a few times. You were too nervous to approach him yourself, but your prayers were answered after your Greenie ceremony. Once you had acquainted yourself with the Med-hut, Minho had made his way in. You thought your heart would burst right out of your chest. That was until he opened his mouth.

You learned very quickly that his ego was bigger than his hair. He spent a while calling you a slew of names, mainly shank, and congratulating you on the job. His vocabulary was laden with Glader slang, and it made it hard for you to understand what on Earth he was talking about. He bragged a bit about his job and the title of Keeper, which you learned he took very seriously. He then begged you to treat a scrape he had gotten in the Maze that day. You were excited for an opportunity to be close to him and obliged. You put simple bandages around his little injury while he babbled on, mainly about himself. When you were finished, he grinned at you in a way that made your head woozy and jogged out of the Med-hut.

After that, he always made sure to show up to the Med-hut with even the tiniest injury, declaring that only you could patch him up. He would outright refuse Clint and Jeff’s help, claiming that he wanted to see a “real doctor”. You honestly didn’t mind his presence; it was just that he was so annoying about it. Why did he always need to be exactly where you were, all of the time? 

There had been a few close calls with injured boys a couple of days later. You had to practically hold a Slicer’s arm together while Clint bandaged him up. Clint had taught you how to handle those types of injuries, but you had yet to put those skills to practice. You were almost out of bandages, and after that incident, you were fully out of stock. Clint essentially begged you to stop wasting the few supplies you had on Minho, so you regrettably made it a mission to avoid his requests. Unfortunately, that just made him more eager to stop by. The number of paper cuts you had to bandage for that boy, ridiculous. 

You shook your head at the memories from the past months as you placed a bottle of acetone back on the shelf. You were reaching for another bottle of medicine when the door creaked open. You heard someone step inside as their heavy boots clunked against the floor.

“Helloooo Doc!” Minho’s unmistakable voice sounded from behind you. 

You internally groaned and slowly turned to face him, raising your eyebrows. The very Glader that had just occupied your thoughts now stood by the doorway. 

You gave him a little wave, “You’re up early. What’s wrong with you this time?”

Minho had his signature grin plastered to his face. “Dunno what you’re talking about. I’m a patient; aren’t you supposed to diagnose me?” 

You gave him a blank stare for a moment, leaning against the shelf and crossing your arms. “My official diagnosis is: You’re fine. Go and eat some breakfast instead of buggin’ me.” You tried to be firm with him, but it came out as a milder annoyance.

Minho tried to look innocent, widening his eyes to give you that puppy dog look that always managed to tug at your chest. You would be lying if you said he wasn’t attractive. His hair, which was always immaculate, sat slightly disheveled in the early light. That didn’t stop you from taking a good, long look at it and at the grinning face attached. 

“If you take a picture, it’ll last longer, y’know.” 

You groaned, out loud this time, and were about to kick him out before he moved forward. Minho took a few, purposefully uneven, steps into the Med-hut. 

“I swear, there’s something wrong with my ankle. Must’ve slept on it wrong. Can you at least check?” There were those big eyes again. Something inside of your chest fluttered, but you quickly clamped it down. 

You sighed, rolled your eyes, and motioned towards one of the cots that lined the wall.

“Sit, and roll your sock down for me.”

Minho grinned like a little kid and quickly made his way to the cot. His uneven gait was gone, and you smiled despite yourself.

“I thought there was something wrong with your ankle, shank.”

Minho immediately stumbled, favoring one leg. “Ah! It hurts sooo bad! Doc! Save me!” 

You let out a stifled laugh as he sat down on the cot. He was bullshitting you; that was clear.

“Minho, come on. You’re fine. Why all the theatrics?”

He lay back against the raised pillow and looked at you with a goofy grin. “You’re no fun. Why can’t you just look at it? Something might be wrong! If I trip in the Maze and get murdered by a Griever, it’ll be your fault!” Minho liked to talk with his hands, and he was gesturing wildly. He mimed being eaten by a Griever while he looked up at you expectantly. You finally broke once he added sound effects.

You sighed, even louder this time, and dragged a small stool over. Minho’s smile got bigger, if that was even possible. You made your way over to his ‘injury’ and looked up at him. “Didn’t I tell you to roll down your sock? Lemme look at it.”

“Hasty, are we? At least take me out to dinner first.”

“Dude. If you don’t shut up, I swear to God.” 

Minho laughed. It was a deep chuckle that had him going until there were a few tears in his eyes. While he was distracted, you pulled down his sock yourself. Upon inspection, you confirmed that everything was completely normal.

You looked up to find him staring at you. A smile played on your lips as you spoke, “Minho, really. You’re fine. Now get outta my hair, or else I'll get someone to throw you out!”

Minho nodded, playfully raising his hands in surrender. “Alright, Alright.”

You rolled up his sock for him, chuckling. 

He didn’t make any move to leave, though. You looked back up to meet his eyes. He had been staring again. You felt like the breath had been sucked out of your lungs by the way he was looking at you. His gaze was gentle, and a small grin laced his lips. 

“Hi,” he said, waving at you from his seat. He then moved his hands to the back of his head, leaning to lounge on the cot. As you studied him, you felt a warmth creep into your chest. This time, for some reason, you allowed it.

“You like lookin’ at me, don’t you?” 

You stuttered, then scoffed, rolling your eyes at him. It was then that you noticed a small cut on his cheek. It was fresh, but not bleeding. Angry and red, it had clearly been irritated by how Minho had slept the night before. You furrowed your brows and stood, grabbing an adhesive bandage and Neosporin from the counter.

Minho’s face fell as you turned away. He brought his hands down to rest on either side of him and tilted his head at you. “Whatcha up to, Doc?”

You moved back to him, scooching your stool closer to his torso. He was propped up against the pillow and looked at you quizzically. You placed the bandage and the cream on the nightstand.

“You’ve got a little cut here.” You motioned to your face, pointing at your cheek, “I’ll bandage it for you.”

Minho absentmindedly mirrored your touch and hissed, making a face and pulling his hand away.

You lent forward to bandage his face before noticing a small issue. Your stool was too low for you to reach his face comfortably. That left only three viable options: Stand awkwardly and hunch over him, ask him to lie down, or sit on the edge of the cot. You were absolutely not going to embarrass yourself by snuggling up to him right now, and you felt like lying him down for a quick fix was overkill, so you decided to stand. You leaned over his face, pulling at the sides of the cut for a moment. You furrowed your brow. It was deeper than you thought. A bandage should be fine, though. You’d just have to clean it properly.

You stood back up to grab a rag and a bottle of water to clean the cut, and rubbed your back with a groan. That was not a comfortable position to hold. When you returned with the rag, something was different. Minho had shuffled over, leaving a bit more room on your side of the cot.

“Siddown. Don’t throw your back out for me just yet, Doc.” he winked, patting the spot beside him.

You swallowed. It was getting harder to ignore his comments, especially when they made your heart flutter like that.

You gingerly sat down on the edge of the cot. Your legs hung off of it, and you twisted to see his face.

Minho looked at you expectantly and turned his injured cheek towards you. “I don’t bite, I promise.”

You chuckled a bit at that, “Just slim it and lemme do my job, alright?” 

Minho hummed in acknowledgement. You held the rag over the top of the bottle and emptied a bit of water onto it. It was better to clean these types of infections gently. You had learned that firsthand after you had tried to clean a similar injury with alcohol. That had not ended well, and Clint had given you an earful. 

You reached up with the now wet rag and dabbed at his face. Minho jumped, jerking away from your hand. 

“Ow! What the hell!” Minho whined.

“Hold still,” you said quietly. You grabbed the side of his head, forcing him to stay still as you quickly cleaned the dirt out of his cut. He immediately stopped his grumbling when you touched him. It took you a bit longer than expected; some of the dirt was particularly stubborn. You were surprised at how quiet he was. Normally, cleaning his wounds elicited a slew of complaints from him. 

“How did this happen?” you questioned, giving him a momentary break from the rag.

Minho opened his mouth and fumbled around with his words for a moment. His breath was uneven, which puzzled you. “I dunno…” 

“Try to be more careful, ok? This is deep; it could’ve gotten bad if you let it go on infected.” You shook your finger at him and returned to his face.

“Aw, you care about me?”

You sighed, smiling. He was spot on in his assumption, but you probably shouldn’t feed his ego any further. “Just doing my job. But seriously, be more careful.”

“Sure thing—ah!” You swiped the rag back over his injury, causing him to cry out in surprise. He took a shuddering breath in. “Shuck, that hurts,” he whispered.

After you finished, you patted his cheek one more time with the dry end of the towel. “Okay, all done. Not that bad, huh?”

“Nope. Wasn’t even worried.” his voice was strained, and you could see he had been white-knuckling the sheets.

You reached for the side table, grabbing the bandage and cream. Completely absorbed in your work, you felt Minho’s gaze on you. You removed your hand from his other cheek, where it had come to rest during the cleaning, and opened the tube of Neosporin. You gently spread some of it on the bandage and returned to his face. 

You placed your hand on his cheek again, stabilizing his head, and placed the bandage on his injury. You smoothed over the edges, making sure it would stick. Pausing for a moment to make sure the bandage stayed on, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

You knew what Minho looked like, but it was a whole new experience to see him up close. He had a few freckles and moles dotting his skin that you hadn’t seen before. Something at the back of your mind longed to trace your fingers across them. A muscle at the corner of his jaw twitched now and again, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. 

It was just then that you noticed how red his cheeks were. You had seen it a bit when you were cleaning, but you thought it was just irritation from the rag. Now that you had a full view of his face, you realized it wasn’t just near his injury; rather, his entire head had taken on a pink sheen.

You furrowed your brow, worried he might have some kind of sudden-onset fever. “Are you ok? You’re really… red.”

“‘M fine.” He breathed out. He was unusually quiet. That only worried you more, and you brought your other hand up to his forehead. Minho flinched at your sudden touch and made a small noise at the back of his throat. You were too focused to notice; his temperature wasn’t hot, only warm. That calmed you a bit, perhaps whatever he had was mild.

“You’re warm. Do you want me to talk to Alby? Get you the day off? I think you might be sick.”

“No, really I’m–” You brushed your thumb across his cheek, and he stumbled over his words. His eyes were wide, and his breathing was unsteady again. “I’m fine.” 

“You sure?” You tilted your head at him. “You’re acting funny, Minho.” You were slightly taken aback at his demeanor. Where was the confident sass from a few moments ago? 

“Yeah! Yeah, I'm sure.” Minho was looking everywhere but your face. “I should probably go. I’m already late.”

You nodded and leaned away from him. Reluctantly removing your hand from his cheek and standing, you gave him room to get up by himself. He stood and quickly brushed past you and to the door to the Med-hut.

He paused at the threshold, looking back at you. 

You waved, “See you later.”

He nodded, but didn’t reply. His gaze roamed across your face for a moment. You could see the gears turning in his head. It looked like he was internally arguing with himself for a moment, until he stepped backward, into the Med-hut. He let the door swing shut as he walked right up to you. 

Minho stared at you for a moment. You stared back, slightly confused. His eyebrows were furrowed, and he leaned forward. 

You only now noticed how close he was to you. Practically chest to chest, Minho looked down at your face. 

You looked up to meet his eyes when a flicker of movement entered your vision. He slowly brought a hand to the side of your face. His touch was faint, hardly there, as if he were afraid you’d react strongly. You felt like your insides exploded at the feeling. Everything was warm, senses heightened from his simple touch. What was he doing to you? 

Minho brought his other hand to his lips and licked his thumb. He brought his thumb to your cheek, swiping at it.

“Got somethin’ on your face,” he said, voice low. 

You let him clean your cheek. If there truly was something there, you didn’t care. Your whole body was on fire, and you could tell your face was just as red. His eyes were dark and inviting, and for some reason, you couldn’t pull your gaze away. You were rooted to the spot, hands at your sides.

Once he had gotten the supposed dirt off, his thumb retreated. Your heart was racing against your ribcage. His pupils were dilated, and he stared at you for another moment before opening his mouth. You leaned closer, and so did he.

His hand suddenly moved. You had almost forgotten that it was on your cheek if it weren’t for the heat it created in your face. Minho’s fingers splayed out, and he gently cupped your face. It made your heart lurch in your chest, and warmth spread to the tips of your fingers. You looked up at him and leaned into his touch. Something in his expression softened at that, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He took in a breath, as if to speak.

Only, he was then interrupted by a loud knock on the door behind you. 

“Yo, Minho! You’re late, man.” It was Ben. 

You both flinched. You immediately moved toward the door, Minho moving quicker. His hand stayed on your cheek for a moment before you pulled away. He looked slightly hurt at your reaction. He was still looking at you when you pulled the door open. Ben stood there, holding two running harnesses and two towels.

There was a moment when he just stared between the two of you. Your face still felt warm, and a glance confirmed that Minho felt equally awkward. 

“Come on, dude. We gotta hit the showers quick if we wanna make it into the Maze on time.”

Minho nodded, running a hand through his hair and walking past you. Ben started leading him to the showers, and Minho followed, seeming reluctant. He glanced back at you a few times before fully committing to walking side by side with Ben. 

—---------

You were deep in thought as you crossed the Glade. You were headed for the kitchen. It took you a few minutes to cool down after your interaction with Minho earlier. Your stomach grumbled, and you picked up your pace. Dew coated the grass of the lawn as you walked, the little droplets of water catching the sunlight. 

That whole interaction had you seeing Minho in a different light. Every time he had nagged you or made you bandage his fingers, had that all been with a deeper connotation? Why was he freaking out so much when you were touching his face? Did he feel the same way this whole time? Shuck, it was making your head hurt as you looked across the Glade. 

It was still early morning, one of the rare moments when the Glade was silent. Gone was the usual hustle and bustle, replaced by the gentle snores of sleeping boys. 

The Glade smelled nice in the mornings, like grass and clean air. By the time the Gladers got going, there was a lingering stench of sweat at the more popular spots. It was a miracle to get these guys to wear deodorant. You were lucky to have express access to the stash, it being located in the Med-hut. Minho always somehow smelled nice, though, even after a run. Like campfire smoke and something musky, you thought. Were you really analyzing his smell now? You truly had lost your mind. 

You passed by a group of sound-asleep Builders, their hands dangling out of their hammocks at odd angles. The runner’s hammocks were empty, and you could hear talking and laughter coming from the showers as you walked by them. The thought of Minho in the shower had your brain spiraling for a moment before you regained your focus. The only other sounds were your gentle footsteps on the dirt and the low clanging of pots and pans coming from somewhere ahead. 

You ducked into the kitchen, eyes adjusting to the low lighting. You spotted Frypan, hard at work at his grill. He turned when he heard you, greeting you with a wide smile.

“Hey! Got your eggs comin’ up in a sec.” he turned back to the grill, turning over some bacon that sizzled when it met the metal surface. Frypan was always so jovial in the mornings. It seemed he truly loved his job. His food was so good that the Gladers often speculated that he must have been a chef in a previous life.

“How’d you sleep, Fry?” You, on the other hand, were tired. That extra early wake-up had not been kind to you. You stood in front of the counter, leaning on it casually. Since you were seemingly the only two in the kitchen so far, you looked at the door expectantly. Clint and Jeff, along with the other early risers, should be here soon. 

“I slept great! If I tune out Zart’s snoring, it's actually kinda peaceful in my hammock.” Fry grabbed a plate, loading your favorite style of egg onto it along with bacon and some greens. He held it out to you, but pulled it back when you went to grab it. “How’d you sleep? Did you finally snuggle up with your little boyfriend, or ‘ya still leaving him out to dry?”

You groaned; Fry was such a gossip. “I slept alright.” You tried to reach for your plate to end this interaction, but Fry held it up higher. His eyebrows were raised, and he was grinning like a little kid. After that little interaction this morning, his words took on a deeper meaning. You could feel your ears getting redder by the minute as you relived Minho’s touch in your mind.

Just then, you heard footsteps in the doorway. Clint’s round face appeared in its frame, and you spotted Jeff walking behind him.

“What’s up, y’all?” Jeff greeted. Clint waved to you and Frypan, smiling. 

“Nothing!” You grabbed your plate from Fry while he was busy waving back to Clint. You quickly made your way to a table, trying to hide your warm cheeks.

“No, not nothing…” Fry had an evil grin on his face. You sent him your best ‘shut up’ glare to no avail. “You just won't admit that the thought of Minho makes ya blush.”

“Oh, my god….” You put your head into your hands, shoveling eggs into your mouth in embarrassment. 

Jeff and Clint chuckled, taking their own plates of food from Fry and joining you at the table. Jeff poked you in the side with a grin. “Minho? Really?”

“Aw, come on. Go easy,” Clint chided, taking a bite of his omelet. A beat passed, then he leaned forward, “But now that you mention it, he has been looking at you an awful lot lately, hasn’t he? Especially when you’re working on his injuries.”

You quickly looked up at that, “Wait, really?” 

You could have sworn you caught him staring when you worked earlier. After this morning, the idea wasn’t foreign to you. He had been staring an awful lot when you were tending to his face, and when he was tending to yours. Maybe you weren’t crazy, and he actually liked you and— Wait. Clint was having a hard time controlling his smile, and you heard Jeff stifle a giggle from next to you. You shook your head, realizing what they just did to you. “Wait, no. I don’t actually care, I—”

“Oh, you’re so into him, aren’t you?” Jeff was fully laughing now and slapped your back.

“No! I swear, I’m not!” Your whole body was warm again. This time, it didn’t feel as good as it had when Minho touched your cheek. “You guys suck! All of you!” You directed that at Fry, who just raised his hands in mock innocence.

“It’s alright, Greenie. Minho is dashing, daring, and bloody charming. It’s completely understandable.” Newt was suddenly by your side, dropping down on the bench next to you. When he came in, you had no idea. He was another early riser, but you hadn’t heard him enter the kitchen. He threw an arm around your shoulder playfully, “Don't think we haven't all noticed how many times he visits the Med-hut for you and only you.”

“How long have you been eavesdropping?” you sighed, picking at your food.

“Long enough to confirm my and everyone’s suspicions. So, when’s the wedding?” Newt leaned back in his chair, looking smug.

“We aren’t even a thing! Why is everyone so invested in my love life?” You were exasperated and threw your hands in the air as you spoke. Minho had gone from your least favorite customer, whom you had a little crush on, to a boy who made your stomach feel really weird in a matter of hours. This was extremely poorly timed. 

“Not like there’s much else to do here,” Newt replied, “‘Sides, it's wildly entertaining to watch. You’re about as red as a tomato right now.” 

You shoved down the rest of your food, standing to leave and save yourself from this conversation, “Okay! I’m gonna go to the Med-hut. I think the medicine bottles need more organization.”

“Aw, what?” a new voice spoke from the doorway. Minho walked in, tossing his running harness over his shoulder. “Did I just miss ya? Damn. I guess I’ll see you at dinner, then. ” 

The entire morning’s events ran through your mind in a second, and you found yourself dumbfounded at his nonchalance. How can he act so normal after that? Before you could reply, Jeff stood up with you, “Actually, we were just about to get seconds! Come, sit with us.” 

“What?” you whispered harshly at him, glaring. He only grinned and pushed you forward. You were flustered, and Newt kept wiggling his eyebrows at you from his seat. You begrudgingly followed Jeff and walked over to Fry.

“Not. A. Word,” you growled, voice low. Fry said nothing, but smiled knowingly as he gave you more eggs.

Minho wandered up behind you, brushing past you to grab a plate from Frypan. The slight bit of contact made your brain short-circuit. Shuck, maybe you were more into him than you thought. God. He was just so… everything. That sweet smile, perfect hair, and enough bicep muscle to go around. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought of what he looked like under that blue button-up. 

“Yo, Earth to Doc? I’m talkin to ya.” 

“Huh?” You snapped out of your daydream to look up at Minho’s expectant face. If your cheeks weren’t red before, they definitely are now. “Oh, um, sorry. Totally spaced out. What were you asking?”

Minho smiled slightly at your blabbering and nodded to the counter behind you. “Just need to get to the condiments, if you don’t mind.”

You looked behind you to see that you were blocking the salt and pepper shakers. He was far too close to you again. It felt awfully familiar. This time, you turned around and awkwardly shuffled to the side, returning to your table and to the stifled snickers from the boys.

“Slim it!” you hissed, sitting back down beside Newt.

“Using Glader slang already, are we?” Newt teased, flicking your shoulder. 

You heard Minho’s heavy footsteps coming up to the table. Newt turned and grabbed his now-empty plate. “Oi, Minho! Take my spot; I’ve finished eating.”

You sent Newt a death glare as he walked away, grinning cheekily. Minho looked between you two quizzically.

“Oh, uh,” he looked at the now empty space next to you and averted his eyes, “Sure.” He suddenly looked very awkward, and he approached the table slowly, looking down at his feet. Was that a hint of pink on his cheeks? 

Minho was a big guy, and the spot Newt had left him on the edge of the bench was quite small. You went to shuffle over to give him more room, but found that Jeff was blocking you. He smiled when you deadpanned at him. This left you nestled up against Minho. Your heart was doing backflips in your chest. Minho reached for his fork, and his arm brushed yours. You could see goosebumps dotting his skin.

Before you could say anything to him, he started shoveling eggs into his mouth. The guy ate feverishly, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. 

“Slow down, shank. You’ll choke.” Clint scolded, looking between you and him with a grin.

“Mmpf,” he replied. Minho took another huge bite of toast. He, of course, immediately started coughing. You watched awkwardly as he chugged his orange juice. That only made him cough harder, and you cringed internally. You looked towards Clint helplessly. Clint circled his palm in the air, encouraging you to pat him on the back. 

You swallowed the butterflies in your stomach and placed your palm on his back. Minho froze. It was like he had been struck by lightning, the way he held completely still for a moment. His back felt warm and solid; the feeling sent electricity up your arm. He finally swallowed, and his breathing returned to normal. You could feel his heartbeat racing under your fingertips, and you removed your hand quickly.

He nodded to you, “Thanks,” he said curtly, and returned to his food.

After he calmed down and started eating at a normal pace, you noticed that his eyes were flying everywhere. Not only that, his leg was bouncing under the table. You felt that more than you saw it; his side was practically pressed up against yours. It seemed that your forced contact had an effect on him. The notion brought heat to your cheeks once again, and you also found yourself avoiding any kind of eye contact with anyone. 

The rest of the runners had joined your table and were talking amongst themselves. One of them asked Minho a question. Instead of replying, he was staring off into space, scraping at the egg yolk on his plate. They had to repeat their question a few times to get him to answer, and his reply was absentminded. They gave him weird looks, but returned to their conversation. Their Keeper’s mind was clearly elsewhere. 

Minho finished his food and immediately excused himself from the table. The other runners followed him, presumably to start their pre-run checks before heading into the Maze for the day. Ben started talking to him about their route when Minho suddenly doubled back, to the other boy’s dismay. He hastily walked over and leaned against the table. He looked at you, seemingly nervous. “Can I talk to you? Later?” 

You were quiet, still reeling from everything, and attempted to stutter out an answer before Ben grabbed him by the arm, yanking him away. You managed to squeak out a yes before Ben had fully dragged Minho out of earshot. You let out a breath, slouching in your seat. 

“You guys are so cute,” Fry exclaimed, shaking his head as he sat down.

“You guys are so annoying,” you grumbled, picking at the wooden table.

“Whatever you say, ‘Doc’,” Fry replied teasingly.

Clint laughed, gently, “Don’t think I’ve ever seen Minho tongue-tied in my life.”

“Me neither,” Jeff chimed in, “You gotta give us a play-by-play of what happens at this supposed ‘later’ that he wants to see you at.”

A chorus of ‘oohs ’ from the other boys made your cheeks warm, and you stood up again. You finally were able to excuse yourself properly and made your way back to the Med-hut. Across the Glade, you spotted Minho and the other runners stretching. You could have sworn he was looking at you as you entered the hut. Once you had gotten settled, you peeked out of the window to see the boys take off into the Maze.

—-----

The rest of the day had been uneventful. A few guys came in with bruises, needing ice, and one came by to talk to Jeff. You had been relatively quiet, keeping to yourself and thinking everything over. Clint and Jeff thankfully kept their teasing to a minimum, but you caught them whispering and giggling to each other now and then. 

It was almost four, which meant the runners would be back in an hour. You monitored Clint’s watch like a hawk. You couldn’t tell if it was excitement or nerves that were bubbling in your stomach. Minho wanted to talk to you. Minho wanted to talk to you. You were practically bouncing around in your corner of the Med-hut in anticipation. 

You were repeatedly organizing and reorganizing the shelves. It calmed your restless hands that otherwise would pick at your skin or clothes nervously. After you put the tube of Neosporin from that morning back on the shelf, Clint walked up to you.

“Dude, that’s the third time you’ve put that away. How about you take a break, huh? Go for a walk around the Glade, or something.” When you looked at him nervously, he smiled, patting your back. “If he comes by, I’ll make sure you’re the first to know. Don’t worry, I can handle clean-up today. Go take a load off and chill out for me, ok?”

You nodded and reluctantly relinquished your Neosporin. “Alright, I will. If you see him—”

“I’ll tell him where you are. Don’t worry.” Clint ushered you out, looking at you kindly. 

Exiting the Med-hut, you took a deep breath, exhaling gently. The Glade was in its prime during this hour. You could hear talking and laughter nearby, coming from the gardens. You decided to return to the kitchen for a snack. Hopefully, Frypan would go easy on you. There was only so much teasing your heart could take.

You walked across the lawn for the second time that day. The Glade was quite beautiful in the late afternoon light. Shadows were beginning to grow longer, signaling the end of the workday. The grass was warm, having been heated up by the sun. The air was cooler, though, and a breeze washed over your skin.

You spotted a few Gladers playing cards under a tree, and a group of builders putting finishing touches on some new furniture for the Homestead. Honestly, the Glade would be a nice place if you could forget about the gaping maw of the Maze. 

You walked into the kitchen, heading behind the counter to locate Frypan. You found him relaxing in the pantry, leaning on a sack of flour with a book in his hands.

“Hey, Fry.”

“Yo!” he greeted, standing up straight and tucking his book under his arm.

“Whatcha up to?” you asked, heading straight for the shelf that you knew contained the sweets. You hoped that if you moved confidently enough, Fry wouldn’t realize until too late that you had shoved a piece of chocolate in your mouth.

“A bit of light reading,” Fry said as he walked over to you. He smacked your hand away from the chocolate and moved to stand in front of the shelf. He raised his eyebrows with a smile, placing his hands on his hips. “I think I know what you’re up to, though. What makes you think that I’d let you steal chocolate right in front of me? At least try to be sneaky, slinthead.”

You let your shoulders fall with a playful sigh, “I had to. You never know when you might be off your guard.”

Fry laughed and walked with you out of the pantry, leaning on the counter as you sat at one of the nearby tables.

He tapped his chin for a moment before looking over to you. “So, you hear back from the big M yet?”

“No–and don’t let him hear you call him that; his ego is big enough as it is.” You smiled. You could picture Minho’s reaction to the nickname clear as day. Lots of smirks and Glader slang. Maybe a slap on the back.

“So, you really do like him, huh?” Fry questioned, tilting his head and snapping you out of your thoughts.

You fiddled with your fingers, toying around with the idea. You had always had a crush on him, but after today, things felt different. More serious. You knew your answer would have to be definitive here. Fry might be a great guy, but he has a big mouth. Word would definitely get out if it hadn’t already. You thought back to your awkward breakfast and your transformative morning in the Med-hut. Would you be happy if people knew? The idea made your chest warm, quickly spiraling your thoughts into what it would be like to be in a relationship with Minho. On the off chance he liked you back, would you be able to make it work? Even if you managed to escape the Maze? Yes, you decided. You would find a way. After a moment, you nodded, looking back up at Fry. “Yeah. Guess I do.”

Fry smiled at your response and went to reply before you heard shouts coming from somewhere outside. His expression fell, and you stood up in alarm as he walked over to the entrance to the kitchen.

“Shuck, what are they screaming for?” Fry said under his breath, looking around the Glade.

“Can you see what’s going on?” You asked, trying to locate where the yelling was coming from. Agitated voices of different Gladers echoed across the walls of the Glade. 

“There!” Frypan pointed, and you followed his line of sight until you spotted two figures hobbling out of the West Doors. One was walking, and the other was limp, covered in blood. A group of boys had surrounded them, and you spotted a familiar head of blonde hair directing the crowd to move out of the way. 

“Oh my god,” you covered your mouth as you looked on in horror. The two figures began to move towards the Med-hut, and you urged your feet to unglue themselves from the floor. You began to hurry towards the two. The injured boy had his arm slung over the other's shoulders. Something was terribly wrong with him, and you suddenly caught a glimpse of his familiar light blue button-up through the blood that covered it. Minho. You quickened your pace, sprinting across the Glade with Frypan at your heels. You were a long way from them when you saw Clint and Jeff appear, ushering Minho and what looked like Ben into the hut and shutting the door. Worried Gladers began to crowd around the small building, and Newt was doing his best to dismiss them while Alby hurried over.

“Slim it nice and calm! Everything’s gonna be fine, alright?” Newt looked stressed and was waving his hands at the crowd.

Alby nodded, raising his voice, “He’s right. Standing around isn’t gonna make any magic happen. Back to work! Everyone!”

You skidded to a stop in front of the Med-hut. Shoving your way through the crowd, you made eye contact with Newt. You received some complaints from the boys you pushed, but you were too focused to care. Newt looked relieved to see you, ushering you forward.

“What happened?” you asked, panicked.

Newt turned you away from the crowd, speaking urgently into your ear. “Griever. Ben says they weren’t stung, but Minho took a beating from the thing. Go in, they need your help.”

You nodded and quickly pushed your way into the Med-hut.

It was chaos. Ben stood to the side, blubbering and repeating himself to Clint, who was trying to get a half-conscious Minho onto a cot. 

Jeff spotted you and called your name in relief. “Thank god! Quick, help Clint, and I’ll deal with Ben.”

You nodded and hustled over to the two boys. Minho was moaning in pain; every slight movement seemed excruciating. Despite that, he looked up when you approached.

“Hey… missed you.” his voice was hoarse, and he immediately coughed. That movement irritated his injury, and he howled in pain. You grabbed Minho’s arm, pulling him to lie on the cot. Clint hauled Minho’s legs up while he groaned in protest.

“Had a… rough day… Doc,” Minho was slurring his words, but still managed to look at you. He had a lopsided grin on his face. Your heart clenched in your chest at his expression.

“Clint, what should I…”

Clint put a hand on your shoulder and spoke hastily, “Don’t worry, I’ll start on him while you get him talking. He needs you. We need to keep him conscious.” He was right. If Minho passed out now, there was a chance he wouldn’t wake up again. Worry clawed at your chest, and you murmured your assent. Clint nodded to you, and you brought your stool over to Minho’s side while Clint worked.

The blood was primarily coming from his front, and Clint immediately went to cut through his shirt. There was no time to remove it properly. 

“Woah… take me out… to dinner… first.” It seemed that his one-liners were muscle memory. Minho was frowning now, his attention on Clint. You gently grabbed his chin, forcing him to look back at you.

“Hey, look at me. Look at me, okay?”

“Okay,” he repeated. Minho smiled at you, slightly delirious from the pain. “Hi.”

“Hi, Minho. Can you tell me what hurts?”

“My stomach. There was this… huge Griever. Ben was being an idiot. I saved his ass… freakin’ slinthead.” Minho was breathing shakily. Each sentence was a struggle for him.

Clint finally got Minho’s shirt off and started inspecting the wound. He had a deep gash across his torso. Blood was oozing from everywhere, soaking the cot.

“That’s shuckin’ gnarly,” Minho said, grunting when Clint applied pressure to the gash. 

Your stomach flipped at the sight, and you returned your attention to his face.

“You did good, Minho.” You soothed, “Everything’s gonna be fine. We’re gonna clean it now, ok? Just like this morning. You’ll be fine; you’re strong.”

“Well, shuck me.” Minho swallowed, shutting his eyes. 

Jeff appeared, seemingly finished with Ben. He grabbed an assortment of medical devices from the shelves. His hands were shaking, and you gave him a reassuring look as he soaked a rag in iodine. He returned your gesture and began cleaning the wound. Minho made a face, groaning and gritting his teeth. You felt pressure on your fingers and looked down to see that Minho had grabbed your hand. You interlocked your fingers with his, letting him squeeze them while Jeff worked. 

“Almost done. You’re doing great, Minho.” You encouraged. You tried to keep your voice calm, but were unable to remove the slight waver. You weren’t even sure Minho could hear you. His face was scrunched in pain, and he writhed around on the cot. 

Minho arched his back, doing his best not to scream. Instead, he made strangled sounds in between ragged breaths. When Jeff finished, he collapsed back onto the cot, breathing heavily.

Clint immediately started stitches, and Jeff held Minho’s torso down to keep him still.

You felt useless. Your heart lurched at every noise of pain Minho made, and you wished that there was more that you could do to help. Clint and Jeff were far more knowledgeable than you. You trusted them to get the job done, but that meant you could only watch and worry. 

Minho looked over to you. His face was contorted in pain, and you could see tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He was still squeezing your hand tightly. You were beginning to lose feeling in your fingers, but the look on his face made you ignore the pain. Your pain wasn’t even a fraction of what Minho was feeling right now. 

“It hurts… Doc,” Minho whispered through clenched teeth. “It really shuckin’ hurts.” 

“I know. I know.” You smoothed a hand over his forehead, wiping the sweat from his brow. “You’ll be alright. Just stay with me, okay?”

Minho made a noise that you could only assume was meant to be a laugh. “‘M not goin’ anywhere. Promise.”

You smiled at him and pushed his hair away from his eyes. Clint made a particularly painful stitch in Minho’s torso, and he cried out in pain, yelling a string of expletives you had never heard him say before. Clint spoke a few hushed apologies, hands trembling as he worked. 

“Hey, Doc,” Minho spoke, causing you to look back up at him. “I really like–”  He cleared his throat, eyes darting between Clint and Jeff before returning to yours. “...visiting your practice.”

You were taken aback, heart pounding in your chest. Was that really what he meant to say? You went to reply when the door suddenly banged open. Alby and Newt appeared, dragging another injured runner into the Med-hut. 

Newt yelled to Clint while Alby dragged the runner onto a separate cot. “Got another one. He's halfway bled out already. Quick, do something!” 

The other runner was silent. You realized in horror that his leg was dangling unnaturally from his knee. You could see bone peeking through the mangled flesh. 

Clint swore, eyes darting between the new boy and Minho. He called out to you, catching your attention.

“I need you to finish these stitches. Jeff and I are gonna help Dave.”

“What? But I’ve never–”

“You can. I know you can.” His voice was trembling, but his gaze was confident. You nodded, reluctantly unlacing your fingers from Minho’s grasp and taking Clint’s place. The other two Medjacks rushed to Dave’s side, speaking in hushed voices.

You sat there for a moment, frozen in place. Minho called your name. You snapped your head upwards. He never called you by your name.

“I don’t care what anyone else says. I trust you.”

Butterflies exploded in your stomach. With his encouragement, you took hold of the needle. Looking down at Minho’s torso, you got to work. 

It was like you were possessed. Adrenaline pumping through your veins, you worked efficiently. Stitch, clean, stitch, clean. Everything seemed to move slowly around you, and you were solely engrossed in your work. You stopped now and then to check on Minho, who was doing his best to look like everything was fine.

Your focus was unbroken as you finished the final stitch, much to Minho’s relief. You wrapped his torso in gauze and bandages quickly, tying them tightly. 

It was dark outside by the time you finished. Clint and Jeff had set Dave’s leg in a splint and bandaged him up. The runner was comfortably sleeping in his cot on the other side of the room. They had pulled the curtain partition out, giving Dave some privacy and separating him from you and Minho. The other two Medjacks had long gone to bed, wishing you and Minho a good night as they walked out. 

“All done. How are you feeling?” You collapsed onto a chair beside his cot, exhausted. Minho’s posture mirrored your fatigue. Being in excruciating pain for hours was not fun. 

“Good. Wasn’t even worried.”

What a callback. You smiled and managed to chuckle a bit before returning to a comfortable silence. You shut your eyes for a moment, listening to Minho’s steady breathing and Dave's snores. 

“What about you?” Minho quietly asked. His voice was tired and rough. 

You looked at him for a moment, then replied. “I’m alright. That was a lot.”

Minho grinned. “Amen. Too much klunk for one day.”

“Too much,” you grinned back. 

Another bout of silence passed. You didn’t really want to leave quite yet. If it were anyone else, you would be back in your hammock already, fast asleep. But for Minho, something in your heart urged you to stay.

You studied him for the second time that day. His once proud hair was now lying gently across his forehead, and he still had the bandage on his face from that morning. He was lying down on the cot, covered with a thin blanket. You wouldn’t have been able to tell that he was injured if it weren’t for the myriad of bloodstained medical devices that were strewn around the room.

“Y’know, you make a great Medjack,” Minho said, looking over at you.

You felt heat pooling in your cheeks. “Thanks…” 

“I mean it. You were so focused earlier; it was kinda scary.”

“Well, thanks for encouraging me. Don’t think I would’ve been able to do it without you.”

Minho scoffed, “Yeah, you would’ve. Give yourself some credit, shank.”

“Alright, fine.”

“No, no, I wanna hear you say it.”

“Say what?”

“‘I’m a good Medjack.’ Say it.”

You gave him a look, but he smiled innocently.

You sighed heavily. You were too tired to protest. “I’m a good Medjack.”

“Mmh, I don’t believe you. Say, ‘I’m a really shuckin’ good Medjack’”

You deadpanned. “I’m a really shuckin good Medjack.”

“Damn right you are.”

You rolled your eyes at him, tapping your fingers on your leg. “Well, you’re a ‘really shuckin’ good’ runner too.”

Minho scoffed again. “Not after today. What a shitshow.”

“What even happened? No one told me anything besides there being a Griever that attacked Ben.” You were curious to hear Minho’s side of things. 

He sighed, rubbing at his forearm absentmindedly. “Long story. Basically, Ben froze up when a Griever ran at him. I jumped in front of him and shoved him out of the way. Stupid shank almost got himself killed.”

“You almost got yourself killed, too.”

He smirked, “I didn’t even realize the Griever got me until halfway back. Ben ended up dragging me all the way here.”

You fiddled with your fingers, suddenly nervous. “I’m glad you’re alright. You had everyone worried.”

Minho smiled. “All thanks to you, my favorite Medjack.”

You tilted your head, earnest, “Really, though. I was scared. I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you.”

That last part was not supposed to be said out loud. Color flooded your cheeks, and you could tell Minho took note of that.

“Sorry… that was kinda weird to say.” You laughed awkwardly.

“No, it was cute,” Minho said quietly.

Your stomach was beginning to feel warm again, and you looked away bashfully. “You don’t mean that.”

“Sure I do.” You could hear the smirk on his face and feel him looking at you. “Why do you think I always stop by the Med-hut, huh? Clint and I aren’t exactly best buds.”

You said nothing, but looked up to meet his gaze. Your face was flushed, and you could hear your heartbeat in your ears.

“I don’t just like ‘visiting your practice,’” he made air quotes with his fingers, a blush tinting his ears. “I like visiting you. And shuck, after this morning, I…” he trailed off, stuttering over his words. “I’m not good with this… stuff. Sorry, I probably sound like a real slinthead right now. Making a freakin’ fool outta myself. You probably don’t even realize what you do to me. It's not fair.”

“What do you mean?” you finally regained your voice.

“I mean. Um. You do things to me. Make my stomach do flips, and klunk. And I can’t stop thinking about you. Shuck, I’m sorry. I dunno what I’m saying. You probably have, like, five other shanks willing to drop everything for you. It’s not fair. Especially after these dreams I started having I–”

“Dreams?” That warm feeling in your chest had spread throughout your body. 

Minho was bright red now and was clutching at his bedsheets. “Shuck. Shuck. I didn’t–I shouldn’t’ve mentioned that. Forget it. Seriously. You can go; I’m sorry. Please don’t think I’m weird.”

You paused. After his outburst, Minho took a deep breath in. He covered his face with his hands, groaning in embarrassment. He peeked at you through his fingers. You watched his eyes widen in alarm as you stood, approaching his bedside. He sat up, scooching himself backwards and leaning on his elbows. He grimaced slightly when he moved, his injury clearly causing him pain.

“I don’t think you’re weird, Minho,” you whispered. You sat on the cot, looking into his eyes. “I don’t think you’re weird at all.”

He exhaled, sitting up to his full height. Now at eye level, he blinked at you. “You don’t?”

“No.” You paused, suddenly nervous. “You make me… feel things too.”

A small smirk graced Minho’s lips at that. “Really?”

You nodded. “Uh huh. You always have. Since I first met you.” You sat back, leaning against the pillow beside him. Your shoulders brushed, and you felt Minho stiffen beside you.

Minho blinked, wheels turning in his head. “This whole time?”

“Yeah.”

It was quiet for a moment. Minho slowly moved his hand over yours, covering your fingers with his. You flipped your hand over, intertwining your fingers for the second time that day. 

He looked at you. You looked at him.

He leaned forward, your noses brushing. He hesitated for a moment, uncertain. Until you closed the distance, pressing your lips against his.

It was a peck. Short and sweet. You pulled away quickly, gauging his reaction. 

He smiled and brought his hand up to the back of your head, pulling you back into him. Your lips met again, and you felt like fireworks were exploding in your chest. Your faces fit together perfectly. 

You turned your head, deepening the kiss, and he reciprocated. Minho groaned into your mouth, pressing his tongue against yours. The kiss became heated quickly, and you eventually had to pull away. You both gasped for air, and Minho smiled, chuckling to himself.

“If you told me a week ago that I would get brutally stabbed by a Griever and then get to make out with you on the same day, I would call you crazy.”

You giggled, flicking his shoulder. “Who knew that giving a guy stitches could be a turn-on?”

Minho laughed, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. He pressed a kiss to your cheek, grinning. “I oughtta go and thank that Griever. What a wingman.”

“You’re telling me!” You kissed him back, then again on his bandage from the morning. “Honestly, we owe it all to that random cut you got on your face.”

“Oh, I totally did that on purpose.”

“Minho!”

“And I also rubbed dirt on it. So you’d have to clean it extra good.” 

You smacked his shoulder this time, earning you another laugh from him. That laugh quickly turned into a groan of pain, and he winced.

“Ow. Stop making me laugh; you’ll open my stitches.”

You pouted, rubbing his arm. “Sorry, big guy.”

“I forgive you, baby.” He smiled sweetly at you, making your head spin. 

“You’re such a dork.”

“And you love it.”

You both dissolved into a round of giggles. And then a few kisses, some more heated than others. You ended up wrapped in each other's arms on the cot. You carefully avoided his injury and snuggled into him. All Minho seemed to want to do was kiss you, and you happily indulged him.

When you finally broke away, you tilted your head. “What did you want to talk to me about earlier?”

“Huh?” Minho kissed you again, gently this time. You cupped his face before pulling back to reply.

“This morning, in the kitchen? You said you wanted to talk to me. Was this what that was about?” You motioned between the two of you at the last sentence.

Minho smiled. “Guilty as charged. Though honestly, this went better than I could have hoped. I am apparently one awkward shank when it comes to sappy stuff. I got all nervous when you touched me. It was like my brain stopped working.”

You giggled. “But you were so cute. You get a pass.”

“Sweet.”

Minho leaned in to kiss you again, but you put a finger against his lips. He opened his eyes quizzically. 

“What?”

“So, what kind of dreams did you have about me?”

“Uhhh…” Minho went bright red again, and you gasped playfully.

“You freak!”

“I can’t help it! Not my fault you’re so attractive and amazing and all that other stuff!”

You laughed, hard. Lying here with him was amazing. You felt like all the stress of the day had been washed away with your laughter. He joined in, and you giggled together for a moment before a voice interrupted you.

“Hey, I’m happy for you shanks and all, but I’m trying to sleep over here.” Dave’s irritated voice came from behind the partition curtain, groggy from sleep.

“Oh, my god…” You mumbled. 

Minho burst out into another fit of laughter, eventually calming down when you shook his shoulders. 

Both you and Minho apologized to poor Dave and quieted yourselves. You curled up against him, and he tucked his head onto your shoulder. Minho pressed one last kiss to your forehead.

“Goodnight, Doc.”

You smiled against his chest. “Goodnight, Minho.”

[cancatsbewriters]

Finches (chapter 2)

part 1 here! tmr minho x fem! reader [multi chapter, slowburn, fluff, angst, regular updates, multiple povs, no use of y/n, pre thomas arrival -> end of book one]

word count: 3.3k (not as big as chapter 1 but that's bc I've been SWAMPED with finals free me bruh I only have two more, also very dialogue heavy) a/n: HI FRIENDS I SWEAR IM NOT DEAD!! Once school ends I'll be updating way more often, don't worry. I also have a fire Medjack!Reader x Minho oneshot idea so cooking that up too.. Also our MC also gonna be a Medjack (for now....) trust guys let me cook TRUST

As always, posted on A03 too if you prefer that format <3

The first half of the journey back to the Glade might have been the most embarrassing thing you had ever experienced. 

Minho had teased nonstop about having to carry you. At one point, you had managed to wiggle out of his grasp, desperate to escape him and his stupid comments, Maze or no Maze. One misplaced rock and another embarrassing faceplant later, Minho had agreed to knock it off for the remainder of the trip. 

It was strange. Despite only knowing him for a little while, you felt like you could trust Minho. It was something small, in the back of your mind. You somehow understood that you were safe with him. If it had been another boy, you probably would have been less inclined to trust him, much less let him carry you back to the Glade. The thought of letting a stranger have control over you like that was terrifying.

You felt strangely calm when Minho scooped you up, like this was not a new experience. Weird. It’s not like you remembered anything about him, let alone anything about yourself. Perhaps it was some kind of instinct? That must be why it was so easy to be friendly with him. You pushed those thoughts aside. What mattered most was getting back to the Glade. 

The Glade, as Minho happily explained to you, was where he and his friends had been living for the past two years. As far as he knew, they were trapped there with no way out. The only possible solution to their problems was the Maze. Minho made it clear that only the best of the best among them were allowed to roam around inside it. You felt like he had added on that last bit to make himself seem cooler, but you were secretly glad that he knew what he was doing. You became especially aware of this after the first few twists and turns. You had already lost your bearings. Everything looked so similar to you. You were glad to have gone with Minho instead of hobbling away from him. You had no idea what a Griever was, but by how he was joking about them earlier, you didn’t want to meet one. 

“How do you keep track of the directions?” you asked. You tried to keep the mild admiration for his skill out of your voice. After knowing him for less than a few hours, you could tell that he probably had enough ego to go around. 

He held you comfortably with one arm hooked under your knees and the other supporting your waist. Your arm was wrapped around his neck, palm resting on his shoulder, while your other one dangled in front of you. Your head bobbed with his steps, and you turned to look at him as he answered.

“I have the whole thing memorized,” he drank in your surprised expression and smiled, “No biggie.”

He definitely had enough ego to go around, and then some. 

You chuckled, despite yourself, “Is that why you keep kicking away vines that are obviously there to leave a path for us to follow?”

“Nah, that’s just Runner etiquette. Some of those shanks wouldn’t be able to find their own feet if they weren’t attached to their legs,” Minho turned a corner, looking around as he walked.

“Runner? What’s that?” You were getting tired of all of these new words being thrown at you. Glader, Runner, Griever, Shank. Did these guys have names for everything?

“Every guy’s gotta have a job. I’m a Runner, I run the Maze. Keeper of the Runners, if you wanna get specific.” Minho seemed to be very proud of himself. 

“Runners run in the Maze. How creative, never would’ve expected that,” yet another term to be added to your growing Glade-dictionary. “Doesn’t look like we’re doing much running today, though. Is this your rest day, or something?”

“You can blame yourself for that, shankette. It’s kinda hard to run while fully carrying someone,”

“Dude, I can barely walk. What do you want me to do?”

“Relax, Greenie. I’ve watched you fall on your ass enough times today, I don’t mind carrying you. ‘Sides, it's kinda my duty as Keeper,”

He really made a point to use that word again. You looked up to see him already looking back at you. He was clearly trying to appear nonchalant, but a smile playing on the corners of his mouth betrayed him. 

Sensing what he wanted, you sighed, “I’ll bite. What’s a Keeper?”

“I’m so glad you asked,” his grin was huge, dimples appearing on his cheeks, “It means I’m the boss.” 

You rolled your eyes, but he shook his head earnestly, “No, seriously! Every job has a Keeper. It’s important to have someone to lead each group. Also, we’re supposed to be the friendly ones who train the newbies when they come up. I guess this month, that’s you? It’s kinda early though. Box wasn’t supposed to come up for a few days.”

“Box? Wait, what do you mean by ‘come up’?” You were slightly confused by that wording and were eager to get him away from his ego trip. “What jobs are there, anyway? Can I be a Runner?”

You babbled on, asking more questions about life in the Glade. Minho just shook his head, “Ugh, now I remember why I don’t do Greenie duty. You know what, save your ten thousand questions for Newt, ok? I’m sure he’d be happy to answer them. Plus, half of this stuff will make more sense once we get back to the Glade,”

“Right,” You were slightly sad that he didn’t want to answer your questions, but you understood where he was coming from. None of this made even the slightest sense to you; you must sound like a broken record. “Wait, what kind of a name is Newt?” 

Minho sighed, cutting you off, “Okay, Greenie. Chill out. I think we both need a break; my arms are killing me, and we aren’t that far from the Glade.”

He gingerly set you down, and you extended your injured leg out in front of you. Collapsing against the concrete wall beside you, Minho took a swig from a canteen. He was sweaty and gross, but you probably looked equally disheveled. 

“Why do you keep calling me Greenie?” you asked.

“Oh, it’s just what we call the new guys. Well, new girl, I guess,” Minho chuckled and rubbed at his sore arms.

You nodded. It was quiet between you two for a few moments. Cicadas buzzed in a patch of grass across from you. You took a moment to think everything over. You glanced at your surroundings, taking in the ivy-strewn walls. A few long vines stretched between the gray walls. The sun hung low in the sky, peeking over one of them. Taking a deep breath in, you inhaled the smell of the Maze. It smelled damp, despite the concrete underneath you being dry, with hints of grass. There was an underlying smell of sweat, too, which you assumed was coming from both you and Minho.

The latter took another long drink from his canteen, tilting his head back to look up at the sky. He checked his watch and nodded to himself before turning to you.

“So you really don’t remember anything?” he prodded, expression neutral. 

“No,” you shook your head, sadly. You wished that wasn't the case.

He nodded, “It’s normal. We usually get new guys once a month. They come up in this underground elevator, that’s what the Box is. None of us remember anything before the Glade.”

He didn’t seem to be phased at the concept. It must be so normal to him that he’s become slightly detached from it all. 

You eyed his canteen as you digested that information, “When did you come up?”

He offered you his canteen and you took a sip. The water filled your parched mouth, and you realized how thirsty you were. You started chugging the water, but Minho snatched it away from you before you could indulge yourself.

“Easy, don’t need you barfing that back up in a few minutes.” He took another drink, fidgeting with the lid before reluctantly replying, “I didn’t come up in the box. I’m one of the original guys who woke up in the Glade together. There were like ten of us. Dark times.” His gaze was steady, but his mind seemed to be somewhere else, replaying memories. 

You could tell this was a touchy subject, and you didn’t push further, “Sorry I didn’t-”

You were interrupted by an inhuman screech from further down the corridor. Minho shot to his feet, eyes frantic. 

“What was that?” Your voice was panicked. Minho took an iron grip on your arm and yanked you up. You hopped on one foot for a moment before he steadied you.

“Griever,” he whispered, pulling your hand back around his shoulders and picking you up swiftly. His movements were twitchy, far from the solid presence that had been carrying you earlier.

“Shit,” he mumbled. His eyes were scanning the hallway repeatedly, looking for any signs of movement. That was the first time you had heard him swear, for real. 

“What?” you whispered back, as he started to hurry the opposite way. 

“We have to go. If that thing sees us, we’re sitting ducks,” he was walking quickly, muscles straining to be able to move faster while carrying you.

Your eyes caught a flicker from down a hall to your left, and you tugged on his shirt sleeve, “Minho, look,”

A large, slimy blob of a thing was visible from your position. It was disgusting, covered in green goo with protruding metal limbs. All you could make out were its sharp appendages before Minho dashed forward. Legs working double time as he hustled down the hallway away from the thing. You bounced in his arms as he made it down a few more corridors.

“Shuck, why is it so close to the Glade?” he whispered, more to himself than to you. You looked up to see that his expression was pained. His eyebrows were knit in concentration as his pupils were very dilated. 

The sound of metal on concrete reverberated behind the two of you. Your grip on his shirt was so tight that your knuckles turned white. Peering over Minho’s shoulder, you see the Griever rounding the corner.

It was horrific. All green ooze and shiny metal. It screamed again, rearing up on its hind legs and sending its tail flying at the two of you.

“Go, go, go!” you urged. Minho cursed, breaking into a sprint as best he could with you in his arms. 

Sparks flew through the air behind the Griever’s tail. Was it damaged? It ended at a sharp point, and it caught Minho’s shoulder on its way down. It barely missed your hand, leaving a gash on his shoulder instead. 

The boy yelled out, stumbling but never stopping. You were knocked around in Minho’s arms and felt yourself slipping out of his grip. 

Sweat slicked where his arms met your torso, and for a moment, you worried that he would let you fall. Toss you to the side and save himself. But the look of determination upon his face pulled those thoughts away from you. He readjusted his hands, quickly regaining his footing and running even faster than before.

The two of you entered a long hallway, and you were surprised to see that there was an opening at the end. From your point of view, you could see a large, square compound complete with trees and a wooden building. A group of people stood by the opening, and a ripple passed through them when they took in the situation.

Minho’s breath was labored, face bright red from exertion. His footsteps rang in your ears along with your heartbeat.

You looked behind you, expecting to see the Griever again. Instead, the corridor was empty.

You were only a few feet away from the opening when a large boom resonated down the hall. You jumped, eyes wide as you looked upward. Two enormous walls on either side of the opening began to move. It would have been impossible had you not been watching it happen in front of your very eyes. They started closing in on one another, and Minho let out a sharp exhale as he brought the two of you over the threshold. 

He stumbled, almost dropping you again, and collapsed forward in a heap. You rolled out of his arms, heart pumping in your ears. An equally loud boom sounded behind you, and you felt the ground shake. You looked over to see that the doors had closed, sealing you in the Glade.

There was a moment where you both just gasped for air. You, mainly from the adrenaline. Minho, because he just ran a marathon with the new Greenie in his arms. 

Minho slowly sat up, his eyes meeting yours. He smiled a little and then chuckled to himself. 

“This better not be how they’re sending all of the new Greenies up from now on. I’d lose my mind,” he dropped his head to his knees, trying to steady his breathing.

You smiled back and giggled. Minho looked up at the sound with a wide grin.

Your moment was broken when a loud voice came from your left. You were suddenly aware of the presence around you. You had been so wrapped up in the situation at hand that you had forgotten about the thirty or so boys who had been standing at the entrance. They had encircled the two of you, whispering amongst each other.

“What the actual bloody hell is going on, Minho?” a boy with long, blonde hair demanded. He had a funny accent that you couldn’t quite place. A dark-skinned boy with a shaved head and a smaller boy with thick glasses flanked him. Your friend didn’t answer, holding up a finger as he drank the rest of his water. 

“Shuck, are you bleeding?” The boy with the shaved head stepped forward, peering at Minho’s back. His comment caused the other two boys to lean in close, faces tight with concern.

Come to think of it, everyone who surrounded you was a boy. You twisted your head, looking around at their faces. Not a single girl was present. Minho hadn’t explicitly mentioned that they were all boys before, but you were able to connect the dots. They were young. Not children, but not exactly adults, either. Teenagers. Who on earth would send a bunch of teenage boys into a place like this? They had soon stopped whispering and were now openly talking to one another.

“Is that a girl?”

“Holy shuck, they almost didn’t make it.”

“Wait, so he got to be in the Maze alone with her? Lucky!”

“I call dibs!”

The boy with the glasses stepped forward, his palms facing up to quiet the crowd.

“Everyone, shut yer yaps! Let them have a second to catch their breath.” His voice was quiet, but stern. The boys quieted down at his statement. Clearly, this guy had some authority here.

Minho coughed, screwing the lid back on to his canteen. “I found her in the Maze.”

That single statement seemed to set off the crowd again, and they all started whispering at once. Glasses-boy shushed them again, exasperated. 

“What do you mean you found her in the Maze?” he cocked his head at Minho, who just exhaled.

“Nick, dude. I mean, I literally found her. In the Maze. Passed out on the floor. No memories. Probably our new Greenie,” he spoke each sentence as if it were its own statement, taking deep breaths in between each one. 

“The box hasn’t come up for this month yet, though. How can we know for sure she’s the new Greenie? It’s not like we got any special supplies delivered,” The guy with the shaved head rubbed his chin, “And why a girl, all of a sudden? This is so shucked,”

“Hell if I know,” Minho said, finally regaining his breath and moving to stand, “What I do know is that we’re both tired, hungry, and dirty. She’s also got a shucked-up leg, that’s why I was carryin’ her.” 

“Why are you hurt? Did she do that?” The blonde boy pointed at Minho’s injury.

Minho shook his head in response, clearing his throat to reply before he was interrupted.

The boy with the glasses, Nick, stepped forward. “Newt, can you fetch Clint and Jeff for me?” The blonde with the long hair nodded and walked off. He disappeared through the crowd of boys, and through their legs, you caught him walking towards a small shack off to the side. His name was familiar; he must be the one Minho had mentioned earlier. You made a mental note of his appearance. You were looking forward to finally getting some proper answers. Another boy was ordered to get you food from the kitchen. 

“Did anything else happen? Why were you so late to get back?” Nick was clearly a leader around here. Maybe he was a Keeper, like Minho?

Minho paused for a moment. He looked at you, then back at Nick, “No, nothing else. It just took forever since she can hardly walk. I caught my shoulder on this jacked-up rock when I was pickin’ her up.” 

You were confused, opening your mouth to question why he had glossed over the extremely obvious thing that had occurred at the end of your journey. Minho’s eyes flashed, and he shook his head slightly, and you closed your lips. He was subtle about it. Why would he want to keep something like a close call with a Griever under wraps?

The Gladers seemed slightly disappointed that there was nothing new. You felt slightly offended. You were the only new thing here.

“Okay, shanks. Get back to work. Bonfire tomorrow, give the newbie a chance to get her leg looked at.” Nick dismissed the boys and ran a hand through his curls, “Once the Medjacks clear you, we’ll give you the tour. Capiche?”

You were slightly dumbfounded, but managed to nod your head. 

“Uh, ok,” you said quietly.

“Not much of a talker? Don’t worry, a day with Newt and you’ll be spilling all of your secrets. Speaking of, there you are!”

Newt returned with two new boys. One was tanned, with dark hair and long arms. The other was shorter, with grey hairs creeping into his brown waves. He had a kind expression that immediately put you at ease. They carried a stretcher between them. 

The kind-faced one stepped forward, “Hi, I’m Clint, that’s Jeff,” the other boy waved, “We’re sorta like the doctors around here. Newt said your leg was hurt? Let’s get you back to the Med-hut so we can look at it, ok?”

His voice was gentle. You appreciated that he spoke to you personally, rather than how everyone else talked about you in the third person. 

You nodded and let them load you onto their stretcher. It was really a mishmash of cloth and wooden planks, but it did the job. 

You spotted Minho trying to sneak away from the gathering.

“You too, Minho.” Clint’s tone told you this was a regular occurrence. 

“Ah, it’s not that bad. I can bandage it on my own.”

Clint didn’t seem to be the type to take people's crap and raised his eyebrows at Minho, “Doctor’s orders.”

“Dude.”

Newt chuckled to himself at Minho’s reply. He walked up to you and the Medjacks, who were still carrying you on the stretcher. 

He smiled at you, “Nice to meet ya. I’m Newt.”

You introduced yourself to him as he waved Minho over, “Come on then, mate. Don’t worry, I’ll hold your hand while the Medjacks kiss you better, eh?”

Minho rolled his eyes and reluctantly joined your little group as Clint and Jeff carried you away.

[cancatsbewriters]

Finches (chapter 1)

tmr minho x fem! reader [multi chapter, slowburn, fluff, angst, regular updates (i will try my best, its finals season), multiple povs, no use of y/n, pre thomas arrival -> end of book one]

summary: You're from Group B. A talented runner, striving to be best of the best and talented with an axe. During your escape attempt, everything goes wrong in ways you never could have imagined. You suddenly find yourself in a new maze, surrounded by nothing but boys and a particular runner who has caught your eye. With your strong mind and determination, will you be able to escape the maze a second time?

warnings: female reader, canon typical violence, needles, Grievers (ew), Group B Slang that I made up, POV second person but we also get Minhos pov yaay word count: 5.3k (felt longer on google docs icl..) a/n: Book and Movie lore combination. Changing the order of events such that Aris/Rachel were in their maze before Thomas/Teresa, and the girls escape a few months earlier than the boys (bc they're divas). [This is my first fic on here yaaayy (i've written fics before but not for tmr or mult chapter)] My main acc is @cancatsbecowboys, I've got lots of tmr fanart on there and I'm also crossposting this on A03!

Your throat was burning, calves and hamstrings tight with overexertion. A rallying cry left your lips, and the rhythmic pounding of sneakers on concrete behind you signaled that your friends that had heard your command. 

Uneven, metallic screeching echoed across the Maze’s grey walls. Six, no, seven Grievers bared their ugly teeth at your group, gaping maws with rows of sharp teeth glinting like the stars in the dark sky. 

Stingers at the ready, their metal legs scraped against the floor as they charged at you. A spear whizzed past your ear, making contact with a Griever on the left. Its screams drew your attention for a moment, fascinated by the creature’s reaction. A grey-green shine suddenly caught your eye as a segmented tail whipped towards your head, claw open and seemingly on a collision course with your skull. 

Your hands moved before your brain had time to register what was going on. Polished axe met Griever slime, and a high-pitched creaking sound graced your right ear. You grunted, pushing your axe against the unforgiving metal. 

The claw was grasping wildly at the air, your axe embedding itself into a groove between its fingers. Sparks engulfed your vision as the claw bent outwards at an odd angle. Gathering all of your remaining strength, you shoved the claw away. Sparks bounded down the tail, showering onto the floor as the claw continued to spasm. Had the situation been different, it almost would have been beautiful.

You were quickly reminded of the monstrosity that was attached to the tail when it lunged at your face, jaw at the ready. You raised your axe a second too late, and one of its various legs plunged at your lower half. It missed your foot but caught your left calf, tearing through your pant leg at the knee. The Griever’s metal limb was sent careening into the floor. Its sharp edge glinted in the low lighting, and you felt a burning pain rip across your calf. 

A guttural scream left your lips as you blindly swung your axe towards the Griever. You felt vibration through your fingers, signaling a direct hit. It felt soft, a contrast to the metal claw from earlier. You looked down to see your axe halfway into the Griever’s slimy face. The Griever screeched in pain. It was unnatural, synthesized. It ripped its head backwards, your axe violently slipping from your grasp as it reared up on its hind legs. You barely had time to take in the movement before a body shoved you forward. 

“Duck!”

A scream of your name came from his mouth. He pulled your shoulders down to the floor, and your eyes caught sight of another Griever appendage. It cut through the night sky and met nothing but air. Had he been a second later, you would have been sliced in half. 

“Come on, we have to get to the Cliff!” 

He barely gave you time to think before tugging you upward and charging forward. You weaved through the carnage, blood mixing with Griever slime, making your footsteps unsure and slippery. Screams echoed around you, some raw and others robotic. A flash of blonde hair darted past you, her spear poised to launch at the nearest Griever. You felt your heart lift a little. She’s still alive. 

You reached the Cliff, feet skidding on the concrete. Black nothingness stretched ahead of you in all directions. A circular interface appeared in front of you. Eight numbers. Eight sections of the Maze. 

“It’s a code,” you mumbled.

“What? Do you guys know it?” he asked. 

“I do,” your fingers hovered over the digits as you tried to imagine the familiar Maze diagram in your mind, “I think I do, at least.”

You were ripped from your thoughts by the sound of the Griever from before charging at you and the boy. He stepped in front of you, his machete colliding with the creature’s jaw and knocking your axe free, drawing more green slime to the surface. It clattered to the floor in front of you. You almost had the mind to reach for it. 

“Put in the code! Do it quick!” he yelled, swinging at the creature again. The Griever squealed in pain and thrust a serrated arm forward, narrowly missing his hair. 

Your fingers fumbled for a moment before entering the sequence you knew by heart. The circle turned green, and a click resonated through the corridor as a slimy green circular tube appeared in the void of the Cliff. An entrance?

“Aris, we’re gonna have to jump,” you called.

He looked back, weapon still pointed at the Griever.

“Into the Griever’s home? Oh, god,” he yelled back, “Alright, go! I’m right behind you!”

“What about the others?” Your eyes flitted sporadically across the girls further back in the corridor. The fight was still going on. You made eye contact with Sonya as her spear whacked into the head of another Griever. Harriet was at her back, a stone-cold expression laced her face with two long knives at the ready. You pointed to the Griever hole, yelling a few words. Sonya gave a curt nod, eyes wide. I hope they understood me. 

Aris bared his teeth at the Griever in front of you. Its tail swung forward, and you both ducked. Your calf was throbbing, and you looked down to see red soaking into your pant leg. You raised your head and were showered in sparks. The Griever’s claw hung limp from where you’d hit it earlier. Seemingly uncaring about the extra appendage, it raised its tail once again, preparing to whip it downwards.

Aris took a ready stance, “I’ll make sure they get through! Go, now!” 

He didn’t have to tell you twice. You turned around, your feet carrying you a step backwards, and then you bounded ahead, trying to keep weight off of your injured leg. You felt your stomach drop as you leaped off the edge of the Cliff, aiming for the Griever hole. You heard the Griever shriek behind you, and Aris yell your name. 

Sparks flew past your vision as you felt a new pain in your calf. You had a millisecond to look back to see the Griever’s limp claw dig into your flesh. You screamed, arms flailing, and slammed into the ledge of the cliff, skidding against the concrete. You had stopped short. You were dangling, arms flailing as you tried to make sense of the new position. The claw ripped through your skin, the only thing between you and the void below. You could hear Aris screaming, and the sound of metal slicing something soft echoed in your ears. You only dangled for a moment until there was a loud pop, and the Griever’s claw finally gave way, separating from the tail and traveling with you. The world tilted, and the inky darkness of the Cliff swallowed you. 

Your eyes snapped open, and the world was white. You furrowed your brow. White? Your eyes were unfocused, and it took everything in your power to concentrate on your surroundings. Ceiling tiles flashed by your vision. Light fixtures passed by, too; strangely, they were turned off. You struggled to lift your head. Were you lying down? You could feel your calf throbbing, and looked down to see a few bandages haphazardly wrapped around it. You were being wheeled on some kind of gurney down a long, white hallway. 

“What the finch?” you mumbled. 

A chuckle from your left, and you were suddenly aware of two presences on either side of the gurney. You turned your head as fast as you could manage and met a pair of deep brown eyes.

“You guys have some funny slang,” his kind smile quickly turned to a frown as he glanced towards your injury, “Sorry about that. It was the only way that Teresa and I could come up with that would let us get to you in time.” He was running alongside you, pushing the gurney as his equally brown hair bounced with every step he took. A sheen of sweat lay across his forehead, and he panted in exertion. 

“Don’t lump me in with you, Tom,” the girl on your right, Teresa, looked towards the boy incredulously. She turned towards you, “That was all Thomas’ idea. My plan involved way less injury on your part.”

Thomas glared at her, a teasing tone in his voice, “Sure, and how exactly would we have realistically been able to get every single Griever away from her long enough for us to grab her? My plan distracted the creators, made them think she just fell to her death, and let us get to her in time!”

They continued bickering, but your mind was reeling. Creators? Plan? Fell to my death? You were still thinking when they pulled you into another room, closing the door quickly and whispering to each other. Something shiny caught your eye. The wall on the other side of the room seemed to… shimmer?

“Uh, what’s going on?” you asked, voice hoarse from screaming earlier. You tore your eyes away from the sparkly wall to see Teresa fiddling around at a lab table, picking up a long syringe with dainty fingers.

Your eyes widened, “What’s that? What’s happening?”

Teresa didn’t answer you and instead walked up and stuck the needle in your arm.

“Hey!” you struggled, but Thomas held your arm down as she spoke. Her voice was not as gentle.

“You owe us for this, seriously,” her eyes were dark. Thomas’ pressure on your arm tightened as Teresa pushed the plunger down, injecting you with the mystery liquid, “It was hard enough to get you out, it's gonna be harder to get you back in and keep you there.”

“Back in? What? I don’t understand! Who are you?” You were beginning to panic. Fear bubbled in your stomach and tightened through your chest as you looked between the pair. 

“Right, I almost forgot that you wouldn’t remember us,” Thomas mumbled. He looked dejected at the thought. Did you know him before all of this? Were you close? He made eye contact with you and spoke again, this time with a firm voice, “Listen, I made you a promise a while ago, and I’m fulfilling my end of the deal. This was all your idea anyway. Don’t be mad at us, okay? You would’ve killed me if I didn’t let you see him again.”

Absolutely none of this made any sense to you.

“What are you talking about? See who? What did you just inject me with?” Your voice rose with every question until Teresa clamped a hand over your mouth, shushing you.

“Be quiet! We can’t let them catch on to what we’re doing!” Her pale blue eyes flashed in warning as she slowly removed her hand, “Seriously, Tom, we could get in a lot of trouble for this. Think for a second about what we’re doing. This could mess up the trial entirely!” 

“I don’t care,” Thomas grunted as he lifted your shoulders up and pushed you off the gurney into a standing position. “I made a promise, and I intend to keep it. We wouldn’t even have any of this if it weren’t for her. Come on, Teresa.”

Your calf ached, but the pain was the last thing on your mind. A lone tear leaked from your eye, “I don’t understand. Why can’t you just tell me what’s going on!”

Thomas pushed towards the shimmering wall. Now that you were closer, you could see that it wasn’t just shimmering, but moving. This was not a normal wall. 

Thomas spoke gently into your ear, patting your back reassuringly, “I’m sorry, but you won’t remember this anyway.”

He suddenly pressed his hands into your back, shoving you towards the wall. Well, more into the wall. You screwed your eyes shut and felt a cold sensation fill the warm spot where Thomas’ hands once were. It spread from the tip of your head to your toes, and was gone as quickly as it had arrived, washing over you with surprising gentleness. 

You blinked open your eyes for the second time today to see a familiar shade of grey concrete rapidly approaching your face. You shrieked as you crashed into the floor face-first, lying there in a heap. You took a moment to recuperate, cursing Thomas and Teresa in your mind as you pushed yourself up on your elbows. What the hell? Upon a glance around at the ivy and cracks in the floor, you regrettably confirmed that you were back in the Maze. What the hell! 

This was definitely not at all near where you had fallen to your “death”; The black void of the Cliff was nowhere to be seen. In fact, after a thorough analysis of the walls in your field of view, you were on the complete opposite side of the Maze from where the Cliff was. Section three, to be exact. It was still dark out, but you noticed a few hints of color making their way through the inky sky. It must be a few hours till dawn. 

As you struggled to your feet, your mind ran through the events of the past hour. You had been so close to escaping. So very close. Now, thanks to your two new friends, you were back in the very place you had spent the past two and a half years trying to escape. 

What had Thomas said? That this was your idea? Bullshit. Why would you ever choose to do this to yourself? He was lying, you decided. Though a small part of you thought it hard to fake the flicker of emotion in his face when you didn’t recognize him. 

It definitely could have been worse, you mused. Out of the majority of your friends, you were glad you had been chosen to return. Though you were no Captain of the Runners, at least you knew the maze’s patterns well enough to find your way back. A shudder ran through your body at the thought of little Mari trapped in your position. She was so young, she wouldn’t have lasted an hour. What were the creators thinking, sending an eleven-year-old into this death trap? You felt a new wave of anger towards Thomas and Teresa. Had they been working with the people who sent you here? How else would they be able to control the Grievers to get you in this position? You kicked at a stone in anger, sending it tumbling ahead of you, and were immediately reminded of your calf. You groaned in pain, clutching it over your bandages. Once the pain returned to a slow, steady throb, you began to hobble down the corridor. 

If your memory still serves you, the next few turns that would get you back to the Center should be right, then left, then two more rights after a long hallway, repeating a few times after that.  Nearing the end of the corridor, you turned your head to look behind you as you shuffled along. The shimmering wall, the lab, and the hallway were gone. Thomas and Teresa had somehow teleported you here. That must be why the shimmering wall had looked so abnormal. You were honestly not as phased as you thought you would be at the notion. Nothing in the Maze could surprise you at this point. That was until you made your right turn and slammed into the wall.

You grabbed your nose, reeling. That wasn’t possible. There should be a hallway there. The familiar twists and turns of the maze flashed in your mind. You stopped and watched in horror as the pathways you knew so well began to deteriorate in your mind’s eye. A searing pain shot through your head as the maps that you drew after every run began to warp, edges disappearing from your memory. Your arm burned from where Teresa had injected you. Thomas’ voice echoed through your head:

“You won’t remember this anyway.”

As soon as you formed the thought, it was gone from your brain. 

You began to panic, turning left and limping as fast as you could down the nearest hallway. It wasn’t just the maps anymore. Faces, names, and places that you had spent years living with were slowly being ripped from your mind. You grabbed your head. You were screaming, but you could barely hear that over the sound of your own thoughts tearing themselves out of your mind. Where were you, again? Who were you? Your vision blurred. Grey walls and green ivy combined into a sludge as you stumbled.

As you crumpled to the floor, clutching your head, the only piece of information that remained in your mind was one word: Your name. 

----- 

Minho might have just had the worst day of his life. It didn’t even really start in the morning. Oh no. Not only had Frypan’s dinner the night before been mediocre, but he had also somehow given half of the Glade food poisoning with some spoiled potatoes. Minho had thankfully passed up on the affected spuds, but he was still kept awake half of the night by the sounds of sick Gladers running to and from the bathrooms. His watch had gone off like it always had at around six in the morning, but he was already awake and rightfully pissed off. He already hated mornings, so he was on his last straw. 

Minho could take being tired. He could take being hungry. What he couldn’t take was disorder. He has his routine and likes to follow it. He climbed out of bed to do exactly the opposite of routine. His sheets were tossed everywhere, presumably kicked around out of frustration. He didn’t fill up his water bottle, and had somehow misplaced his running harness the night before. He spent a good twenty minutes running around the Glade searching for it. After finally locating it and filling up his bottle at the well, he was already late. He decided to skip the shower to save some time; being gross would just have to do for the day. Meeting up with his fellow runners at the entrance in a sour mood, he was just in time to watch the huge stone doors rumble apart. 

As Keeper, the runners normally waited for him to give the okay before they started their run. That usually consisted of attendance, eight of them in total, including Minho, and then confirming which section they would each be running in numerical order. However, when Minho walked up to the group, he noticed that there were only six boys waiting for him. 

Ben smiled at him, ever the morning person, “There he is, man of the hour! You look like klunk, dude. Good to see you.” He was a lanky kid with short blonde hair and a mousy face. Minho had honestly written him off as soon as he came out of the Box, preferring the more muscular, athletic boys as runner candidates. But his opinions were sidelined when he actually saw the guy run. He was fast. Maybe his build made him more aerodynamic, or something. 

“Good to see you too, shank,” Minho rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and looked at the group, “Where’s Dan?” 

Ben shrugged, stretching out his legs, “I think he had some of Frypan’s potatoes last night. I heard him barfing his guts out earlier. Nasty stuff.”

Minho sighed, already knowing what that meant, “Great. Any volunteers to run his section?” 

Suddenly, all of the boys found the ground extremely interesting.

“Awesome. Thanks, guys. Really appreciating the generosity here,” Minho pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance, mentally preparing for double the amount of work for the day. “What section was he on again? Two?”

“Three,” Ben corrected, “I remember, he kept complaining about it yesterday. Guess he got his wishes granted, in a shucked-up way.” He had finished stretching and stood up to his full height. Despite being a few inches taller than Minho, he always felt a bit intimidated by the Keeper. Sarcastic and quick-witted, Minho was the bona fide cool guy in the Glade. The Keeper of the Runners was an important job; it’s only fair that the shank who earned the title be important, too. He was fiercely loyal and caring in his own way, but Ben had learned that he wouldn’t let just anyone figure that out.

His short black hair, which he meticulously styled each morning, was swooped up proudly over his forehead as he nodded, “Alright. You shanks know what you’re doing. Let’s get going, then. We’re burning daylight.” 

Minho settled into a familiar rhythm as he ran. One, two, three, four, cut a vine, five, six, seven, eight, cut a vine. He found it soothing to count his steps as he ran. It was an arbitrary measuring system, at best, but he mainly did it to keep his mind occupied. He already had the whole Maze memorized; there was no need to focus on the twists and turns. Anything new would stick out to him like a sore thumb. Cutting off the vines at each turn wasn’t really necessary, either. But there was always a chance that he would get tackled by a Griever and lose his sense of direction. The vines were a good way to return his bearings. 

By lunchtime, he had already finished going through his section, having taken an express route through it. Not like there would be anything new, he thought dejectedly. As he made his way over to Dan’s section, he mulled over his thoughts. It was rough these days. It’s hard to keep secrets from the Gladers. Especially when some poor shanks are still so full of hope. It's not like he could walk up to them and say, “Actually, there is literally no way out, and we’re all screwed.” That would be a real morale booster, for sure. Nick would probably have his head if he did that. It was his call to keep the general population of the Glade in the dark. Minho had to admit, the guy was a good leader. Alby was always so short-tempered; Minho was glad that Nick was there with the patience and kindness to balance him out. 

He was torn out of his thoughts by an ear-piercing scream that echoed through the corridors ahead of him. He jumped and whipped his head towards the sound, fearing that a Griever’s ugly head would make an appearance. But as he listened, no mechanical sounds were accompanying the screams. In fact, they sounded awfully high-pitched, like the younger Greenies when they first arrive in the Box, scared out of their minds. But why would a Greenie be so deep into Section Three? He quickened his pace, following the screams as they got louder and more ragged. Whoever this was, they were practically tearing their throat apart. 

Just as they started, the screams abruptly stopped. Silence filled his ears, only interrupted by his footsteps and breathing. He rounded another corner, cutting a vine and listening intently. He poked his head down a corridor on his right and saw a figure lying on the ground. Great, a Greenie actually found his way into Section Three. Just Great. He prepared himself to give the guy a long lecture about safety. Who was he kidding? Nick would probably talk this kid's ear off. The poor guy. He’d be lucky not to get Banished for this. He started to walk over to him, and it was then that he got a good look at his features. Only, they weren’t male features at all. A girl? What the shuck?

Just then, she stirred. Minho took a step back reflexively. What if she was crazy, or evil, or a Griever in disguise? He wouldn’t be able to tell. He’s never even seen a girl in his life, let alone find one passed out in the middle of a Maze.

You groaned, vision swimming as you cracked your eyes open. Your head was pounding, and everything hurt. You shifted, pushing yourself up. Everything spun for a moment, a mixture of grey, green, and… light blue? You focused your vision on the splash of color ahead of you. 

You were in some kind of hallway. The walls were huge, made of some kind of concrete or stone. Vines hung between them, and various plants and grasses grew between the cracks in the floor and on the walls themselves. It was light out, seemingly early morning. 

The aforementioned blue came from the figure that was currently staring at you from a few feet away, wide-eyed. His sun-faded button-up that had caught your eye was a baby blue and currently soaked with sweat. He wore an interesting harness across his chest with a few knives strapped to it. You took a breath in at that and realized you had a similar one wrapped snugly around your own torso. He was tall, probably a bit taller than you, and muscular. His biceps stretched his shirtsleeves, fitting quite nicely. You had to concentrate to tear your eyes away from that and take a look at his face. His facial features were Asian, by the looks of it. He had a round face, but a sharp jaw that clenched and unclenched at the sight of you. His eyes seemed to be studying you as well. The expression on his face gave you the impression that this was not normal. His hair was gelled up, with a few pieces falling out of place onto his forehead. He was breathing heavily, cheeks flushed as if he had just run a marathon. Where on Earth were you, anyway? 

You were both silent for a moment. You could only make out the sounds of his labored breathing and a few insects buzzing in the foliage to your right. Movement from him startled you out of your trance as he bent over to put his hands on his knees, breathed for a bit, and then regained his composure as he straightened back up. 

“Who the shuck are you?” he asked, exhaustion evident in his voice. 

You thought about that for a moment. Who were you? You knew your name. You knew… nothing else? You furrowed your brow, suddenly aware of the gap in your mind. Your breathing quickened. How is that possible? Why can’t you remember a single thing about yourself? What do you even look like? Your head was swimming with questions, and your heartbeat began to thump behind your ears until the boy spoke again. 

“Whoa, hey, chill out. Can you remember anything?” he tilted his head at you, taking a few steps forward. 

You exhaled, shaking your head with wide eyes.

“Oh,” he smirked, running a hand over his face, “Great. Just what I needed. A girl shank in the shucking Maze. Perfect.”

You glared at him slightly. Rude. 

“Can you remember your name?” he asked. What was this, twenty questions?

You tell him your name anyway. He nods, smile widening. Little dimples appeared on his cheeks when he did so. 

“That’s a nice name,” his voice somehow got cockier the more he spoke, “I’m Minho, by the way. Welcome to the Glade, I guess. Well, technically not the Glade. This is the Maze. Sorry, I’m not usually the one on Greenie duty.”

You stare at him, deadpan. This was a lot to take in.

“What?”

He laughed. It was a sudden sound, you weren’t expecting it.

“I like you already, Greenbean. Askin’ real deep questions!” You’ve about had enough of this jerk poking fun at you. 

“Is that how you greet every girl you meet?” You finally manage to form a real sentence, voice hoarse, “Also, what’s a shank?” You cough and clear your throat as Minho stifles his giggles and offers you his hand. You hadn’t noticed how close he had gotten. He was practically right in front of you. 

“Don’t worry, shankette. You’re getting special treatment. I’m not usually this chivalrous,” he winked at you. Minho’s smile was almost contagious. It calmed you down, just a little. He stretched his hand further out, wanting to help you up, “You’ll figure it out. We should probably get you back to the Glade, though, hm?” 

Something in the back of your mind warns you not to go with strange boys to strange places with names you don’t recognize, but you don’t really see any alternative here. You could run, hide, maybe. But if this place is truly what he said it was – a maze – then you would definitely have a hard time finding your way out. 

As you weighed your options, Minho decided to grab your arm and pull you to your feet himself. You stumble forward, amazed at his strength for a second before burning pain stabs into your calf. You cry out, falling forward. Minho reacts quickly and grabs you around your shoulders, hauling you back up to your feet before you hit the floor. He steadies you with an arm around your shoulders. You abandon all dignity to lean into him to keep the weight off of your injury. You clutch at his stupid blue shirt with both hands to hold yourself up. 

“Yo, easy there, Greenbean. What’s up with you?” His voice was surprisingly soft. He looks you up and down, trying to locate the injury. 

“My leg… it hurts,” you exclaim through gritted teeth.

“Damn, and here I thought you wanted to snuggle with me,” he smirks to himself. You can’t tell if you like him or want to punch him. Minho bends downwards and lifts your pant leg, exposing a shoddy bundle of bandages wrapped around your calf, soaked with old blood.

“Ouch, that doesn’t look fun,” he remarks, tapping his chin for a moment, “Can you walk?”

You don’t reply, letting go of his shirt and attempting to take a few steps forward. You succeed, barely, but you move at a snail’s pace. Meanwhile, your brain is reeling, trying to place a proper opinion on this guy. His personality seems to change every minute. 

“Yeah, Greenie, this isn’t gonna work. Lemme carry you back,” he puts his hands on his hips. 

“What? No way!” You are not letting a stranger carry you back to who-knows-where!

He shrugs, seeming indifferent, “Alright, suit yourself.”

He breaks into a jog, reaching the end of the corridor and rounding the corner quickly. You shout after him, hobbling faster. 

“Hey! Wait!” you yell.

He’s already further down another hallway once you turn the corner. He spins around, jogging backwards, “What? Can’t keep up? I gave you a head start!” You can hear the smile on his face. 

“What the finch, man!” You throw your hands up, exasperatedly.

Minho slows to a stop, laughing. “Okay, Greenie, now you got me askin’ questions. What’s a finch?”

“I… don’t know?” You rack your brain, trying to pinpoint where you knew that phrase from. “It’s weird, I feel like I know it, but I don’t know it. I guess it came naturally.”

Minho retraces his steps back to you, the smirk still on his face. He pops a hip, resting his hand on his waist, “Don’t sweat it. I have no idea why we all decided to say stuff like ‘shank,’ ‘shuck,’ or ‘klunk,’ either. Maybe that’s the girl version.” he chuckled to himself at the thought. 

You scoff, “Whatever, dude.”

You’re both quiet for another moment, looking at each other. He raises his eyebrows, “Well, still wanna get back to the Glade? Or would you rather cuddle up with a Griever for the day? I hear they’re nice ‘n squishy!” 

“Yeah, I guess we can go back,” you nod, swallowing your pride.

He looks at you expectantly, arms out, “Well, what’s the magic word, Greenie? Want me to carry you or what?”

“I hate you.”

“Good enough.”