- Any "Char A × Char B" means romantic (dating, partners, marriage, etc.)
- Romantic tag will be #chara x charb and vice versa (ex: #newt x thomas and #thomas x newt)
- Any "Char A & Char B" means platonic (friends, family, rivals, anything non-romantic)
- Platonic tag will be #chara & charb and vice versa (ex: #minho & thomas and #thomas & minho)
- Fics will be between the Movies and Books universes, so if the characters seem to be OOC, it might be their other version (i.e. a grumpy and reserved Thomas is usually reserved for the books, while a more up-beat and talkative Thomas is for the movies)
- I will differentiate between One-Shots and parts of a Series
- Requests are open, though I might be a little slow with school
- I will write pretty much any ship or duo, but if I feel as though I don't know one or more characters (or their dynamic) well enough, I probably won't write it
The trip down the hall is silent, save for the clacking of the business-dressed lady's heels as she and Rachel walk down the hallway. Concrete walls and more fluorescent lights, though thankfully the stench of disinfectant has lessened enough to where Rachel can breathe without her chest feeling like it's burning.
The walk feels like forever, an eternity of awaiting the inevitable conversation with Assistant Director Janson that was coming. The closer she gets to his office, the more Rachel dreads the next few hours of her life. All of her memories of him were less than happy, especially after...
"Here," the lady said, pulling Rachel from her thoughts.
Rachel stops and looks at the plain door in front of her face. Her eyes trail to the placard to the right of it.
Assistant Director Janson, Head of the Maze Trials Operation.
Rachel shivers. The Maze Trials. A simple reminder that all the pain and suffering her friends had experienced for the last three years was almost entirely orchestrated and just another variable in a project.
The lady walks over to open the door, the clacking of her heels suddenly deafening to Rachel. The slab of metal slowly swings open, and Rachel is met with the sight of who was likely her least favorite person on this planet full of criminals and Cranks:
Janson.
He was reading a book, one without a cover, so Rachel couldn't tell what. He looks up from the pages of whatever story he has open right in front of him, staring directly at Rachel.
After a moment of silence, the air thick with tension, the lady gestures to the entrance.
"In you go."
Rachel looks over at her, staying put. She turns back to Janson with a clenched jaw, her blue-gray eyes narrowing.
Finally, she steps through into the bright, concrete room.
It's only a heartbeat before the door is shut behind her, making her force back a flinch. She can't show any kind of weakness in front of him. He's like a hound dog, sniffing out even the slightest hint of uncertainty.
Janson sits back in his seat, closing his book. His eyes are cold and calculated, assessing the state of the newcomer just a few feet away. Rachel meets his eyes and tries to mirror his, reaching for the still-returning memories of masking tactics that she learned.
That she learned from him.
Neither speak for a few minutes, staring in silence as they meet again for the first time in only a week. It feels like a lifetime ago that she was back at WCKD, but it truly was only a week.
Janson is the first one speak.
"Rachel."
Rachel takes a quiet breath.
"A.D. Janson."
He blinks a few times, silence falling between them again. He stands from his seat and leans against his well-organized desk.
"There's no need for formalities," he says, as if a suggestion. But Rachel knows it's not a suggestion; she knows that his 'asking nicely' is a front to make her more inclined to call him what he wants her to call him. The name Rachel swore he didn't deserve, not after everything he's done to her and her friends.
"...Dad."
Janson smiles, not even bothering to hide the cruelty it was laced with. Rachel feels ill saying that. She feels ashamed admitting the fact that this monster in front of her created her, put her on this earth.
Janson steps around the desk and takes slow strides up to the girl, clasping his hands behind his back. He stops in front of her, looking down due to their height difference. Rachel just stares up at him with blue-gray eyes to match his.
Janson takes a breath. "...You look like your mother."
Rachel can't help the way her eyes narrow, and her next words slip out of her mouth before she can think.
"Oh, how wonderful. Maybe you'll have WCKD shoot me for speaking out, too."
She knows immediately that she shouldn't have said anything, not only because of the anger that flashes across Janson's face, but the pain that flashes through Rachel.
She's flooded with the memories of her mother's dead body on the floor of her dorm. She remembers the shock and the anguish her nine-year-old self felt at the sight and loss of her mother. She couldn't ever forget.
But she has to push that away when Janson grips her shoulder, pushing her back half a step.
"You know nothing about what happened to your mother," he hisses, eyes narrowed. "Don't act like you know what you're talking about."
Rachel has to bite back a retort, knowing it would only cause further trouble. She just stares silently up a him, jaw clenched in defiance. Janson glares down at her.
"I would have thought that a simple week in the Maze would have contributed to your maturity. Seems as though I was mistaken," he says disdainfully.
Rachel bites her tongue. No amount of anger could ever surmount to how she felt in that exact moment, how much she wanted to punch or hit or scratch or claw at him. Maybe all of it. She hated this man.
Rachel knew he had something to do with her mother's death. Her murder. He could deny it until the second he died, but she knew. She would always know.
Janson lets her go and steps back. "I had faith in you, Rachel."
Rachel breathes in through her nose. "Sorry to disappoint."
Janson just continues to glare down at her. The resentment is mirrored in their matching eyes, a dynamic that shouldn't be shared between father and daughter.
Janson finally sighs.
"...I don't want this to be how it goes, Rachel." His voice is stern, but there's something in his eyes. Something that makes Rachel swallows, makes a part of her feel like a small child wanting affection from her father.
"I'm going to give you a chance. Prove to me that you are on our side, the side of the future, and we can forget about the scuffles," he says calmly. "I raised you with morals, Rachel. I pray you still hold onto them, even after your temporary memory loss."
That fleeting feeling of seeing the father he was supposed to be vanishes, replaced with more anger. Rachel wants to spit in his face, but she takes the more professional way.
"You did raise me with morals,” she replies cooly, stepping just a bit closer. “Those morals consist of me rather fucking dying than being on your side. WCKD is a bunch of child-murderers. I will never be a kiss-ass like Teresa."
Janson is silent for a moment, staring at his daughter.
"...Suit yourself."
He walks over to his desk and picks up his walkie-talkie. He stares Rachel directly in the eyes as he speaks into it.
**(implied)
"Subject B-2 is refusing to comply. Prepare the extraction for two days from now and the interrogation for seven o'clock on the dot," he orders, voice cold and calculated.
**
Despite herself, fear washes over Rachel. She knows what he means by extraction, what he means by interrogation.
He's going to extract her immunity from the Flare. That's where these kids have been going. They're not leaving the facility, they're dying. All of her friends have a death sentence.
Aris has a death sentence.
And he's going to torture her. Force her to give up insider information about what she learned during the Trials in Maze B with the girls. Information on the Right Arm from when they took Sonya and Harriet.
Rachel is going to die. She's going to be tortured and killed.
A hand runs through a head of dark hair, pushing a few pieces out of the owner's hair. The voice smiles, searching the blue-gray eyes below.
"Where's Daddy?" a smaller voice whispers.
"Getting some rest," the first voice whispers back. "Which is what you should be doing right now."
There's a little giggle, a flash of a smile.
"Go to sleep, my dear," the first voice whispers again.
Thankfully, this time, the smaller voice does fall quiet. The first voice sits there quietly, stroking the smaller's hair.
"I love you, Mommy."
A small smile. "I love you too, sweetheart."
Eyes close, and the sound of breathing levels out.
Rachel's eyes snap open. Her body surges forward to sit up, grasping at the edges of the cot she's sitting on. Eyes darting around the room, she tries to take in her surroundings. She's still in the same room, with artificial lights glaring above her, white curtains blocking her view of everything outside of her little bubble. The room smells like disinfectant, making her nose wrinkle.
Rachel shakes a little, that last memory from her dream lingering in her mind. That woman...
That was her mother. Her mother. Her-
"Good morning, Rachel."
Her head whips around at the voice, blue-gray eyes wide. They land on the nurse from before she passed out, who looks more kind now.
She steps forward. "I'm glad to see that the sedative didn't affect you too horribly. You've always had a bit of a bad reaction to it."
Rachel swallows and blinks at her. A hint of familiarity tickles her brain, and when she reaches for that memory, she expects nothing more than futility.
But the memory comes back full-force.
Rachel's heart stutters from her shock, from the clear image of being in a medical wing as a young child, the words "allergic reaction" and "allergy treatment" being thrown around with other terms she couldn't quite understand.
Rachel swallows again, putting a hand on her chest. The nurse's eyes crinkle, a sign that she's smiling under the mask plastered on her face.
"Welcome back. I'm sure the sudden flow of memories is a bit daunting right now, so I'll let you rest for a little bit," she says, voice soft; Rachel's heart squeezes at the sound, thinking of that memory of her mother.
The nurse turns to leave but stops. She looks over her shoulder at Rachel, who is staring back, speechless. The nurse sighs.
"A.D. Janson will speak with you shortly."
Then she's gone without another word.
Rachel's mind is swimming in shock from all the sudden information being thrown at her. Her brain begins to slowly process her returning memories, all of the things she couldn't remember from before she woke up in the Spring just a mere week ago.
The one thing that stands out to her is Aris. Aris, the boy she became close with at such a young age. They went through so much together, faced so many challenges together. Built the Maze.
A sudden wave of sickness washes over Rachel at that thought. She and Aris built the Maze. They trapped the girls in there, made them suffer through Variables and Grievers. Rachel makes a vow to herself that she's going to apologize to her friends when she sees them again.
'When'? Or is it an 'if'? She's going with 'when'. It's no time for being pessimistic.
Finally, the nurse's last words sink in: 'A.D. Janson'. Assistant Director Janson, second-in-command to Chancellor Paige. Every incoming memory that Rachel processes has her heart falling further and further.
She gets a clear image of that man in her mind, his face permanently fixed in a scowl, his blue-gray eyes cold and calculated. Every time she was under his gaze, she felt so small and stupid and insignificant. Every time she heard his voice, she wanted to curl up into a ball and die.
Janson, the man who oversees the entirety of the Trials, who runs this whole operation. The man who watched over Rachel like a hawk, ready to dive in when she made the slightest mistake. Her childhood had been hell because of him, because of all of the people at WCKD.
Anger starts to boil in her chest, tears pricking her eyes. The more she remembers her past, the more she remembers her hatred towards WCKD, her rage at the way she and her peers were being treated like mice in a maze. She wants to scream, to barge into Chancellor Paige's office and demand the Trials to be called off and everyone to be transported to Denver and raised until adulthood.
The sound of the curtain opening draws Rachel from her thoughts. Looking over, she sees a lady with black hair dressed in a black suit, face drawn into a tight frown. Her dark brown eyes match her overall aesthetic of black.
"The Assistant Director will see you now."
Rachel takes a deep breath and blinks. Janson wants to see her now.
Not wanting to hear this lady ask again, Rachel stands up and walks past her, avoiding eye contact. Now that she's out of the curtained-off area, Rachel sees how sterile and empty the room is, almost like her group had never been there to begin with.
"Where are the others?" she asks the newcomer, looking back at her.
The lady moves to open the door with a hum. "You'll find out soon enough."
She gestures for Rachel to walk through.
"Don't keep the Assistant Director waiting."
Rachel is still for a moment, staring at the lady. But she knows resistance is futile at the moment, and meeting with the A.D. is her best shot at getting answers right now. So she walks through the door and into the hallway, down the opposite direction from which she came the first time.
She's off to see Janson. The man that caused the living hell that was her childhood and life.
The hallways are filled with blue-tinted flourescent lights, the sound of shoes clacking on the floor echoing off the cement walls. The kids around Rachel are whispering excitedly, already planning the futures that would come with their soon-to-come freedom.
Lola falls in line next to Rachel, looking around. The girl's green eyes are darting every which way as she scans their surroundings. Rachel had clocked Lola as the observant one out of their group early on, so she silently watches as her friend evaluates the environment.
Without a word, Lola's eyes turn to look ahead.
"There's something wrong."
It's more breathing than actual words, but Rachel catches the comment. She swallows, glancing at her.
"What?"
Lola meets her eyes briefly and swallows.
"The entrance is on the other side of the facility. Where those helicopter things are."
Rachel's breath catches. She stares at the back of the rat-looking man's head, wondering who he is and what the hell is actually happening. She's getting weird vibes from him, and there's something about him that feels familiar.
Lola and Rachel walk in silence for the rest of their journey, deeper into the facility if Lola's observations are correct. What can they be doing so far in if they were supposed to be leaving?
Rachel can't help but agree with Lola: something isn't right.
None of the other kids have seemed to pick up on the unease Rachel and Lola are feeling. Rachel can't help but feel a pang of pity for her peers. They're all survivors of the Maze, just like she and Lola are. They just want a break, a chance to actually be kids, be teenagers. They're too exhausted to recognize the unsettling atmosphere surrounding them.
Rachel is pulled from her thoughts when the group stops in front of a door. Rat Man turns to all of them, face emotionless. It's unsettling.
"You all will be given wellness checks again before leaving, even if you've just arrived today." He glances at Lola and Rachel at those words but doesn't let his gaze linger. "Everyone be patient as we prep you for your departure."
He steps away from the door and gestures for them to enter.
Patience is not something present among the group of kids, but they obey and enter the room without question. Lola and Rachel are the last ones in, and Rachel feels her blood run cold when the door shuts.
Lola nods to Rachel as a nurse comes over, letting herself be directed to a cot. Rachel glances at her friend before turning to the nurse approaching her. Just like last time, she's brought to a secluded area. Curiosity gets the best of her, and she speaks up.
"Why can't I stay with the others?"
The nurse looks at her, seemingly startled by the question.
"I, well..." The nurse collects herself. "I'm not sure. I was told to bring you here. Just doing my job."
***
For some reason, that didn't sit right with Rachel. 'Just doing her job'? Why not question why one specific kid is being singled out? Rachel's sense of unease is growing stronger.
The nurse doesn't say much else, running a check-up like they were told would happen. It isn't until she pulls out a syringe that Rachel begins to take into account the specific details of her surroundings.
The chatter outside of the curtains has stopped, but there's still shuffling. When her arm is grabbed, Rachel whips her head around and flinches. The nurse grips her arm tighter.
"Stay still," she says, voice lacking sympathy.
Rachel has no time to respond before the needle of the syringe pierces her skin, making her flinch for a second time. Just as soon as it happens, it's over, and the nurse is wiping the area of the injection.
The nurse moves to walk out of the enclosed area, opening the curtains. Now, Rachel can see why everything went quiet out there.
***
The seven other people in her selected group, including Lola, are passed out and limp in their seats.
Rachel opens her mouth to speak, but her words fail her. She feels sluggish, and her vision begins to blur.
She should've done something about the uneasy feeling. She shouldn't have just let this all happen. What was she thinking?
Rachel lays back against the makeshift hospital bed, the world spinning around her. As she loses consciousness, she hears one last thing.
Rachel leans her head on Aris's shoulder, sniffling. The sound of the helicopter blades surround them, a rhythmic sound that's almost comforting in the group's frenzied state.
There are some girls crying, the others comforting them. Aris wraps an arm around Rachel, and she can hear his shaky breath.
Rachel shivers despite the heat, pressing closer to her friend. They've no idea what the future holds, if this is even really the end. She briefly wonders if Sonya and Harriet are alive, if they're safe with the Right Arm. The thought is fleeting, but there nonetheless.
She can't tell how long they're in the air. When they finally land, her knees are wobbly as she tries to stand and climb off the helicopter. Aris helps her down, gripping her arm to steady her. Rachel flashes him a brief smile in spite of their circumstances, one that he reflects.
She's not sure how she'd survive in this world without him, and she isn't particularly keen on finding out.
Their group is led through a massive warehouse, sticking close together. It's a shared sense of unease among them all as they walk farther into the concrete building, as if this wasn't really where they were going to be safe.
They're all given check-ups, Aris separated from the rest of the girls. He looks uneasy leaving them, especially Rachel. But Rachel is following behind him, being brought into a separate curtained-off area. They share wary glances before the curtains finally close.
It's a regular check-up, checking vitals. The nurse is silent, save for the few questions she asks in regard to Rachel's pain. Something makes Rachel feel uneasy, like everything around her was artificial. She tries to stamp it down, wanting a break from the constant second-guessing that she's been experiencing since she woke up in the Box.
Afterwards, she's released to be with her friends in this big cafeteria, finding them sitting at one of the tables. Miyoko comes up to her, grabbing her arm and pulling her to sit down.
"What is this place?" Rachel asks, looking around. There's other kids here, kids that she knows for a fact weren't in the Maze with her group.
Was there more than one Maze?
Miyoko shakes her head. "They're saying it's a Safe Haven checkpoint. Apparently kids get taken every day to be shipped off to the actual Safe Haven."
Beth huffs, crossing her arms. "I don't know about you sticks, but I call bull. This is too orchestrated. Are we really safe here?"
"It is the closest we have to anything relatively safe," Amelia points out. "I'd rather here than the Maze."
A few other girls chime in with their agreement. Rachel knows they're justified in wanting to believe that they've finally caught a break, but something just doesn't sit right with her about the whole place.
She looks around the table. "Where's Aris?"
"Hasn't come back yet," Miyoko replies. "Haven't seen him since they took you guys to separate areas. What was that about?"
Rachel shakes her head. "I don't know. It's not like I got special treatment. Checked my vitals, asked about injuries and pain."
Lola sits forward, brows furrowed. "That's what happened with us, we were all just in a group."
This only stoked the fire of discomfort in Rachel. Something wasn't right here. Her heart picks up as she starts thinking more about Aris, worry coursing through her.
"God, I hope he comes back soon."
Miyoko squeezes her shoulder. "I'm sure he's fine."
As if on cue, the doors open and Rachel catches a glimpse of a tall, lanky brunet boy with a stripped hoodie. Letting out a breath she didn't know she was holding, Rachel is up out of her seat and rushing over to Aris immediately.
Aris's shoulders sag in relief and he steps forward. Rachel meets him in an embrace, taking a shaky breath.
"Jesus, Aris, I thought something was wrong," Rachel says, pulling back and cupping his face. "Are you alright?"
Aris just gives her a soft smile, nodding. "I'm fine. Just had me sittin' around for a while. Not sure why. But I'm here now."
Rachel swallows and nods back. She stands there for a moment, looking over him to make sure he wasn't downplaying anything, then pulls him over to the girls. Miyoko claps his back, Lola and Amelia smile at him.
"You got somethin' special about you, pretty boy?" Beth asks, sitting forward.
Aris pulls his hood down and shakes his head. "No. Just a check-up. They left me sittin' there for like fifteen minutes."
Miyoko's brows furrow. "Jeez. What is going on around here?"
Rachel sighs, shaking her head. "That's the million-dollar question, yeah?"
Despite her attempted jest, no one laughs. They're too distracted by the incoming adult, a gray-haired man in a gray shirt and jacket. He had a clipboard.
"Everybody listen up!" He has an odd accent, one similar to Rachel's but not the others. "The following have been chosen to be transported to the Safe Haven today:
"James, Hailey, Peter, Marcus, Yolanda, Gregory, Lola-" he flips the page up "-and Rachel."
The group is startled by this news, that Lola and Rachel are being taken from them so soon. Rachel turns to look at Aris, who is staring at her with wide eyes.
As much as the idea of freedom enticed her, her unease has grown stronger. And she doesn't want to leave Aris.
But the worry on his face is gone in a flash, replaced with determination. He takes her hands.
"You'll wait for me there, yeah?"
Rachel doesn't know what to say, her throat constricting as tears prick her eyes. She doesn't want to leave, not without him. He's been the only sense of normalcy that she's had this whole time, ever since he woke up from that coma.
"I don't want to leave you here," she whispers, blue eyes searching his.
Aris only smiles softly. "It'll be okay. I'll watch over the rest of the girls and meet you there."
Rachel wants to protest, wants to either stay rooted in place or drag him with her. She can't bear the thought of being separated from him for God knows how long.
"Rachel!"
She looks behind her. The clip-board man (he honestly looked like a rat) is staring directly at her. How did he know her name?
Rachel turns back to Aris, one last little plead in her eyes. Aris takes her hands in his and nods.
"I'll see you on the other side, Rach. It's going to be okay."
"Rachel! Last call!"
Rachel squeezes her eyes shut and surges forward, grasping Aris's face and pressing their lips together. He's tense for half a second before kissing back, his eyes wide when she pulls away. Rachel gives him one last look before standing up and hurriedly walking over to the group.
The Rat Man looks miffed at her delay. "So glad you decided to join us."
Rachel looks down, cheeks flushed. "Sorry," she whispers.
He just hums and looks her up and down before turning away. He walks over to the doors and opens them.
"Newt! Please!" Thomas's throat is raw, tears filling his eyes. He's so scared, terrified for his friend and of what he's become.
There's nothing behind his eyes anymore, just pools of black tar that replace the chocolate brown they used to be.
His friend-turned-Crank stumbles forward, swiping at him again.
Swipe
Swipe - Shink!
The sound was sickening to Thomas, even more so when Newt goes still against him, wide-eyed and staring blankly. When his friend collapses to the ground, Thomas shoots up.
His skin is coated in a thin layer of sweat, chest heaving. He looks around the room lit by faint moonlight, fingers tightly gripping the sheets twisted around him. He takes deep breaths to try and draw himself back into reality.
It wasn't real. Just a dream, just a nightmare.
Just a memory.
The memory that keeps Thomas up at night, the memory that hangs on him like an anchor, keeping him pulled taut between blaming himself and blaming WCKD. Where to aim his grief at, his anger, his pain.
He's drawn from his thoughts when a warm hand rests against his forearm, causing him to look over. The person next to him shifts to rest on her side. She rubs her thumb over his arm.
"Hey," Brenda says softly.
Thomas inhales quietly, swallowing.
"...Hey," he whispers back.
She looks over his face for a moment or two before her eyes drift to the arm she's rubbing. She's so quiet that if it weren't for the shifting of her thumb on his arm, he'd have assumed she'd fallen back asleep.
"The Nightmare again?" There's no judgement in her voice, no irritation or annoyance, despite the constant torment that Thomas experiences at the hands of the Nightmare.
Thomas nods quietly. Brenda just sighs. No more words could be said now, nothing of use anyways. She'd run out of ways to tell him it wasn't his fault, so much so that he could hear her saying them anytime he thought about Newt.
Brenda shifts on the bed and pulls Thomas to lay on his back again. The weighted comfort of her head on his chest gives him some sort of relief from the turmoil he's facing. Shakily, his hand raises to gently run through her hair. Brenda melts against him, sighing again.
Thomas's eyes have just started drooping when Brenda speaks up in a soft murmur.
"If it wasn't my fault, then it wasn't yours either. I had the Cure in my hand when I found you two. It was just as much on me as it was on you."
Brenda knew that her words were old news to him, something he's heard time and time again. But she also knew that including her own possible blame in the death of their non-immune friend broke Thomas from his cycle of emotions in the moment, gave him some aspect of clarity. It didn't lessen the pain, only stifled it. Muffled it. For the time being, anyways.
Thomas doesn't respond for a while, not sure what to say.
He didn't blame Brenda in the slightest. He'd seen the pain and regret in her eyes when she saw Newt's body, the same pain and regret he'd been feeling, vial of the Cure in her hand. Thomas was told that she'd been inconsolable while he was out from his bullet wound, fully blaming herself for just not being faster.
Of course it wasn't Brenda's fault, what more could she have done?
But the purpose of her words slowly hits Thomas. He'd done everything he could to save Newt, tried to calm him down, take his weapon from him. But the Flare was too strong.
Brenda tried too. They both failed, but neither were at fault.
So, with a deep sigh, Thomas pushes the thought of his dead friend from his mind. He runs a hand through Brenda's hair again, letting his eyes flutter closed. Sleep tugs at his mind as he lays there.
If blaming himself meant blaming Brenda, then Thomas refused to do it. It wasn't her fault, so it wasn't his.
It wasn't either of their faults. And that, Thomas could live with.
Settling down in the Safe Haven wasn't necessarily easy for any of the surviving kids from WCKD. This was especially true for Sonya, a subject and survivor from Maze B, who, on top of being subjected to the Maze, was kidnapped and shipped around for six months in horrible conditions. Yes, many others went through the same things that she did, that was undeniable.
But after running on adrenaline for so long and always being on the move, when they were finally able to breathe, Sonya crashed- hard.
It was bad enough that she could barely move from her cot, but the fact that all of her friends seemed so much better than her and were seemingly coping better than she was only worsened her state. Her slow-returning memories were giving her little comfort, especially when she finally remembered her now-dead big brother.
Harriet was always a comforting presence, but she was also stoic, which made Sonya feel even more self-conscious. Harriet pushed her to get up and try to see if the fresh air and sunlight would make her feel better, quoting how, in the Maze, they would go hang out outside when things got tough to catch a breather and relax. Sonya understood and appreciated her push, but she wasn't sure she could find it in herself to do so.
One person, however, didn't push or prod or try to drag her out of her hole.
Aris.
Sonya hadn't known Aris for very long before they escaped the Maze, but she'd gotten to know him a lot better when she was kidnapped by WCKD, as he'd been kidnapped as well. When the other group went off to find Minho after rescuing the two, they'd gotten time to connect some more, without the watchful eye of WCKD over them.
He'd grown taller in the past few months, though nothing too noticeable. Sonya just realized she was looking up at him more now. But Aris was the one person who took her crash in stride. Hell, he was the only one who even bothered to stay and have a chat with her.
Instead of telling her about all the ways that she could possibly make herself feel better, he sat with her and talked to her about literally anything. Gossip, memories of WCKD, memories of the Maze. He met her at her level, as opposed to trying to bring her up to his.
Sonya could not express with words how much his support meant to her. She was attributing most of her slow healing to Aris. He helped her so much that she started going outside and interacting with people again.
She spent a lot of time with Aris throughout the day, enough so that her friends were commenting on it. Sonya hadn't even realized how she subconsciously sought him out in groups, or just in general. He never seemed to mind, so she didn't think anything of it.
Sonya began to push through the days in order to make it to the little beach-meetings she shared with Aris once or twice a week. She was re-integrated into the society they'd built and finally found herself again. She didn't feel like holing up and being alone all day anymore, no longer cried herself to sleep from the weight of her trauma.
But that didn't mean she and Aris fell out.
No, if anything, they got closer. And their meetings felt more personal, more private. Less like meetings for talking about stress to blow off steam, more like hang-outs to be with the other.
The development of laced hands, affectionate smiles, giggles that belong only in that moment. Falling asleep on the beach, found snuggled up against each other. The eventual, tentative kisses, as if one wrong move means the other disappears.
Sonya didn't know where they were going, and honestly, she didn't really care right now. All she knew was that Aris was the person she found the most comfort in.
