Summary: y/n makes blankets for the gladers for the cold nights, when she realises she hasn’t made one for herself she just sucks it up and goes without. But Newt doesn’t let her freeze.
A/N: currently taking random oneshots I posted on wattpad and putting them on tumblr, cuz realistically I’m never gonna make a whole oneshot book worth of content for wattpad
fluff
Days in the glade were hot and humid. Which was mostly nice. Getting sweaty while doing jobs outside wasn't my favourite thing, but being the only girl amongst a ton of boys meant I was always the best out of a bad bunch when it came to sweatiness, so I didn't really mind. But, oh, were the nights cold.
Freezing, in fact. The complete opposite of the sunny days. Once the sun starts to set it's time to grab an extra layer, it gets so cold so fast. I can't even count the amount of times I had caught boys who "didn't feel the cold" or "didn't need a blanky to sleep" later shivering in their hammocks, too proud to admit they were freezing after all.
The creators never sent up blankets though.
So, I decided to take it upon myself to fix this problem. It took me a couple months, but I sheered the wool off the sheep and spun it into yarn (that took me ages) and I got two nice pieces of scrap wood shavings from Gally, that I whittled down to be my knitting needles. Of course I have no memories from before the glade, and as surprised as I am that I have this talent, I am so glad I learned to knit before I was sent down here for who knows what.
With my DIY materials and newly rediscovered talent I knitted as many blankets as my hands could manage. They were soft and thick, and large enough for a teenage boy. Of course they weren't perfect and no two blankets looked the same, but that was part of the charm. Each had a slightly different colour due to the sheep's coat colours all being different. Some were gradient from where I had started to spin a white sheep's fur with a black sheep's fur. Some suddenly switched colours from where I ran out of wool and had to switch to another colour abruptly. And some were just one solid colour. But the colours didn't really matter, it was the warmth they provided that mattered.
That night, during dinner, I slipped away excitedly to retrieve my handmade gifts. I had informed Alby of my plans the day I thought of the idea and he thought it was great, one less thing for the boys to complain about. So, once he noticed me jogging off to one of the lookout towers where I had done most of my knitting and where the blankets are kept, he followed me promptly.
"They're going to be so excited for this." He said once he had reached me, where I stood stuffing as many blankets into a spare basket as possible.
I chuckled. "And why is that?"
"It gets pretty shucking cold in the glade, if you haven't noticed." He joins me in folding and stuffing blankets into another basket for himself to carry. "The other gladers sure have noticed. Really, would it kill the creators to send blankets down themselves, instead of making us do it."
I don't respond to this. I try not to think about the reasoning behind the small actions of torture we have to endure from an unknown source. It's better to look on the bright side, we now have blankets. And soon the whole glade will be just a little bit warmer at night.
We finish loading up our baskets and begin carrying them back to where the others are eating. None of them seem to have noticed our absence, nor our return, until Alby yells:
"Oi! Listen up!" All eyes are now on us.
I drop my basket onto the ground and begin explaining, "Um, so I think it's safe to say that it gets pretty cold at night here in the glade." Murmurs of agreement. "And so I have taken it upon myself to help out with that a bit." I pick up a blanket, unfold it and hold it up for the crowd.
They smile, some nod their heads, and others roll their eyes, probably acting as if they're too tough to need a blanky. But as Alby tells them to form a queue, no one is left sat down.
Each person is given a blanket. Chuck was first in line, so I make sure he got the softest one. That earned me a hug from the kid. Minho gave me a fist bump and thanked me. Thomas, the greenie, as of about a week ago, seemed as confused as ever, but he took a blanket and thanked me still. Alby was quicker to hand out ones from his basket, not waiting for a thank you as I was, and so he had said goodnight and left when I was only half way through my line. One by one each glader was gifted until there was only one left in the line and...one blanket.
"You made these?" A familiar voice chimes. It's newt, of course, my old friend. He was second in the glade and I was third, so we have been through a lot together; I would go as far as saying he's my best friend. I spend more time with Minho or Ben or even Chuck, but I know he's always there for me if I need him.
But I don't respond to his question. I'm currently staring at the singular blanket. I really thought everything had turned out perfectly, the last of the wool I had spun was used to make the last blanket, I thought it was a miracle that there was the perfect amount. But clearly I miss counted, and all the sheep had been sheered too, so I can't-
"Y/n?"
"Oh...um- yeah." I look up at him. "Took me, um, took me ages!" Shuck.
He looks at me thoroughly, eyebrows furrowed, and then he looks into the basket. "There's only one left isn't there."
I nod, slowly.
"Well that's alright!" He smiles once again and picked up the blanket, thrusting it towards me. "Here, it's the least you deserve after all that hard work."
"No no no, I made them for you guys. Really, honestly it's fine."
"Y/n, come on, you made them, you deserve one."
"No Newt, it's for you."
"Y/n, take it."
"No, it's yours."
"Y/n."
"I've gotta go. See you tomorrow!" And with that, I turn on my heels and walk away as quickly as possible, leaving him stood there with the last blanket.
* * *
That night, each and every glader is wrapped in their new gifts.
It's rewarding to see them all so contempt during the harsh nights. But a part of me does wish I made them all just a little bit smaller, perhaps then there would be enough wool left for me to have my own. Tonight is particularly bad, like, I can't comprehend how any of the boys are asleep when such harsh cold winds are roaring in my ears. I tried curling up into a foetal position 10 minutes ago, and now I can't move, because if I do then the rest of my hammock, which has been exposed to the elements, will surely freeze my limbs off upon contact.
I am shaking and my teeth are chattering so loud I'm scared I might wake the other gladers. I contemplate putting on every piece of clothing I have to try and insulate myself, but that would require me to move and I don't have many pieces of clothing in the first place.
I can no longer feel anything in my hands or feet and just as I feel the tears welling up in my eyes I hear footsteps. No one should be up at this time and I almost build up the will power to lift my head before the person speaks.
"Are you alright, love?" Newt.
I try speaking but it only comes out as stutters and more chattering teeth, "I-i-m-m f-f-f-ine." How embarrassing.
"You don't seem it. I couldn't stand the thought of you laying here all cold with no blanket, especially on a night like this, so I thought I'd come and help out."
I lift my head to see him stood there holding the blanket I made him. I'm about to go on about how I made it for him and I'll borrow someone's spare hoodie tomorrow, but before I could speak I am lifted into the air and out of my hammock.
Newt doesn't let my feet touch the ground while he lays in my hammock himself, him on the bottom and me laying on top of him. He begins to drape the blanket over the both of us, making sure to tuck in the sides to stop any cold air from getting in. Once he's done that his arms snake around me, and I take a moment to address what's just happened.
"Newt?"
"Mhm?" He sounds sleepy.
"Thank you."
"Well I can't just let you freeze, can I?"
We both lay there in silence, and instead of falling asleep to the wind roaring in my ears, I fall asleep to the sound of Newt's heart beating.
Summary: As Thomas explores the glade after his arrival and tour, he notices you, the only female, standing up to Gally.
Warnings: Possible language, arguments
It had only been a few hours since Thomas arrived, but his restless curiosity was already getting the better of him. The glade was massive - too big, too strange - and every corner seemed to whisper with secrets he wasn’t supposed to know yet.
Newt and Alby had both warned him not to get into trouble. Naturally, that only made him want to explore more.
He wandered aimlessly for a while, taking in the rows of crude shelters, the gardens, and the distant, towering walls that framed the glade like a cage. Then, the sound of raised voices caught his attention.
Thomas followed the noise until he saw Gally in the middle of a group of gladers, barking orders at them like he owned the place. From the way the others flinched or avoided his gaze, maybe he did, or at least thought he did.
Thomas stopped beside Newt, who was standing a few feet away, arms crossed, watching the argument unfold.
“He always like this?” Thomas asked quietly.
“Mostly,” Newt replied, not taking his eyes off Gally.
Thomas frowned, watching as Gally kicked over a bucket and started yelling about someone slacking off on their job. Then something else caught his eye. You.
You were walking straight toward Gally. Confident. Calm. The other gladers noticed too, stepping back as you approached, like they knew what was about to happen.
“What is she doing?” Thomas asked, eyes narrowing.
Newt smirked faintly. “Just watch.”
Thomas did.
Gally turned as you came up beside him, his tone still sharp. “Stay out of this, Y/n. This isn’t your section.”
You crossed your arms. “Maybe not, but you don’t get to scream at people just because you’re having a bad day.”
Gally’s jaw tensed. “I’m keeping order.”
“You’re being a pain,” you shot back. “There’s a difference.”
A few gladers snickered quietly. Gally’s glare silenced them, but the damage was done - you’d challenged him, and you weren’t backing down.
Thomas couldn’t help the grin tugging at his lips. For a moment, Gally looked like he might explode, but instead, he huffed, muttered something under his breath, and stormed off.
You turned to the others, gave a few quick instructions, and they scattered back to work. Then your eyes flicked briefly toward Thomas and Newt - and for a heartbeat, Thomas swore you were looking right at him.
“Who is she?” Thomas asked, still watching as you walked away.
Newt finally looked at him, one corner of his mouth lifting. “That, Greenie, is someone you don’t want to mess with.”
Ruben being a survivor of child sexual abuse is canon imo.
(Most likely by his father, but I wouldn't doubt inappropriateness from his mother too judging by the Maura-Niall tickling scene. And later he likely experienced things at the Young Offender's Institute.)
All the signs are there if you know what to look for.
The unabashed exhibitionism, the sexualizing of everything he says/ does, the way he thought arranging the loss of his stepbrothers virginity and playing an active role in it was completely normal.
(Also I'm positive Mona is also a survivor and those kids found each other and found mutual understanding in the harmful sexuality they internalized.)
The sexual undertones in his interactions with Niall all the while calling him son. The fact that he doesn't care who he sleeps with, his being attracted to them isn't a factor (ie. Joanna). He's not even particularly homophobic, it's giving sex is just sex, because if sex meant something that means that what happened to me has to mean something.
We see it in the spin the bottle scene as well. There's something so sinister about him provoking Niall and Alby during spin the bottle asking "You're not man enough to kiss a bloke or something?" Because who taught him that? Someone said this to him at one point and now he's perpetuating it. Again sexual acts don't really mean anything because if they did...
And underneath that is everything Ruben never deals with.
It's what explodes out of him during his violent outbursts.
The first time Alby meets Ruben he can literally feel how insanely intense and aggressive this guy is, gets intimidated into a handshake and a spin the bottle game. Niall lets on how fucked their relationship is, Alby can literally sense it, AND STILL TRIES TO OUT NIALL TO THAT SAME SCARY FUCKER RUBEN !
Was re-reading the first book and had this idea while Chuck has this conversation with Thomas. First thing I've written in years! There it goes :)
The Glade had settled into its usual nighttime hush, the kind that would amplify every small noise, making it feel louder than it should. Torches flickered about, their flames snapping softly every só often, providing some extra light, even though the moon was quite enough. In the distance, Zart, the Keeper of the Track-hoes, barked one last command before the silence spread again. You never liked how quiet it got after the sun set. No crickets, no owls, no nothing. Not that you could remember ever hearing any of those, but you knew that’s what night was supposed to sound like. In the Glade, it was just silence. It was unsettling. It made you think too much.
You walked beside Minho, having just finished patching up some of his cuts and bruises after today’s lengthy run.
“Tell me again” you started softly, not wanting your voice to echo too much “why did you decide you wanted to monkey around today and start climbing that ivy?”
Minho snickered “Monkey around” Normally he just ran inside the maze, climbing walls didn’t really take you guys anywhere. But over two years running every single day gets boring, apparently. “I like that expression.”
You shot him a look “Answer the question”
He shrugged in response “Got bored.”
“Getting bored almost made you fall. You could’ve seriously hurt yourself” his hands had cuts and friction burns from holding onto the ivy too tighly.
“I slipped, there’s a difference” he added matter-of-factly, clearly trying to hide his embarrassment.
“But you should run” you tilted your head “You’re a Runner. That’s the whole job description.” eyebrow raised, you sometimes couldn’t understand how his brain worked. Minho was mostly predictable, but the rest of the time he pulled stunts like this.
“Yeah, well” he picked up a pebble and shuffled it between his fingers, fidgeting with it “Running gets old. Same corridors, same turns, same dead ends. Even if they’re not, sometimes they feel like it” he confessed “Thought maybe the walls had something interesting to show me today” you couldn’t imagine what it felt like. Life in the Glade was pretty repetitive and you only had been sent there for a little over a year. Minho had been a Runner for double that time, it surely wasn’t easy.
You thought of a snarky remark but decided against it, now just walking in a comfortable silence alongside the boy. You were walking towards the Homestead where most of the Gladers had already dragged themselves to bed. You weren’t tired, your mind beginning to buzz like it always did when things got too quiet.
Suddenly, you slowed your pace. Minho noticed immediately, he always noticed.
“What?” he asked, scanning the shadows as if expecting a Griever to pop out of nowhere.
You frown a little, tilting your head and trying to focus “Did you hear that?”
He copied your movements, listening. At first, there was nothing. He was about to tell you he couldn’t hear klunk when there it was - a small, broken inhale.
Minho’s posture changed, shoulders squaring automatically. “Someone better not be sneaking food again,” he grumbled, though his voice was lower now, to prevent the food smuggler from hearing him.
The sound came again, barely there. You turned slowly, trying to figure out where it came from. It seemed to come from behind the Gardens, the opposite way to the Homestead. You followed it without a word, Minho on your heels, but wishing he just kept walking to his bed instead.
Past stacked crates, tools and the tomato patch, which now stood proud and healthy with big stalks, was Chuck, sitting on a small empty space, knees to his chest and face burried in his arms with trembling shoulders.
Minho stopped short “Oh,” he said under his breath, like he hadn’t been prepared for that.
Your chest tightened at the scene, worry growing inside you by the second “Chuck?” you called quietly.
The boy jerked up and flinched so hard he almost tipped over. Scrubbing quickly at his face with the heel of his hand “I wasn’t crying,” he blurted. “Shuckin’ dust got in my eyes.”
“In the middle of the night?” Minho said flatly.
“Yeah. Night dust.”
Minho crossed his arms “Hope it’s not contagious”
You nudged him on the shins with your elbow without looking at him, as if to say “Behave”.
He huffed and looked away, studying the Maze walls like they were suddenly fascinating. He was not one for big words and reassurance, that was more your job – not just because you were better at it, but you were also the Keeper of the Med-Jacks. You quickly realized treating the outside wounds was not enough. Especially being a girl in a place full of teenage boys, it’s like they were never taught or conditioned to acknowledge that they, too, had emotions and had to deal with them.
You softened your voice, focusing back on the small sniffling boy in front of you. “Hey. It’s okay.”
Chuck tried to laugh, but it fell apart halfway through. “No, it’s not. It’s just-” he swallowed hard, hesitating “It’s stupid.”
“If it hurts you, it’s valid, it’s not stupid” Chuck sniffed, looking anywhere but at you. For once, he didn’t have a smart, slightly annoying comment ready. No grin or sarcasm you would normally find coming out of the 12 year old.
He swallowed and took a deep breath “It’s messed up, Y/N. Feeling like your chest’s getting ripped open ‘cause you miss something… But you don’t even know what it is.” His voice cracked and he clenched his jaw like he hated himself for it. “I don’t remember them. My family. Not their faces. Not their voices. But I know they’re there. Somewhere.”
The night pressed in around them and you could feel Minho shifting his weight behind you. He looked like he’d rather face a Griever alone than stand there.
“I keep thinking,” he continued, quieter now, “what if they’re looking for me? What if they think I just disappeared? And I can’t even remember them enough to miss them right.”
You felt something twist inside you, sharp and sudden. The Maze took memories, sure. But it didn’t take the feeling of losing them. You missed your family as well, even though you had no idea if you had one. But for sure you did.. right?
You didn’t hesitate, moving closer and wrapping your arms around him. Chuck froze for half a second, then collapsed into you like he’d been waiting for permission. His face was pressed against your shoulder and the quiet crying started again, softer this time. Minho felt something in his chest twist uncomfortably as he watched it all unfold in front of him.
He’d seen you patch people up after scrapes and rough days, argue with shuck-faced Gally without backing down, head always up high like you’ve got something to prove. But this… This was different. You held Chuck like he was something fragile and important, like he wasn’t just the annoying Greenie who talked too much.
Your hand began slowly and carefully moving around Chuck’s hair “It’s not stupid” you murmured “Missing them means they mattered. Even if you can’t see their faces, your heart remembers. That’s not something the Maze can take.”
For a while, neither of you spoke. A beetle blade skittered somewhere in the dark, its faint clicking almost comforting compared to the silence. Chuck’s breathing evened out, but he still didn’t move away. Minho now sat on an overturned bucket, tossing the same pebble from before against the dirt with lazy flicks of his fingers. You remained on the same patch of dirt watching Chuck pick at the frayed hem of his shirt. He’d been quiet for a while. Too quiet.
“Y/N?” he said finally, making you look up and hum in response.
He hesitated, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer. “Do you think I have parents? Real parents?” Minho’s pebble missed his hand and dropped but he did no effort to pick it up.
Chuck kept going, words tumbling now. “Most of the guys who’ve gone through the Changing remember terrible things they won’t even talk about. Makes me think maybe I don’t got anything good waiting for me.” He swallowed. “So… you think it’s really possible I have a mom and a dad out in the world somewhere? Missing me?” His voice dipped lower. “You think they cry at night?”
The question hung in the air, fragile as glass. You didn’t answer right away, not out of uncertainty, simply because it pained you too much to see Chuck, normally such a playful chatterbox, breaking like this. He is just a kid, you thought.
“Yeah,” you simply said, quietly.
Chuck blinked at your answer “Yeah?”
“I think you do.”
He searched your face, like he was trying to figure out if you were just being nice, if you were just trying to shut him up.
“You don’t know that,” he said.
“No,” you agreed. “I don’t.” a slow exhale came out of your nose “But one thing I know for certain. You didn’t just appear out of nowhere. Someone held you when you were little. Someone gave you a name and took care of you. Someone taught you how to talk, how to walk. You didn’t learn how to be you by yourself.” no longer embracing him, you know held his hands in your hands, where you drew random invisible figures, hoping it would bring him reassurance.
Chuck’s mouth pressed into a thin line as his lower lip wobbled, quiet tears starting to pool at his eyes.
You managed to steady your voice “And if they’re out there… If they’re alive… then yeah. I think they miss you. For sure they cry for you”
Minho shifted on the bucket. “Parents are annoying,” he muttered “From what I remember, anyway.”
Chuck scoffed, now wiping a stray tear that had managed to escape down his cheek “You don’t even remember anything.”
“Exactly,” Minho said “Probably blocked it out on purpose.”
You almost smiled, but kept your attention on Chuck.
“Listen,” you continued, your tone careful, grounded “Even if the world’s messed up, even if bad things happened before this, even if you can’t be with them now… That doesn’t erase the fact that you are someone’s baby. That matters.”
Chuck’s chin trembled, and he hated that it did “You really think they cry?” he whispered.
Your throat tightened but you didn’t let it show too much “Your mom and dad are very lucky to have you as a son, Chuckie. And I’m sure they miss you terribly” your vision started to get a little too blurry for your taste “And I’m also sure” you added “The day they see you again, it’s going to be the best day in their whole entire lives”
Chuck looked down at his hands, no longer hiding his tears, voice coming as barely anything more than a whisper “I just… I don’t wanna be forgotten.” The words were small, honest.
You reached forward and nudged his knee lightly so he’d look at you “You’re not forgettable, kid, trust me.” you chuckled softly “Besides, one is only ever forgotten when the last person who loves them disappears. And if I recall correctly, we are still here” you said, gesturing for you and Minho, who was now turned to you both, no longer as awkward as before “As well as *all* those shanks back there” you said now gesturing towards the Homestead and the hammocks camped outside.
A weak laugh escaped him. Minho, who watched the whole thing, felt something warm and unsettling spreading through him. You would be like this with anyone, he realized. Not just Chuck, anyone who needed it. But right now, under the moonlight with the night pressing in, you looked like the safest place in the whole Glade. The runner shoved his hands into his pockets before he did something embarrassing, like say that out loud. He cleared his throat “She’s right. You’re stuck with us, shank. That’s permanent.”
Chuck wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Lucky me.”
“We’ll find out one day, about all of it. And when we do… you can decide what to do with it. But until then? You don’t have to pretend you don’t care.” Chuck nodded, just once.
Minho leaned back, staring up at the slice of stars visible above the Maze walls. “If your parents are out there,” he said, voice quieter than usual, “They better appreciate you. Otherwise I’ll personally tell them they’re shuck-brained.”
After a moment, he wiped his face one last time while standing up, trying to regain whatever scraps of dignity he thought he’d lost. “Don’t tell nobody,” he mumbled
“Your secret’s safe.” you swore, getting up too.
Chuck squared his shoulders, forcing on a crooked grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Good. ‘Cause I got a reputation to maintain.”
“Yeah,” she said “Terrifying.”
He rolled his eyes, but the worst of the sadness had dulled “Thanks, Y/N…” he added sheepishly “… and you” he added as if just remembering Minho was also there.
As he walked back toward the Homestead, you stayed where you were, watching him go. The Maze walls loomed high above you, silent and uncaring. But for the first time that night, the quiet didn’t feel quite as heavy.
-
Minho didn’t say anything at first. You leaned back down against one of the crates, stretching your legs out in front of you. “You okay?” you asked.
He glanced at you “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You get weirdly quiet when feelings happen.”
He simply huffed a laugh through his nose, picking up the pebble again, rolling it between his fingers instead of throwing it this time. “You’re good at that.”
“At what?” you frowned slightly.
He gestured vaguely in the direction Chuck had gone. “That.”
“Talking?” it came out more sarcastically than you had intended.
“Not just talking.” He hesitated, which for Minho was practically a confession. “You just… know what to say. You don’t make it sound fake, or like you’re trying too hard.”
You looked down at your hands, feeling that was not quite true “I don’t always know what to say.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Silence slipped in once more.
“You didn’t have to stay,” you said after a moment “You could’ve left it to me.”
Minho looked almost offended as he spoke in a higher pitched voice “And let you have all the glory?”
You nudged his boot with yours, supressing a smile “Shank.”
He nudged you back, a little firmer and more serious “You think I don’t care about the kid?”
“I know you do.” he went quiet at that. A breeze drifted through the Glade, cool against your skin. Somewhere near the walls, ivy rustled faintly.
Minho studied you in the dim light. The way you’d crouched in front of Chuck without hesitation. The way your voice had softened but never broken. The way you’d made the Maze feel smaller just by sitting there.
“You’d make a good…” He stopped himself.
You tilted your head in confusion “A good what?”
He looked away quickly, regretting ever opening his mouth “Nothing.”
You narrowed your eyes, knowing exactly where this was going “Minho.”
He groaned quietly. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Say my name like that.”
“Like what?” you were getting a little tired of this game of charades you didn’t agree to.
“Like you’re about to dig into my brain.” He knew, knew you were way too deep inside his brain to pull out now.
You grinned faintly “Maybe I am.”
He shook his head, but he was smiling now despite himself “You’d make a good leader,” he muttered finally.
You blinked, not having thought about this outcome “That’s what you were going to say?”
“Don’t look so surprised.” he crossed his arms, trying to act cool.
“I thought you were going to say something embarrassing.”
“I was not.”
“You hesitated.”
“Strategic pause.”
You laughed and the sound hit him square in the chest.
He exhaled. “You just… you don’t panic when people fall apart. Most of us do. I do.” He shrugged like it was nothing “You don’t.”
You looked out toward the Maze, shaking your head “I panic,” you said quietly, your eyes trained on the grass beneath you “I just don’t let it show first.”
He studied your profile “Yeah, I know.”
The words settled between you until you glanced back at him “You did good, you know.”
“With what? My incredible emotional speech?” he rose his eyebrow while scoffing.
“With staying” it might’ve seemed small, but it mattered “and your… remarks” you smirked.
He shrugged again, still not considering his input important enough “He needed you more.”
“And you think I didn’t need you there?”
That caught him off guard, making him pause and just stare at you. You smiled a little at his reaction. “You make it easier.”
“Make what easier?”
You didn’t immediately respond, choosing to take a glance around you before speaking “This place.”
He looked at you like you’d just told him the sky was green “You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, but there was no bite to it. He was simply trying to hide how his heart skipped a beat at your words. How he just wanted to tell you you were the only thing keeping him sane enough to go out there and come back alive every. Single. Day.
You smiled back “You climbed a wall today because you were bored.”
“Allegedly.”
“And because you wanted to see if there was something more.” he didn’t argue at that.
“You staying tonight,” you added “it’s the same thing.”
He frowned slightly, clearly disagreeing “That doesn’t make sense.”
“It does to me.” you shrugged, not offering a better explanation.
He watched you for a long second, something warm spreading through him again, that same feeling from earlier when you’d wrapped your arms around Chuck. And in multiple other occasions before that. Except now it was directed at him.
“You also… make it easier” he said quietly “by making this place feel… less terrible.”
You bumped your shoulder into his again. “Someone has to.” he looked down at where your arms brushed but didn’t dare move away.
After a moment, he threw you a playful look “If I climb the ivy again tomorrow-”
You sighed dramatically, groaning “Minho.”
“I’m kidding.” he put his hands up in surrender.
“You better be. I’m not taking care of you if you fall and hit your head.” you huffed, dead serious.
He smirked, not believing you one bit “Please, you’d miss me too much.”
