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.”
Notes: Reuniting with Gally ft. Frypan friendship. [This was inspired by the prompt, 'Honestly? It really sucks', from one of @promptsbytaurie's lists]
As if your feet were suddenly one with the ground, you could not move. The freshly unmasked man in front of you with shame and surprise stirring together through the pale green in his eyes was waiting for you to say something, at the very least, but even your lips seemed to have turned into stone. The sight of Thomas rushing at Gally and throwing a fist to his face hardly shook you from your trance.
He looked behind himself as he led the way to Lawrence and the rest of the rebellion, quietly checking on you, but all you did was stare wide-eyed in return. He told himself it was a look of contempt. He killed Chuck and now you hated him like everyone else.
It wasn't until Gally took Thomas and Newt into the city that you could actually figure out what you were feeling.
“Is it too on the nose to say you look like you've seen a ghost?” Frypan dryly remarked, leaning up against the dilapidated “shed” you were to call home for the night.
Slowly, you dragged your eyes to him before laughing. He was right. He was always right.
“I was picturing some whole Romeo and Juliet thing, but you were kind of cold…”
“I thought he was dead. I was in shock. I am in shock.” The words came out clumsily as you dipped your head back. “I've been grieving him alone and now suddenly…here he is. He's been here. He's alive.” At least, he seemed okay. “What do I even say to him?” Looking to Frypan, a pleading in your eyes illuminated by a nearby trashcan fire.
“I don't remember you two doing a whole lot of talking back in the Glade.” A perfect “big brother”, Frypan teased and knocked his elbow into your rib. He forgot how sore it was from the tumble you took earlier when outrunning a hoard of cranks.
“You guys act like we were making out all the time in front of you. You saw us kiss, like, twice in a whole year.” Gally was private about everything. He hated when any of the guys gave him guff about it. It wasn't easy for him to be viewed as soft, to have a weakness. “It's not like I can just leap into his arms now and shove my tongue down his throat.”
“Why not?”
“Because for all I know, he's with someone or…maybe, he hates me.”
“No way he hates you.”
“He could. I left him. He was dying and we left.”
Frypan was shaking his head from side to side, not willing to accept what he was hearing.
“I distinctly remember a guard taking your foot to their groin as they dragged you off him, alright?” He dug his eyes as deep as he could into yours to really make himself clear. “You don't have to charge at the guy or make any moves, but you can tell him you missed him or something.”
Frypan had always been so willing to be there for you. It made it hard to be annoyed with his wisdom.
“I don't know…” You sighed and dropped your head to your shoulder, feeling as if it had doubled in weight.
As your tired eyes finally began to close, Frypan spoke again, “Hey Gally, ______ and I were just talking about how much she missed you.” He said matter-of-factly, like he was asking what to make for dinner. “How'd it go, guys? Figure out where Minho is?” Climbing up onto his feet, Frypan shouted toward Thomas and Newt before heading over.
Gally was staring at you, expectantly, but every time you tried to look back, your eyes strayed. You found dust on the toes of your boots, a series of holes in a blanket being used as a door across the way, and even an empty brown glass bottle beside the pillar he was leaning against to look at. Anything, but him.
He was about to give up. Gally uncrossed his arms, dropping them loudly to his side, when you found something to say.
“What's it like having a collapsed lung?” It wasn't what you wanted to say and it seemed like Gally knew that because he raised his brows in a way that basically asked, ‘Seriously?’
“Honestly? It really sucks.” He said plainly and kicked at dirt between you, coming closer. “It's not that different than watching someone you love leave.”
A sudden feeling of breathlessness that was sharp and held his entire body hostage. It wasn't foreign to him.
Gally's words didn't sound cold, but they made your whole body tense up like someone ran an ice cube up your spine. Once again, you tore your eyes from him in shame, but he didn't let you escape this time. Gally sat down beside you and forced you to see him, to take in his dirty face. If there was a competition between you both for who needed to wash and rest more, Gally would win.
“You were so cross with me for following Thomas…” A whisper was the best you could do, eyes tightening to keep tears from flooding in.
“No. No.” He shook his head, trying to whisper back. Quiet was not Gally's default. “I was mad at myself for trying to hold you back...” He said it urgently and like it was a promise.
“And then when Minho struck you, I didn't want to -” You were crying now, tears evaporating into your dry skin as soon as they dropped out of your eyes. It didn't stop Gally from shushing at you and pressing his calloused thumbs into your cheeks, gracelessly trying to wipe them away.
“Stop. I don't want to talk about it, ______. I don't want to go back there.” He half-sighed, dropping his head back before taking his touch for your face and picking up one of your hands in both of his. Gally held your palm up against his chest, keeping it close to where his bad lung was, where a scar sat as an everyday reminder of one of the worst days of his life as far as he could recall. The day he killed Chuck. The day he was stung. The day he lost his “family”. “Do you feel that?” He asked over the beat of his heart that was tangible beneath his sweater. “I'm okay. We’re both okay.” The fact that you two managed to find one another again was almost enough to make someone as abrasive and disillusioned as he was to believe in fate. He lacked the depth to say so, but it was the only thing he felt since seeing you in the crowd, standing beside Frypan and trying to see an inch in front of yourself.
Sucking in a deep breath, you tried to blink away a few remaining tears. The rhythm of his heartbeat was soothing so you kept your hand there, holding on to proof that Gally was alive.
“We’re going to get Minho and we’re going to get out of here. Together.” He sounded every bit as confident as he used to when he told everyone to stay in the Glade, that Thomas was lunatic. He sounded like your Gally. “We're going to take down WICKED.”
Jumping up to his feet, Gally extended a hand to help you stand. You didn't waste a second putting your hand back to where it had been on him once you were upright.
“I'm just reminding myself that you're really here.”
Gally smirked before leaning in and brushing his lips to yours. Slow at first, nervous for the count of one, and then his mouth opened up to pull you in. He had a hand on your back to fulfill his own need to feel your realness while the other covered your hand still on his chest.
“Out of practice, but I'm here.” Taking in a deep breath, Gally panted. He was going to have to get used to doing that with one lung, but the dyspnea felt worth it with you back in his arms.
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.”
when thomas punched gally, gally could’ve easily overpowered thomas, but he didn’t. because he felt like he deserved it because of what he did to chuck like he even asked if frypan or newt wanted to get one in too
Gally: Wait, how do you know Minho is great in bed?
Frypan: My room is right next to theirs, so either he's great in bed or Thomas just likes to agree with him a lot.
Frypan: Loudly, and a lot.
