Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Gatherings never went well for Gally in the Glade. 

He always saw how it could all go wrong. Was keenly aware of every flaw in every plan. Thought he always knew how to fix them, if people would just listen.

That, among a swath of other personality defects, was why he wasn’t the most well-liked in the Glade. While he still doesn’t think it does anyone any favors to pretend everything is perfect with every idea, and highlighting risks has its place, he’d change the way he’d go about it now. Focus on the idea and not the person, for starters. 

Even Alby had pulled him aside once, and in the only time he ever really remembers Alby mentioning the before of his own volition, explained:

“You know, Gally, one of the few phrases I do remember of the past is ‘don’t shoot the messenger,’ and with the way you are during Gatherings, I am starting to understand why people felt the desire to.” 

Believe it or not, even when Gally was obnoxiously arrogant and haughty and everything else he wished he could pound into sand these days, he did try to be better. But there was this bubbling anxiety he couldn’t drown out if he didn’t say anything. He had to warn people. They had to at least consider the problems before making a decision. It was important. 

At least, that’s what Gally said to justify himself. 

Minho insisted that these meetings weren’t ‘Gatherings,’ but they were in every way except for name and Minho’s word was not final. Every important decision making figurehead in Safe Haven around a table Gally had crafted himself, all with their agendas and ideas and comments about how to improve Safe Haven. Gally had actually stopped going recently, too focused on the building of things, told Minho to give him the important bits. It was for the better, because then he wouldn’t be there to anxiously pick at every possible issue or right or path they intended to go on. 

This time, Thomas is seated to his right. He looks excited. Nothing could possibly go wrong. 

It is one of the few times where Gally wants to declare him an idiot. Funny, much as Gally wants to strangle his younger self, all he can hear is all the risks in his head and wonder how in the world the same concerns aren’t running through Thomas’s mind. 

There is so much that could go wrong with this. Gally tried to iterate all of the ways to Thomas this morning, before the meeting formally gathered, to try to relay they needed to wait. 

Of course, Thomas did not want to. 

“The longer we wait, the less viable the plan becomes — especially if you’re actually worried about resources. Also, we want everyone’s eyes on this to point out if there are more problems with it, too, right? That way we can actually carry it out with confidence. We’ve done everything we can with the knowledge we’ve got. Now we need some help.” 

Just because Thomas was right didn’t mean Gally didn’t want to push him into the ocean for the thought. 

Even worse was the headache he had from Brenda’s hit, and the even worse ache from her words he’d been thinking about all night. Did he like Thomas? They were spending a lot of time together, but it didn’t help that Thomas was the only person in Safe Haven who knew what Gally was up to. Then again, that was of Gally’s design, too. Sort of. 

He doesn’t realize he’s glaring at Brenda until she mouths “what?” and gives him a disturbed look. 

He wants to mouth back, “this is your fault,” but that’d probably just make her more insufferable. Instead his gaze snaps to Minho, then back to her. 

There’s no need to pass a message along, she knows what he’s asking loud and clear. She crosses her arm and huffs as she slumps back in her chair. 

“Are we getting this meeting started or what?” she shouts, loud, raising an eyebrow at him. “You said you had an announcement, is it just that you miss us?” 

“Guess now is as good a time to get started as any…” Thomas agrees, but he’s looking at Gally nervously. “Right?” 

Wrong. Oh fuck, this is all going to be so wrong. 

Because here’s the other thing Gally wants to strangle his younger self for — he rarely was posing ideas in the Glade. Most Gatherings he took his time tearing things down, only ever really giving information and plans when it came to the build of things. His area of expertise, yes, but why did he have to have such a mouth on things he didn’t understand? As Minho had rightly pointed out to him, he had no idea what the Maze was truly like. 

As Minho’s words had edged on, but more graciously never actually expressed out loud to the whole group, Gally was terrified of the Maze and if he’d had it his way he would have never gone out into it. Minho knew it, then, and it was one of the few times where he pulled a punch. Probably wasn’t out of mercy, but to stop Gally from going batshit insane and making everything worse. 

Minho’s looking at him now the same, like he knows Gally’s terrified, but this time he is being merciful. “Not everyone’s here. Sonya’s coming.” Then he marches over, crouches down next to Gally and Thomas. “You gonna explain to me what’s goin’ on here?” 

He’s not looking at Thomas. He’s got that same tone which used to make Gally want to hit him. Now, not so much, but Gally can’t help but be a little annoyed. 

“We’ve got an idea,” Gally says, sounding wheezy. 

“Is it to throw yourself in the ocean? You look like you’re going to be sick.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“It’s a good idea,” Thomas says, trying to be encouraging, and Gally glares at him. 

“Why is this so hush hush?” Minho asks, this time the question is directed at Thomas, and Thomas deflects it by looking at Gally, and Minho rolls his eyes. “Who is this impacting?” 

“Everyone,” Gally says. “It’s gonna impact everyone.” 

Minho’s eyes widen. Thomas pinches the bridge of his nose and cringes. 

“Is there something wrong?” 

“No! This is a good thing. I don’t know why Gally’s acting like it’s the end of the world.”

Frustration tightens Gally’s jaw, and he seethes. “There are kinks in the idea I think need to be worked out —”

“Whatever issues there are, it’s going to be a lot easier to smooth them out with the input of everybody, and we’re at the stage where everyone needs to weigh in —”

“But if the idea is deemed too vulnerable then the whole thing is going to get scrapped —”

“That’s not going to happen, Gally, we have gone over this —”

“Nevermind, both of you shanks, slim it!” Minho stands back up. “You two, figure out your klunk, and then let’s get things moving.” 

Minho moves back to his chair and Gally snaps his attention to Thomas. Thomas is already staring at him. 

“Quit freaking out,” Thomas says, all authoritative, as if it helps anything. “This is a good plan, a good idea, and everyone is going to be thrilled by this. I don’t get what’s got you so nervous — I mean, what’s the worst that could happen here? They don’t agree to do it right now. Okay, then it can wait. We’ve got time.” 

Gally scoffs, and he grins to try to stop himself from grimacing, tightening his grip on his crossed arms. “That’s not the worst that could happen.” 

Thomas raises his eyebrows. Then he spins his hand as if to gesture, go on. 

So Gally does. 

“Let’s say they decide to go through with the plan. Great. But we don’t have everything worked out, and we all bicker about how to get things figured out. Finally we settle on a plan to get things moving so everyone has a place to live, but we’ve missed something important because we rushed into it. Something happens, whether it be natural disaster or our own stupidity, it doesn’t work, there’s a lot of wasted materials, people get hurt because the structure falls on top of them, and there’s a complete lack of faith in not only me and the builders, but with our entire group here because we all decided on this idea and said it’d be better for everyone when all it does is cause a bunch more grief we don’t need. The lack of faith in the group of leaders adds a lot of weight on Minho’s shoulders in particular, and suddenly, there’s anarchy and splintered factions as to who is doing what and why.” 

Thomas’s eyes are widening like Gally’s screaming at the top of his lungs, but he isn’t. This is cold, clinical, methodic. This is what can happen if people lose faith in the leadership. It’s why they had Gatherings, so everyone could say their piece, but Alby was very good at laying out his rationale when it came to final decisions. And whatever final decision he made, even if it turned out to have problems in the end, he could lay out the alternative and why it would have been worse than what he had chosen. 

And when there isn’t that sort of strength, when there isn’t a clear sight line to follow, things can become problematic. Gally acted on it once and only once — in the Glade, he rebuked Newt’s decisions when he stepped in for Alby. He took that vulnerability in their authority structure and used it. Criticized Newt’s leadership, undermined it, and created his own uprising out of his madness he didn’t even recognize he had. 

That turned out horribly. Furthermore, Gally had been leading. There are many others here who may be far more clever, be far better with people, slowly coming up with ideas on how to tip Safe Haven off balance. 

“Then there’s if they don’t go with the plan. Well, our current structures are weak. I don’t have any better ideas, and while this might spur better ideas, it could also cause a lot of heartache and hope that has no place to land, and turns into absolute fucking misery because now we’ve talked up a lot of things they don’t get to have. If something happens, a tropical storm, or a strong wind on some of those, and it all goes down, where do we go from there? It looks like we’re stuck. And being stuck is dangerous.” 

Feeling stuck is the kind of mentality which led to Newt throwing himself from the shucking wall. What led to Gally at the WICKED facility debating taking a gun from a guard and shooting himself with it. They need to avoid feeling stuck. 

Thomas sits with the words for a moment. He didn’t do that this morning, didn’t even let Gally get this far, but now he’s sitting with it. It looks like he’s waiting for everyone to settle into their chairs, but Gally knows he’s paying attention to him. 

“Gally, if you thought things were good and could remain as they are now, you wouldn’t have tried to make this. Wouldn’t have thought it up, wouldn’t have put in the time. It needs to be shared.” 

There’s a quality to Thomas’s tone he recognizes. Whereas before he was teasing and perhaps a little annoyed, now there’s a serious undertone, a graveness. It reminds him of when he’d locked Thomas in the Slammer, and Thomas had told him a very simple truth Gally couldn’t fathom an answer to:

“You know we can’t stay here, right?”

“Those might be worse case scenarios, and who knows, maybe there’s a secret even worse thing!” That’s a comfort, but Thomas isn’t wrong. “But that can’t stop us from moving forward. Otherwise, we’re going to lose the opportunity to choose any path. It will be made for us, and we might not like it. Then this was all for nothing, and we can’t even say we tried.” 

Gally hums. Clicks his teeth and tries to swallow the panic, because Thomas is right. In fact, it’s the same trap which led him to wanting to stay in the Glade, to not having an answer to Thomas’s very simple question. And Gally knows he made this idea, and it’s a good idea, but it’s just —

“I don’t want to keep fucking things up.” 

Thomas frowns. He inhales like he’s going to speak again, but before he can, Minho claps and gestures to their now full table. 

“Alright, guys. You wanted to kick this off.” 

Gally exhales, slow. This was his idea, and as Thomas put it, he should be the one to bring it up. This was his creation, and he’s the one who designed the new map to accommodate the new buildings. 

Rolling out the map he and Thomas have been obsessing over, Gally begins:

“Our current set up is not good.” 

He was probably a little too blunt, and everyone’s spines stiffen at the accusation. 

Thomas nudges him, but it’s not necessary. Gally was going to continue all the same. 

“We have shelter, but it’s hardly comfortable. People are stating it’s drafty, and I think a bad storm could take a lot of it down. Everyone’s personal stuff of value is kept in the Bunker or on the Berg, because it’s more likely to weather whatever hits us than our current builds. It’s been a necessary evil, to provide a little bit of space and comfort while we get more settled, but I think we’re as settled as we need to be. Think if we don’t start acting now on trying to get things built up, then we’ll not have actually made a proper plan, won’t have the right materials.” 

Swallowing, Gally reaches behind him and Thomas hands him the model, and he puts it on the table. 

“So, I want to propose a plan.” 

Everyone looks at the model and Gally feels like all their breath is on his neck. For a moment, no one says a thing. 

Then Sonya breaks the silence with a cooing noise, going, “Oh — oh it’s a house!” 

Thomas stands and pushes the model closer to her. “It’s a fully working house, too.” 

Sonya’s hands on it are delicate but greedy. She does the same as Thomas did, opening the door, checking all the windows. Unlike Thomas, however, she carefully removes the house and looks at the interior, her fingers tracing the floors. Then she clicks the roof back into place and passes it along to Harriet. 

“The idea is we plan out Safe Haven with actual structures in mind, kind of like this one. That’s what the new map is for.” 

Sonya, however, is still focused on the house. “Amazing!” she says with a grin. 

Harriet also puzzles through it, peering at it suspiciously. She passes it along with little remark. Vince grabs it then and inspects it, putting his reading glasses on and squinting at it. 

“Shit, kid, when did you make this thing up?” 

Minho raises his eyebrow at him and Gally scratches the back of his neck. “I had a little extra time on my hands.” 

Minho scoffs, but there’s a grin on his face. 

Jorge has his hands on it then, and he’s snickering. “You creative types, always gotta be doing something,” he chastises, teasing. 

He passes it onto Frypan, who passes it off immediately to Lilly. Gally blinks at him and Frypan snorts. 

“I’ve seen it. I think it’s great.” 

“You’ve seen it?” Thomas gapes. 

“Let it be known that I know where everything is in my kitchen,” Frypan quips, a smug smile on his face. “And let it also be known that I know when to keep my mouth shut on surprises.” 

Then he winks at Gally, and while Gally always knew Frypan liking him despite all of his shit was the luckiest thing to ever happen to him, he may not have ever been so grateful for Frypan in his entire life. 

“So, you’ve built a model house. What’s the plan?” 

They dive into it. The details. The idea of first starting off making a larger gathering space, more stable, with the kitchen and Thomas’s study connecting so their primary dining hall would survive any weather impacts and could work as a decent shelter in the event anything happened. Then work on the medical hut, get it refurbished. Other sheds and things of that nature. 

“Not everything is going to need a structure that complicated,” Harriet pipes up, pointing to the house. “Things like our hunting equipment, or your builders equipment, that can remain a shed. Maybe a better shed, but a shed.” 

Gally nods. “That’s true.”

“And what about the meantime? People are still patiently awaiting shelters. If we don’t prioritize giving everyone their own space, then we may have an uproar,” Lilly adds. 

He swore he already addressed this, but maybe he didn’t. Or maybe he did but they can’t get over it. Either way, Gally sighs and is about to explain, when Thomas jumps in. 

“Yeah, the plan is to keep giving everybody shelters and to make an actual count. Once the builders get those up, we’re done building those kinds of shacks unless absolutely necessary. The builders devote their time making those.” Thomas points at the model Brenda is now holding — Brenda’s stare at it far too focused for this to be the only thing on her mind — and goes back to the map. “Where we’ve placed them. We’ve taken into account erosion, rising river tides, things like that, but we need help finalizing the details. Figuring out where things want to go. Figuring out any weaknesses Gally and I can’t see. That’s why we’ve told you about it today.” 

“What about fishing boats and other equipment? We’re going to still need to keep replenishing those.” 

“And we’ll build those as needed, but it was my understanding we had enough boats for right now.” 

“Enough little putter boats, but we’re going to need something larger if we ever want to get in a good haul of fish.” 

Gally grimaces. “Didn’t think of that.” 

“I like it,” Vince says, cutting through the fray. “I think we should start to incorporate it.”

As simple as that, it comes to a vote. 

Gally expects bickering, arguments, same as what’s been dredging this conversation along so far. There’s a lot of flaws, he knows — 

The vote is anticlimactic. Vince, Lilly, Jorge, all of Gally’s friends, and a few others raise their hands immediately in favor of implementing their plan. There are a few stragglers, who are glared into submission by Brenda or get chipped away in the wake of Thomas’s earnest stare. 

“So you guys want to do this?” Gally asks. 

“Think that’s what the vote meant,” Minho says, grinning smug. “Nice job, guys. I think — this is the first big thing we’ve had happen in a while. Think it came at the right time, too.” 

In this moment Gally thought he’d feel a hundred thousand things he has to do, the weight of the pressure of getting everything into place. But in this moment, he’s alright. 

Thomas nudges him and grins. “Told you.” 

“Shut up,” Gally says, and there’s an embarrassing lack of heat to it. They’ve still got a long way to go, anyway. 

Still, it feels good, to finally be getting somewhere. All he can hope is that in the end it doesn’t end up being a disaster. 

They move on. Begin discussing the current arrangements, trying to figure out who still needs their own little private places and making sure they put the materials to the side. Gally’s got the list for that as well, since it was his project first. 

“We need to do final tallies.” Gally runs through the list of people still waiting for shelters: Aris, Harriet, and Sonya in one little shack; Jorge; Vince and Lilly; Priya; Frypan; Jorge; Maria; Thomas —“

“Oh, I don’t need my own place.” 

Gally blinks, the gears of his mind coming to a halt, and he’s not even onto Brenda yet. 

“I’ll just stay where I’m at.” 

Gally shakes his head, his eyebrows coming together. “I was going to take the one us Gladers are currently in, once everyone else’s is built. It’s rickety and is going to need a tune up soon. You should have something built for you.” 

Except Thomas waves him off, casual as anything. “Well, then I’ll just stay, too. Why waste the materials? I spend all day alone most of the time, I don’t mind sharing if you don’t.”

This feels like a very private moment, and Gally doesn’t know how to respond. Doesn’t know how to carry on like it’s not, because Thomas wouldn’t be bringing this up if he thought it was. Maybe it’s the way Brenda is boring a hole in his head with how heavy her stare is, tricking him into thinking this is more than a simple practicality. 

Gally exhales out his nose, crosses off Thomas’s name on the list, and moves on with little word other than, “Let me know if that changes.” 

Then he moves onto Brenda, and turnabout is fair play, and he’s hoping to get whatever the hell that was out of the air. 

“Alright, then Brenda you wanted —” 

“Me and Min,” she says. 

Thomas jerks upright and Gally looks up at her. Last he’d checked, she hadn’t asked him. 

With the way Thomas clears his throat, it’s clear this is her asking. Or her telling. Minho’s straight-backed and blushing bright red. “Oh? Are we?” 

“Are we not?” Brenda asks, a challenge if Gally’s ever seen one. 

It’s so unbelievably Brenda, he should have known this was the way it’d always go down. 

Jorge starts laughing first, then Frypan. Everyone begins a series of giggles, until Minho is laughing too and Brenda is reaching her hand out to grab his, lacing her fingers together. “I did mean to ask sooner,” Gally hears her mumble to him. 

Minho tips his head from side to side, but kisses her knuckles and says, “I really don’t mind.”

There’s still a lot more to discuss. A lot more details, finesse, complications that could come up in the future. But Vince decides now is as good as time as any to stop, and Gally’s grateful for it, taking the map and rolling it up tight. He reaches out for the model, but Sonya’s hands are still on it. 

“It really is beautiful,” she says, thoughtfully. 

Gally hums. “Thanks.” 

“I want to help,” she adds. 

“We’ll need it.” 

“We built igloos, where we were. Our Maze,” she clarifies, though she didn’t need to. Somehow, despite them being trapped in two very different environments, they tend to skirt the subject in the same way. As if talking about their past prisons will make them rise above them once again. Though, admittedly, Gally doesn’t know what an igloo is. “Different kind of structures, doesn’t really translate to here other than that I’m not afraid of hard work.” 

Sonya’s dreamlike as she speaks, her voice lofty, her gaze soft as her fingertips trace the model. Harriet’s watching the two of them speak out of the corner of her eye, and Gally’s watching her as well. He’s not entirely sure what Harriet is so wary about — he guesses it’s because he and Sonya really don’t speak much. 

“I don’t doubt it,” he says.  

“Good.” She hands him back the model house, making sure all the doors and windows are shut. “When all this is said and done, will you make another small one like that for me?” she asks. “I think it’d be nice.” 

“How about this, when we’re done using this one as a reference, this one’s all yours.” 

“Really? Don’t you want it?” 

Gally shakes his head. “I’ll be alright, I think.” 

Sonya smiles, her head tipping to the side, watching as Gally puts the model with the rest of their plans. Then he thinks better of it, and gives it back to Sonya. 

“It goes with all my distilling equipment, or give it back to me when you’re done.” 

With gentle hands, as she’s had the whole time, Sonya pulls it back toward herself. Her knees propped up, she rests the house on her knee like a home on a hill, spiders her fingers up to the door and opens it up, peeking inside. 

Gally looks at Harriet as he draws away. 

“Thank you,” she mouths. 

Gally doesn’t respond. He didn’t do anything, so there’s nothing to thank. 

The whole of Safe Haven is told they have a new path forward, and details will be coming out in due time. Either way, somehow this expands and bubbles up and becomes way overboard, and there’s a bonfire night where everyone’s in swing. 

Gally’s drank too much himself, and is handing out more overfull glasses with Jorge, who is describing the process of making honey-wine. There’s a tinge of apology to the whole affair from Jorge for what happened the other night, but Gally ignores that for the good feeling buzzing under his skin. 

He hands Frypan a full glass, and Frypan grabs his arm and tugs, trying to get Gally to budge. 

“When are you going to come out, man?” 

Gally likes his station with the alcohol. It’s both social and apart, which is perfect for him. This way he gets to talk to everybody and check in with them, but he doesn’t have to be mixed up in the whole of everything. The bonfire roaring, people cheering as they loop arms around each other and watch the fire climb higher and higher and higher. It’s a little too loud for him, no matter how much he drinks. 

“I’m okay.”

Frypan frowns. He’s expecting Gally to go throw someone around the fire, Gally thinks, but he’s not that way anymore. Or at least he’s trying not to be. There’s this knot in his chest, tying the fires of the past to now, and he thinks if he starts throwing people around the way he used to he’s not going to know where he is anymore. 

Sometimes he misses the bonfire fights. As childish as it sounds, it was a release of energy, a way to get out of his own head, a way to listen to everyone cheer and count them all down in his head as around him. It was one of the few moments where they were all together and were almost not miserable. 

This is fine enough for now, though. Frypan seems to reconcile with this, and instead of trying to pull Gally away, he rushes to hug Gally close. 

“You did good. You’re good.” 

Frypan is so drunk. Gally smiles all the same and claps him on the back. “Thanks for keeping it a secret, Fry,” he says. He knows he won’t have to explain himself, no matter how sloshed Frypan is. 

With a ruffle of Gally’s hair like he’s a child, Frypan hums. “Anytime, shank.” 

Left to his own devices, Gally peels a ribbon of an orange rind and puts it into the dark liquor, it spiraling into the jar artfully. Jorge showed him that, how to make it not only effective for getting drunk, but making it look nice. Including wedges of fruit or zest or things to enhance the flavors already in the drink. 

It’s neat. Gally likes learning about it. And if Gally can get over the weird reaction he had the other night, he’d like to learn more. 

This drink is slated for Brenda as she careens down the hill toward their little station. She slaps both her hands on their table and stares Gally dead in the eye. He now realizes perhaps she’s had too much and he should not have preemptively poured her a drink, but with the way Minho is approaching from behind her, he knows she’s in good hands. 

“That was a way to ask him, Bren,” he teases. 

“Shut up,” she says haughtily, raising her chin up high, her grin wild. “It worked, didn’t it?” 

“It did. Like I told you it would.”

“Oh so this is about you being right?” 

Gally passes her the drink and she cups it with both hands. “Yup.” 

“Jerk.”

“Lightweight.” It was a term he learned from Vince, but he found it applied to far too many of the Safe Haven residents. While Brenda still had a clear head, she clearly was affected, looking far more energized and impish than her usual self. 

Brenda gasps, and in her shock, allows for Minho to sneak up from behind her and pluck the drink from her hand, taking a swig himself. Brenda scoffs and goes to speak to Jorge, and Minho watches her go, as Gally has often caught him doing recently. 

“She says you knew I’d say yes,” Minho says idly.

“Well, I was expecting her to give you the option of saying no, but I figured you would.”

“How?” 

That question surprises him. It’s an odd thing for Minho to ask. It’s an odd thing for Minho to care what Gally thinks at all about their situation, let alone want to hear it from him. Then again, things have changed from the Glade, but with the interpersonal Gally had anticipated some things staying the same. 

The answer would be the same whether they were in the Glade or not. “You don’t play those kinds of games. If you like someone, you like them. If you don’t, you don’t.” Gally’s been on both sides of the equation. In the Glade, Minho couldn’t contain how much he disliked Gally. It was a truth the same as the walls of the Maze. Gally’s still not quite used to the idea of Minho being on his side. 

But this isn’t about him. He says, “You wouldn’t lead her along if you weren’t aiming for keeps.” 

Gally looks up at Minho then, and finds him considering Gally’s answer. He takes another swig of Brenda’s drink, then he meets Gally’s eye. 

“Things change, though.” 

“They do.” 

“Sorry. For throwing a spear at you. For leaving you.” Minho’s voice is calm and collected, despite the way the words hit. “Wish I’d tried reasoning with you more.” 

Gally swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. Minho’s gaze flickers away for a moment, like he can’t bear to meet Gally’s gaze until he realizes if he’s going to bring up this kind of klunk he better, and their gazes catch again.

Then Gally breaks away and cuts up another rind. It makes it easier to say, “Thomas had already tried and it didn’t work. Don’t know how else you would have put me down. And I needed to be put down.” 

The dissatisfaction comes off of Minho in a tidal wave. It’s the way his muscles shift, the way he stands on his back leg suddenly. 

“You make it sound like you were some wild animal.” 

“Wasn’t I?” 

Worse than a wild animal. Wild animals don’t act with malice. Gally had plunged headfirst into malice, and ended up covered in blood. Then he had the audacity to be surprised, as if any other conclusion was possible. 

“Maybe this is a conversation for another night,” Minho says, setting the glass down with a heavy thud. 

Gally nods. Right on time, Brenda returns to the conversation. “What are you two talking about?” she asks, seamlessly picking up her drink. 

“Next steps,” Gally lies. If she’d been sober, she might have noticed, but he’s glad she doesn’t. 

“Next steps are for later!” Brenda grabs Minho’s hand. “They’re for next, next. You should be thinking about now. You should go nab Thomas. I’m sure he’s looking for you.” 

Gally squints at her. “I’ve been right here the whole time.” 

Brenda rolls her eyes, which she’s been doing around him far too often lately, but drags Minho away. 

Gally’s about to get started making another drink for whoever comes up next when Jorge caps it for him and pulls it away. 

“Go, be free. You’ve done your work getting the party going. In fact I would say it’s at fever pitch, so go out and enjoy it.”

There’s little room for argument in his tone, and Gally isn’t in the mood to rebuff him, so he does leave. Frypan reaches out and grabs his hand, pulling him once into a half-hug before letting go. Sonya waves at him from across the bonfire, a brief break in the rhythm of her guitar. Other settlers rush past him, and the kids circle his feet wondering why they aren’t allowed to drink the fun drinks, when Lilly appears with more juice for them Frypan made as their own treat. 

Eventually, as Brenda predicted, he does find Thomas. Mainly because he was trying to find a place where the fire wasn’t sweltering and the bodies weren’t pressing up against him, and no one was trying to challenge him into some kind of fight. And that ended up being up with Thomas, a little ways away from the fire, high enough that the sea breeze can balm the heat from the orange light of the fire. 

It’s not quiet, but it’s apart, which is nice. 

“You did it.” Thomas raises his glass, the first acknowledgment of Gally’s presence. “Cheers.” 

“We did it,” Gally says as he clinks his glass with Thomas. Thomas smiles. Folds himself over his knees, rustles the drink in his cup. 

“It’ll be really interesting to see how the village builds up.” Thomas’s voice has a lilt of a smile to it, even if his expression is mostly neutral. “I’m glad we’ll get to see it.” 

“Only thing is we can’t throw a party after every piece of progress.” 

“Why not?” Thomas asks. “You know, I read once that if people don’t get enough encouragement when they’re young, then they lose a lot of confidence. It becomes really important to start recognizing their achievements, even if they’re small, even if they seem like nothing to the average person, in order for them to regain stability. Certificates for what appears to most people as ‘not screwing up’. But it’s important. Because their entire life, they’ve perceived themselves as a screw up, so they let themselves fall into it.” Thomas hums, considering. “I think… I think we need to reward ourselves. Find our ground. Build some confidence.” He looks at Gally, then. “Congratulate each other on not fucking up, because otherwise we’ll start to think that’s all we’re capable of.” 

“You trying to tell me something?”

“I think you should learn to be proud of things.” 

“Used to be proud of things all the time,” Gally says, taking a drink. “Think we can both agree it went to my head.” 

“Things in moderation,” he says, as if it fixes everything. “Want to go for a walk?” 

At first brush, Gally’s immediate response is you go on ahead. This is probably the smart move, the right thing to say, the best way to avoid getting himself in a situation he shouldn’t. Except Thomas is looking at him happy and expectantly, and he’s not very used to that still. 

So he says, “Sure, why not?” 

They get up — Thomas using Gally’s shoulder to prop himself up, apparently a bit more far gone than Gally had realized — and get to walking around their encampment. 

They don’t talk much. 

Occasionally, Thomas remarks on a build of all things. Wondering how they got the lattice work on top of the hut, what sort of different ways the builders go about setting up the encampments. He prods on it enough Gally finally remembers to ask about his request during the meeting earlier. 

“You don’t want your own place?” 

Thomas shrugs, easy as anything, but there’s something distant about it that Gally can’t name. It only seems more suspicious when he responds, in a quiet tone which doesn’t suit him, “it gives you a little more room to breathe.” 

Gally frowns. “If you’re doing it for me, don’t worry about it. One hut isn’t going to make or break me.” Besides, he’s sure even though they’ve got a whole new project under way, the Gladers are going to be as annoying about Gally and his schedule. He’ll have to take his breaks all the same.

“I don’t — I don’t mind. Sharing it with you. Unless you mind, in which —”

“Doesn’t bother me.” 

There’s a stretched out smile on Thomas’s lips, as if he’s preening at the idea of oh how far they’ve come. Which, is something to be amazed by, but it helps that Gally’s no longer out of his mind trying to remain in a literal prison. 

They’re walking near the forest, around the mouth of the trail Thomas and Minho run on. Thomas is squinting at something, and sure enough, when Gally peers into the forest he can make out two distinct shapes. The shadows of people, the way their silhouettes merge. 

“Huh. Who is —” Gally figures it out, grabs Thomas and pulls him back, covering his mouth. “Hey!” a muffled flutter against the skin of his palm. 

As he pulls Thomas back, Thomas struggles. “What are you doing?” is what he can make out. 

“Shut up.” 

Thomas makes a confused noise. 

“Greenie, slim it.” 

Then Thomas watches, and he stops struggling. He pieces together exactly what they stumbled upon. 

Gally drops his hand just in time for Thomas to mumble, “Oh.” 

Brenda and Minho. They’re thankfully clothed, but it’s clearly an intimate moment, one that is undoubtedly meant to be private. Gally feels so damn warm he can hardly believe he’s not melted into the floor. He pointedly looks away, but out of the corner of his eye, he can see Thomas is openly staring. 

“Would you quit spying on them?” 

“I’m not.” He clearly is. 

“We should go.” 

“Yeah.” Thomas makes no move to leave. Gally tugs him, urgent, trying to get him to back off and leave those two to whatever they’re doing. 

Except then Thomas says:

“She kissed me, once.”

It’s four words, but Gally’s thoughts are hooked on them in an instant. “What?”

“It was a long time ago. In the Scorch.” 

Thomas says this like he’s ages old, like he’s Vince or Jorge and talking about life before the Flare. But the Scorch wasn’t that long ago. Not long enough. 

“We were forced to drink this stuff, the worst thing I’ve ever tasted. Minty and it made inhaling kind of hurt, like when it’s cold, but my breath was hot. And I felt so weird, and I kept seeing weird things, and then she was there. And then she kissed me.” 

Gally looks from Thomas to where Brenda and Minho have now ducked behind a bush. They’re still visible, he and Thomas still need to turn away, but the sight of the two of them obscured by leaves no longer makes Gally blush and stammer like an idiot. 

No, all Gally can do is imagine Brenda kissing Thomas, and it makes Gally’s world feel like it’s turning upside down. Like when the Berg loomed over his head, the spinning blades of the propellor as it sunk lower and lower, like it’s going to crash right on his head. 

Thomas pauses. It seems like a spot in this little story where Gally should respond, but what the shuck is he supposed to say? He didn’t know any of this. 

Thomas continues, “I couldn’t stop thinking about… Anything else. Everything else. I didn’t even really know what was happening until it was over.” 

Thomas looks over at the bushes with a sort of longing that has Gally’s stomach all twisted up. 

Brenda and Minho get along really well, have for a long time, now. Gally’d had no idea all this was in the backdrop. Wonders if Minho knew, because if Minho had known Thomas had liked Brenda he would never have shown an interest in her. Minho wouldn’t hurt Thomas like that willingly. 

However, it’s all too like Thomas to fall on his sword in an instant. 

Gally frowns. He doesn’t like the image much, of Brenda and Thomas together, but if that’s what Thomas wanted then Gally thinks he should have that kind of happiness. 

“Sorry.”

“Hm?” Thomas’ attention breaks off, and he’s looking at Gally again. “Why?” 

Gally shrugs. “I didn’t know you liked her.” 

“What?” Gally can watch his thoughts stammer in his head, can see how Thomas is confused, though Gally can’t fathom why. “I don’t like her.” Then Thomas reaches his hands out, as though they’re both on some cliff edge and he’s either trying to convince Gally to not jump or to jump, Gally can’t tell. “I mean, I like her, but, that’s not what I mean.” 

Now it’s Gally’s turn to be lost. “But you said she kissed you, and you regretted not doing anything.” 

“What?” Thomas frowns back at Gally, and Gally is so utterly lost by the expression on his face. “Oh, no, I — Gally, I don’t —“ He’s jumbling where he stands, his hands twisting over and over, all of his nervous ticks in full display and Gally can’t follow as to why. “I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“Then what was the point? Why do you care?” 

Thomas purses his lips. Steps away from Gally, and breathes like he can’t catch his breath. His face is blooming pink at his cheeks, his mouth opening and closing with half formed thoughts.  

“I just — she was the first person to kiss me. That I remember, anyway.” He scratches the back of his neck, and whenever he looks at Gally it’s brief, otherwise his gaze is cast firmly on the ground. “I wish I’d been paying better attention, I guess.” 

“Oh.” 

It’s another one of those moments where Gally’s embarrassed, and he wishes he weren’t. It means he’s got stake in something he shouldn’t. Because Gally understands all too well what Thomas is saying, and he doesn’t want to hear the truth of it. He doesn’t want to hear the ache and feel it in his own bones. He’s successfully ignored it so far and he wants to keep ignoring it, like it’s a Crank in the doorway and if he doesn’t breathe it won’t know he’s there.  

Thomas is lonely, and wants someone to touch him. And Gally has been thinking far too much about klunk like this for anything good to come from it. Because Thomas doesn’t mean Gally. He means someone like Brenda, or probably Teresa, or maybe even Newt — Gally could never tell if they’d ever done anything —  but it wouldn’t surprise him if it had. 

Gally needs to make this conversation stop. 

He should say something, but he’s not gone enough to not know every thought coming to his tongue is a bad one. He wants to reach out and touch, but there’s this barrier between him and Thomas, which is a good thing. Gally’s never been good at comforting touches, anyway. Too gruff and awkward, he’s much better at giving a shove and helping them move on. 

Finally there’s this thought. This stupid, stupid thought Gally wishes he wasn’t too sloshy to say right now, but he is and so he says it: “I’ve never kissed anyone.” 

Thomas didn’t need to know that. How many times does he have to learn secondhand embarrassment is better than firsthand embarrassment before he finally gets the message and stops saying stupid klunk like this that puts him in the focus? 

Thomas is looking at Gally, and his gaze is all starry. His mouth opens, and he stutters, and Gally wants to kick himself until he’s dead. Thomas looks embarrassed, too, and he should be, because if Gally has to be embarrassed then he should have to be, too. 

Except there’s the chance Thomas is embarrassed for him and that doesn’t feel good at all. There’s a sensation slithering up Gally’s spine and his throat is closing, though if he pinches his thigh hard enough, he can stop his eyes from shaking. 

“Really?”

Please, please, please can we stop talking about this. Gally wants nothing more than the ground to open up and swallow him whole before they have to talk about this any more. 

But Gally responds, because he was the one who put them on this path. “Yeah.”

“How?” 

Gally scrunches up his shoulders, pulls away. “I don’t know. It just never happened. When was it supposed to happen?” 

They were in the damn Glade. They were surrounded by monsters that were out for their blood, and beetles that pierced your hand if you so much as reached out. And yeah, some of the Gladers jumped each other; Gally once caught Ben and Jeff kissing in the med-tent once after Ben got injured, and supposedly Alby had a thing with George but George died long before Gally thought to ask anything of it. 

He had other things to worry about. And yeah, he’d been lonely, and yeah, maybe it would have felt nice to have someone notice him, but they didn’t. It didn’t matter. 

“Someone should,” Thomas says. 

And Thomas is looking at Gally’s mouth and he can see Thomas’ eyes clear in the night and his pupils are wide. His blush is getting brighter. 

He’s such a shucking lightweight. So thin and scrawny and he never eats enough so there’s nothing soaking up all the alcohol he’s put in his stomach, and there needs to be. Because he’s got bad ideas in his head, thoughts Gally can see on his face and Gally doesn’t want to see them. Doesn’t want Thomas looking at him like that because he doesn’t mean what he’s thinking. 

It’s late. Thomas is drunk. Brenda is kissing Minho and he’s feeling lonely. 

“But they don’t.” 

Thomas licks his lips, and they’re bright red because he licks them too much, and they need to stop squatting in the woods while their friends get it on not a yard away. 

Jerking his head back toward the camp, Gally says, “We should go back to the fire. C’mon.” 

This time, Gally grabs him. It’s not a kind touch. It’s grabbing him by the haunches and pushing him out in front of Gally, a perfect arm’s length. 

Thomas is swaying where he stands and needs someone to guide him. As Gally pushes him down the path, he can see Thomas craning his neck over his shoulder to look back at Minho and Brenda and where they’re probably deep into their activities. Gally lets him go for only a moment so he can tap Thomas’ chin and get him to look where they’re walking. 

Thomas chokes at the touch, which Gally ignores. 

“Don’t want you tripping, Greenie.” Gally’s voice is clipped and rigid, which is in such a painful contrast to the way Gally’s fingertips are going numb against Thomas’ chin.

“Okay.” Thomas nods. “Yeah. Thanks.”

They walk back, and Gally can’t help it. Gally can’t help but think of what would’ve happened if he had taken Thomas by his arms and pulled close. Or shoved him to the ground and crowded over him. Thomas’s big blown pupils and dark eyes, his ruddy cheeks and quick breath. 

Thomas is wiry and got the angular shoulders and tan just at the cap of his sleeve because he walks the beach every morning. His eyes are big and deep brown and can kind of make him look crazy when he’s hellbent on something but can also make him look like the most trustworthy person in the world. He’s got the small, upturned nose that always scrunches when he thinks too much. Whenever he swallows, his Adam’s Apple bobs hard like it’s too big for his thin neck. 

And Gally can’t help but find it all unbearably charming. It’s sweet and stupid in a way Gally can’t look at, or think about, because this is Thomas and this isn’t something Gally can dwell on for too long before he completely loses his mind. Before he forgets this is not how the night should go. 

Gally pinches his leg again. Stop it, stop thinking about it, stop imagining it. 

Thomas is looking at him like he knows. He won’t know in the morning, Gally’s betting on that. He’s drank enough for these memories to be fuzzy. To remember the sensations but not find the root. 

He’ll probably remember he’s lonely and touch-starved, because those are feelings no one shakes in a day. He’ll remember, maybe, that it was Gally with him. That Gally brought him back. But he probably won’t remember this, and if he does, he’ll be too awkward to do anything more about it.

Gally can hope, anyway.