Chapter Text
When the Grievers took George the following night, Minho raced after the shuckers into the Maze. He needed to do something, even if that was just seeing again that the beasts were diving off the Cliff…
And there they were. Each and every Griever leapt from the Cliff and into the Griever Hole, George’s body submerged into a fleshy mass as it made the jump. Minho didn’t feel fear when he followed them, nor did he feel fear as he turned his heel without a backward glance and raced back to the Homestead. He delivered his report briskly to Newt before taking his place beside Thomas.
His green veins and piercing screams didn’t make Minho feel anything.
Minho ran during the day with the other Runners, searching for a change within the familiar paths. When he returned with nothing, he dove into finding more words within the Maze maps. He didn’t feel anything when Teresa sat beside him and asked how Thomas was doing. He didn’t feel anything when he lied and said he slept most of the time. Minho didn’t even feel glad that she didn’t pry.
The second night Thomas was unconscious, they took Zart. The third, they took Sam.
Minho watched their bodies enter the Griever Hole, and wondered if witnessing that plunge was enough to honor their memories. He hardly tasted to bile that rose on his tongue and didn’t feel anything as his feet pounded soundly on the Maze floor.
Time passed like time does when you’re in a severe state of stress and the sky is gone. Minho hardly ate, hardly drank, and his eyes felt like he hardly blinked. They throbbed into his brain and stung constantly. He found himself repeatedly scraping away crust and goo as he ran or while he was tracing the maps. As painful as it was, Minho didn’t really notice any of it. Minho didn’t even notice that the only sleep he had was when he literally drifted unconscious while sitting at Thomas’ bedside or while working on the maps. He hardly felt the fear of his sharp, crimson dreams that sliced through his mind when he accidently fell asleep. Minho just tried to keep his eyes open a little longer.
Just a little longer.
But that’s where Minho found himself, because when Thomas finally opened his eyes, Minho didn’t have the chance to see them open. He was draped over the other teen in a state of unconsciousness himself.
A hand carded through Minho’s hair, and he wondered what kind of dream this was. At least it wasn’t of death and decay, like they all had been for the past seventy-two hours. Minho’s body was leaden and stiff as the Asian slowly came to. There were voices around him, but he couldn’t discern their words or their owners. The fingers were so gentle. Minho couldn’t comprehend anything other than, “nice”. It wasn’t just his body. It was his mind that was heavy.
The rhythmic stroking over his scalp came to an end, and the surface beneath Minho shifted. Minho groaned. Even Minho’s head was throbbing heavily. He finally forced his eyes open when a familiar voice cried, “He’s awake! Thomas is awake!”
That got Minho’s attention. He sat up with difficulty, his tongue heavy and head fuzzy. “Thomas…?” Minho slurred. He blinked away the sleep in his eyes, crusty and like chisels in the corners of his eyes, and saw Thomas before him. The boy was saying something to Chuck beside him. Ah, so that’s who was yelling. When the freckled teen heard Minho speak, he whipped his head around and leaned towards him so fast, Minho had to blink repeatedly to refocus, his brain pounding like Chris had smashed it between his two beefy hands.
Chris…
“Minho…” Thomas sounded almost sad. “What did you do to yourself while I was out?” Minho couldn’t comprehend the question. What… what did I do? Me? What did you do?
“Minho, I had to, I needed to get my memories back.” Thomas shook Minho gently, and Minho wasn’t sure when Thomas’ hands had gotten there. “Don’t you understand?”
“Tommy…” Newt appeared in the door with a worse-for-wear Alby directly beside him. “He’s… had a rough few days, give him a freakin’ break.” Minho couldn’t discern what kind of tone Newt was using. It was as if he was trying not to spook Minho. Minho decided he didn’t like it. “Also, what you did was half brave and half bloody stupid. Seems you’re pretty good at that.”
“Min, I’ve figured it out,” Thomas said, bringing a hand up to cup Minho’s cheek. Minho was glad he could at least make out Thomas’ gemstones eyes. “It’s not pretty,” Thomas continued and he looked over the Newt and Alby with furrowed brows. Minho dragged his eyes from the beautiful, awake boy, and over to the boarded up window. He felt his heart beat slow and steady in his chest.
“When is it ever pretty,” Alby muttered as he shouldered his way into the room. “There isn’t a way out.”
“There is, though,” Thomas insisted. Minho heard the excitement in Thomas’ voice, but couldn’t share it. He couldn’t feel anything but heavy. Heavy and tired.
“But… it’s through the Griever Hole… there’s a computer down there, and the code from the maps needs to be inputted there. By doing that, the entire Maze and the Grievers will shut down.” Thomas was still looking at Newt and Alby, and he took his warm hand from Minho’s face to gesticulate with his words. “It’s all been a test. To find the strongest of us, the most capable of passing… something. It’s a sick way of… of natural selection.”
Natural selection didn’t kill Alex, Minho thought, blinking slowly. Natural selection didn’t kill Chris.
“There’s more, though…” Thomas said, and Minho heard him take a quick breath before saying, “I created the Maze. Teresa and I created it, and we were two of the first Gladers here. That’s… that’s why it was familiar. And… god I’m so sorry.”
They sacrificed themselves for others. Both of them. I don’t see anything natural about that.
“Tommy, that wasn’t you,” Newt said firmly. “That was the Creators. They made you do it.”
“How do you know that?” Alby said gruffly, but Newt ignored him.
“If anything, you’re helping us get back at the Creators for everything they’ve done to us.” There was a pause. Minho briefly wondered what nonverbal messages were being conveyed between the two teens.
“Have you figured out any more of the code?” Thomas asked eventually, and he could hear rather than see the boy stand slowly from the bed before walking over to the door.
“We finished it, we think,” Newt said, his voice the louder of the two. Minho figured the blond was facing Minho. Minho could already see his concerned expression. Minho almost wanted to laugh at him, wanted to brush off Newt’s worries and provide some comic relief. If only he weren’t so shucking tired. Minho watched as dust motes floated in the light shining through the window boards. He couldn’t feel anything.
“FLOAT. CATCH. BLEED. DEATH. STIFF. PUSH. That’s it. After PUSH, there aren’t any letters for a bit, and then it goes back to FLOAT. We’re assuming that means they’re the last and first words respectively,” Newt explained.
“We need to make a plan and then we’ll need to discuss it with everyone,” Thomas said as he walked through the door. “This… Minho, you coming?” Minho heard footsteps approach him, but he didn’t turn. Not yet. Too tired. “Dude, what is up with you? This is it… this is finding the end of the Maze. What’s your problem?”
“Thomas, you don’t know what bloody happened while you were out,” Newt snapped, and Minho suddenly felt Newt’s hand on his shoulder. “You went off and played the martyr again and buggin’ left us to clean up and make sure you didn’t shucking die.”
Minho felt a twinge in his chest at his best friend’s words. He actually felt something. Minho suddenly wished he had the energy to even say he was fine. Minho supposed that meant he wasn’t fine, and his head pulsed savagely enough that he let out a slow, hard breath and closed his eyes.
“Hey,” a voice said directly in front of Minho. “Min… open your eyes, Minho.” Minho struggled to obey, but the throbbing in his head was becoming worse with every word he heard. He managed to slit them open ever so slightly, watching as his freckled boy hovered before him with an expression of guilt and worry.
“You understand it was for you? And everyone here, right?” Minho managed to nod.
That’s not the problem, Minho thought. Okay, that’s sort of a problem. I just don’t like losing people. I’m hurting. I can’t think. I can’t feel anything. Thomas, I’m just so tired…
“If you’re wondering why wonderboy is acting like a vegetable,” another voice sounded from the doorway, “it’s because he hasn’t actually had his vegetables.” Leo brought a hard hand down on Minho’s shoulder, and the Asian groaned. Minho squeezed his eyes shut and lowered his head into his hands.
“He hasn’t been eating, and I don’t think he’s been drinking, either, even though he ran twice every day you were out,” Leo said, and Minho felt a canteen hit his fingertips. He grabbed the cool metal and brought it slowly to his lips, his movements on autopilot. It tasted like heaven, and Minho drank the entire thing dry before he realized he was thirsty.
“Twice?” Thomas barked. “Why the shuck…?”
“He explored the Maze with the other Runners in case it had changed, and then would chase the Grievers after they took… took Zark and Sam,” Newt explained, pausing for a quick breath before mentioning the newly fallen.
“When did you sleep?” Thomas growled.
“He didn’t,” Leo supplied with sounded like a stiff grin. “I mean, hardly enough to sustain what he’s been doing to himself.”
“Why the shuck didn’t you take care of yourself!” Thomas said, and Minho could feel him closing in. Minho prepared himself for more yelling and an even worsening headache. What he didn’t expect was for Leo to come to his shucking rescue.
“No, you sit your klunk-butt down and think for a second, slinthead,” Leo said quietly. He sounded almost lethal, if Minho were honest. Another canteen was given to Minho, and the Asian began to sip on it with his eyes still closed. “You sacrificed yourself—great! You did it!! – and left your shucking boyfriend to watch over your screaming comatose body,” Leo paused, “work on the maps with Newt and Alby,” another pause, “and work through watching his friend die in front of him.”
“Who—“ Thomas was cut off again.
“This guy may be buff, good-looking, and one of the first Gladers, but he’s still shucking human,” Leo stated, shoving something cold and flat into Minho’s hand. Minho realized it was a plate, and he opened his eyes slightly to see a pile of ham, three pickles, and a large chunk of white cheese. “Obviously, because he’s severely dehydrated and malnourished, but would he listen to me when I told him to eat? Oh, no!”
“You didn’t tell me to eat,” Minho slurred before brining a slice of ham to his lips. It didn’t really taste like anything, and Minho wondered if that were the meat or his own perception of the world right now.
“I did, ya shank,” Leo said and pointed a stern finger at Minho. Two curls had fallen from Leo’s ponytail and he looked positively worn to the bone. Minho felt his lips twist in a slight smirk. “See, it’s already working. Shucking Runners and their antics, I swear…” Leo stomped away, but not before yelling, “and drink two more of those canteens, slinthead!” before his footsteps faded outside the Homestead.
Minho watched as Thomas sat on the bed beside him, and felt himself become more inclined to the food on his plate. He began to eat with fervor, gulping water and chewing rapidly just so he could get another bite. The fog that had been weighing over Minho was lifting slightly, but Minho’s head still ached and his muscles still seized when he moved them. Minho still heard the echo of Chris’ cry in his heart.
“We’ll meet you downstairs,” Newt said. “Minho, you okay?” Minho found he had the energy to turn in his seat now. He gave a small smile.
“I’ll see you downstairs,” Minho said roughly, noticing Alby had already gone. Newt nodded before turning to descend the steps. A hand placed itself on Minho’s thigh, and Minho turned back to see Thomas clenching his jaw with glassy eyes.
“Min, where’s Chris.” Minho tried to swallow, suddenly unable to get that bite of cheese down. He took a swig of water, trying not to choke.
“He saved you,” Minho said, his voice hard and rusty. Thomas shook his head before lowering it down to Minho’s shoulder. Minho brought an arm up to rest it over Thomas’ shoulders. “So don’t shucking waste it.” Minho almost spit the last two words out, his heart stuttering and gut clenching. Thomas gripped Minho’s shirt and released a short, choked sob.
Minho forced down the rest of the food on his plate as Thomas released two more broken sounds on his shoulder. He finished the second water canteen. He breathed in Thomas’ scent and slowly, so slowly, began to feel the sheer pain of losing Chris. It was like metal wires were enclosing his throat and chest, stabbing him repeatedly. Like the Grievers had done to Chris.
Funny, how you want to feel everything when you can’t, and then when you finally do, you want it all to go away.
Thomas sat up after a few minutes and scrubbed his face quickly.
“We’re going to get out, Minho,” Thomas said, his amber eyes bright like small stars.
“Then let’s go,” Minho responded, taking Thomas’ hand in his own. “I’ll try to stay hydrated from now on. Water is the shuck, I get it now.” The disbelieving huff of laughter Thomas released was worth the effort, and his eyes had never looked so precious while locked with Minho’s own.
***
They stood before the West Door. They had planned their escape. Some of the Gladers were staying behind in the Homestead while most of them were gathered behind himself, Thomas, Teresa, Newt, and Alby. Frypan’s last meal was giving Minho new strength, and he tightened his grip on his blade. He shifted slightly, feeling the leather grip of his barbwire-wrapped club in his other hand. They all held weapons, some of the boys for the first time. Minho rolled his neck and shoulders with trepidation.
The plan was to get Thomas and Teresa to the Griever Hole, where they would jump in and activate the Maze shutdown with the code. FLOAT. CATCH. BLEED. DEATH. STIFF. PUSH. All the Gladers knew it by heart now.
Newt gave a speech that had everyone crowing and cheering before they began the quick march into the Maze. Minho kept right beside Thomas so their shoulders brushed occasionally. He couldn’t tell who it was comforting more, at this point: himself or the freckled teen at his side.
Most importantly, Minho could feel again. He felt the breeze on his cheeks, the sand in his shoes, and the weight of his club as he swung it up to balance on his shoulder. He felt the ache of Chris’ loss and the heat of his feelings for Thomas. He felt the fear of the fight ahead and the hope that, soon, it would all be over. Minho concentrated on the power of his emotions as each step brought the Gladers closer to the Griever Hole.
All too soon, yet not soon enough, Minho and the others rounded the corner to see a row of Grievers. Waiting for them. Minho took a shuddering breath.
“Maybe we can sneak around them, they’re like the ‘dead’ ones—“ but suddenly, the Grievers began to move and whir and crowd towards the Gladers. Minho instinctively stood in front of Thomas and put a hand behind him protectively, his blade between himself and Thomas. Thomas put a hand on Minho’s shoulder and stepped beside him.
However, the Grievers weren’t close enough to sting, and they prowled just ahead. Based on the cries from behind Minho, he could assume the Grievers had come from behind the group as well. They were surrounded. Minho couldn’t understand what the monsters were doing. Newt was shaking his head beside him.
“What do we do?” someone in the crowd whispered.
“We shouldn’t have come,” another voice moaned. It was Alby, and Minho turned his head sharply, about to say that words like that were not comforting right now. “Maybe I should…” Alby murmured. Minho’s jaw dropped when Alby stepped forward towards the Cliff and the surrounding Grievers.
“Alby?” Newt said. “Get back here!” But Alby began to walk faster and faster until he was racing straight for death itself like a bullet.
“Alby!” Newt screamed. The dark-skinned boy jumped in the air, and for a moment he flew in slow motion, before he landed with a familiar squelch onto the metal spikes of a Griever. Minho forced himself to look away and wrap an arm around Newt who was despondent, screaming after Alby even though Minho knew the Glader was already dead.
Minho held Newt even when he heard the whirring and clanging of the Grievers as they swarmed over their fallen First-in-Command. The blond was struggling weakly, his cries choked and wet in Minho’s shirt. “We can’t do this here,” Minho said, hating himself as the words left his lips. “We need to get out. Newt!” Minho stood back and shook the teen. “Maybe his sacrifice was enough to let us through!”
“Minho,” Thomas said, his hand grabbing for Minho blindly. Minho turned to see the Grievers moving steadily towards the group. This time they weren’t stopping. “He wasn’t enough,” Thomas gasped. Minho turned with a growl to face the shuckers, his blade held high.
It’s now or never, Minho thought desperately. No one was moving. Minho swallowed and took a step forward. I’m the Keeper of the Runners. This is my territory. I gotta make this move. It has to be me.
“Ready!” Minho cried, his blade glinting in the grey light. “Now!”
Minho ran forward and felt the stampede of feet that followed after him. He felt Newt beside him and Thomas on his other side. I need to keep him safe, get him and Teresa to the Griever Hole, need to keep him safe. It was a mantra that Minho repeated to himself as he drove his club down into the first Griever and nearly lifted the fleshy orb from the ground. He roared as he flung it to the side and took another step forward.
The next Griever was wheeling its clawed hand before it like a party trick, the metal contraption capable of ripping out Minho’s intestines and tangling them into spaghetti. That is, it was capable of that until Minho swung his blade and severed it clean in half. Minho stabbed the goo beside the beast’s arm and was satisfied when the Griever deflated into a gelatinous mass.
Minho kept going, shouting and screaming, unsure exactly what he was saying, but knowing it was along the lines of his repeated mantra.
“Thomas, I got you, keep going!” Minho cried as he pounded another Griever into pulp. “I’ll protect you, just go! Thomas, just go!”
The freckled teen, speckled in green fleshy bits, was racing with Chuck and Teresa in tow towards the Cliff. A Griever slid towards Chuck and Minho roared as he leapt towards the monster, batting it away with his club even as his muscles threatened to fail him. Minho gasped as he stumbled to keep the beasts from the running trio.
“Just go Thomas, I’ve got you!”
Minho couldn’t feel his fingers has he stabbed and swung and shouted. He felt the Grievers snag him occasionally, but remained conscious. Thomas was right, Minho thought, remembering when Thomas suspected the Grievers wouldn’t sting them at this point. That instead, they were focused on the End Game. Minho had been sickened at the thought, but now he was only grateful.
Suddenly, a boy Minho had built part of the Homestead with rolled away on the belly of a Griever. Minho shouted nothing in particular and stabbed the beast over and over until it disintegrated, leaving the Glader’s body to absorb the mess. Minho didn’t let himself watch for longer than a moment.
The louder Minho shouted, the less fear he felt, like he was projecting the emotion across the Maze so it couldn’t envelop him in a cloak of paralyzing terror. However, when Minho scanned the melee of oil, bodies, and Grievers, he couldn’t see Thomas.
“Thomas!” Minho screamed, sweat dripping into his eyes and into his mouth. Please tell me Thomas reached the Cliff, please tell me he made it, oh god please. “Thomas!” He was nowhere to be found.
“Newt!” Minho tried as he avoided a surge of needles and chopped off another metal arm. A body collided into Minho’s, and the Asian immediately recognized the blond hair that hit his face.
“I’m here,” Newt gasped, leaning heavily against Minho’s back as he used his spear against a different Griever. Minho could tell Newt’s knee was paining him.
“Did they make it?” Minho said, his voice cracking.
“I saw him jump,” Newt responded, and Minho felt a rush of relief so intense that it almost brought spots to his vision. Minho didn’t respond, but he made sure he didn’t leave Newt’s side.
Suddenly, everything stopped. The Griever’s whirring ceased, their metal spikes and weapons retreated into their bodies, and they just… went quiet. Minho gasped and pressed against Newt behind him so he wouldn’t collapse.
“They did it,” he whispered. “Thomas did it!” Minho cried louder, and the resounding shouts of victory around the clearing were music to Minho’s ears. Minho turned and looked at the carnage before the Cliff. He counted twenty-one standing, meaning twenty had either ran back to the Glade, or…
Minho saw Amerigo lying limp beside a powered-down Griever, three cavernous holes turning his chest bloody. Minho looked away.
Minho held onto Newt as they made their way to the Griever Hole. Minho was heaving, his lungs straining as he nodded at Newt. They stood for a moment at the edge of the Cliff, scanning each other in disbelief. They had done it. Minho saw both pain and hope in Newt’s eyes. Then Minho turned and jumped into the Hole.
Minho landed on a metal floor and he stumbled over to the wall, leaning against the cool surface as he caught his breath.
“Minho!”
Almost immediately, insistent hands were grasping his arms and chest. Minho reached up to hold Thomas still before leaning his forehead against the freckled teens.
“We lost so many… so much blood… then they all stopped,” Minho said, his voice cracking and gasping for air. Minho heard a thud and turned to see Newt, followed by the rest who had survived. Twenty-one. That was all.
They had to get out. It had to be worth it.
***
The following events were a blur of anxiety, adrenaline, and confusion, all in that order.
When Gally appeared with the Creators, he was very much alive. And when he reached behind himself and flung a blade towards Thomas, it was so fast that Minho could only turn and take one step towards Thomas. Minho’s mind was screaming to protect him--- only to find himself careening sideways and away from Thomas.
Thomas screamed as Chuck lay bleeding on the metal floor. Minho rolled over and stared in anguish as Thomas cried over the boy, listening to his last words. To find his mom. Minho’s eyes found the woman who brought Gally in to the chamber with her, and she gave a pitying smile, as if she was saying, “that’s life, isn’t it?”
These shucking Creators and their games and trials—we’re people! Some of us are kids! You’re all sick in the head!
Minho was about to race over and show her what life was really like when Thomas was roaring and flinging himself over to Gally, punching him with abandon. Minho and Newt rushed in and tried to get a hold of the teen, but he was savage in his attack. Minho was hit in the gut as he rushed to take one arm, wanting nothing more than for Gally to meet his demise, but not wanting Thomas to take the fall for the death of the Creator’s ‘pet’.
Minho and Newt dragged Thomas back and held him until he went limp and weak in their arms. Minho let go when Thomas shook him off, this time, and watched him crawl back to Chuck with a lump in his throat. Thomas’ cries echoed in the chamber, and Minho wished he could hold him.
“All things happen for a purpose,” the woman said kindly, and Minho sneered at her.
“Yes, this was all so kind of you,” Minho said.
“You wouldn’t understand, now would you,” she snapped. “This is all for—“
Shots, loud as firecrackers in a trashcan, crashed into the chamber. Minho ducked and covered his head, rushing towards Thomas in single-minded terror. The woman was dead, her blood pooling under her casual suit and blouse. Minho was holding Thomas, gripping his head and holding it under his arms as he crouched in the din.
A man approached them and told them to run and follow him. Run like their lives depended on it. Minho was glad something sounded familiar right now. He righted Thomas on his feet and took off with the freckled teen in tow, even as he felt the boy turn and look one last time as Chuck’s stone-still body.
They kept running until they reached a set of glass doors that opened into a downpour. No shucking way, Minho thought, gasping as the water hit his body. He couldn’t remember ever seeing or feeling rain before.
Suddenly, they were boarding a bus that appeared in the torrent. It looked like it wouldn’t last a mile, but they piled in anyways, and Minho continued to drag Thomas until they were seated in the back. Teresa was sitting in the seat before Minho and Thomas, looking like a cold rat with her dark hair matted to her head. Newt sat opposite Minho with Leo beside him. Frypan and the others were all seated in the bus. Minho gave a sigh of relief that he still counted twenty-one. No one was caught in the crossfire.
Minho dragged his hands over Thomas, searching for any injuries, while Thomas stared ahead like he wasn’t really seeing anything at all. Minho knew the feeling well, and he held Thomas tightly, wishing he could take all the pain away.
***
The following hours were surreal. Even after reaching their destination, eating real pizza, and crawling into bed with Thomas at his side, Minho couldn’t help but worry that this was another trap. He looked over at Thomas, and the boy looked better than Minho imagined he felt. Minho was once again amazed at how resilient Thomas was.
“Hey,” Minho said, curling his body around Thomas like he used to. Goodness, how long has it been…
“Hey,” Thomas replied. He moved slightly before turning in Minho’s hold so that he could face the other teen. His gemstone eyes were weary and laced with grief. Minho leaned in a pressed a firm kiss to Thomas’ forehead.
“We made it,” Minho whispered against Thomas’ skin.
“At what cost?” Thomas asked.
“A big one.” A pause. “We’ll need to make sure we pay our debt in full.” Thomas sighed and pulled Minho’s face down, holding his face and stroking his cheeks. Minho’s stomach spun with new butterflies.
“I don’t know what I would have done if that were you,” Thomas said. Minho swallowed. “I felt you move. For a moment, I thought… but then it was… and I was almost… almost—“ Thomas couldn’t finish.
“I know,” Minho said. “Me too. Me too, Thomas…”
Exhaustion hit Minho and he tangled his legs around Thomas’ while running a hand down Thomas’ side to rest on his hip. Thomas leaned forward and kissed Minho softly. They kissed slowly with only the intention of feeling each other. It was calming and sweet, and it melted Minho’s remaining worries and fears for the moment. He opened his eyes when Thomas pulled away, not ever remembering that he closed them.
“Teresa’s talking to me,” Thomas breathed. Minho made a noise of affirmation.
“She’s saying she wants to remember us. Me and her. From before. What we were to each other and everything.”
“Do you want to remember?” Minho said. The kiss left him warm and grateful, and he couldn’t bring himself to let the claws of jealousy worm into his head this time.
“Maybe,” Thomas said. “But not for that reason. And… if we had been together then… that was then.” Thomas shook his head slightly. “I wouldn’t let you go for anything, now.”
“Good,” Minho sighed, stroking his thumb on Thomas’ hip. “Because I’ve got backup plans A through Z to keep you. Might be a little tedious, but I’d work my butt off to convince you to stay with me. May have even collected some blackmail.” Thomas huffed through his nose, expression unimpressed but eyes glimmering back at Minho.
“Okay,” Thomas said, and he shifted to rest his hand on Minho’s before bringing it up to his lips. He pressed a kiss on each knuckle before lowering it to the bed between them and closed his eyes with a sigh. “Here’s to paying our debts,” he murmured. Minho’s heart ached.
“Tomboy?”
“Hmmm.”
“You know that I—I lo—“ Minho’s voice cracked and he stopped, jaw clenching.
“I know,” Thomas said. “Me too. Me too, Min…”
Minho released a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and finally let himself sink fully into the pillows. He knew that he would wake up with Thomas by his side, and that was all he needed right now. In this moment, they had completed the Maze Trials and were alive and together.
Minho could live with that.