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Minho feels the wrongness of the air as soon as they step into the place.
“Stay with me,” he hisses, and not a second too late. Thomas had already begun to step away, neck craned up to see through the skylight.
“Relax, I’m just looking.” Thomas comes back anyway. Minho rolls his eyes,
“Well, we don’t know what this place even is. Jorge said to be back before nightfall, let’s just look for the medical packs quick.” Minho draws his knives, one in each hand.
“Wait, you don’t know?” Thomas blinks, before motioning back to the gaping doors. “Like, none of this is familiar to you?”
“If you know where we are, spit it out, shuckface.” Minho hides his surprise behind his dry tone. Of course they all trust Thomas completely, but sometimes it feels like he remembers too much.
“It’s an airport. You know, where people used to go to travel on planes.” Thomas stops to trace his fingers over the cracks in a support pillar. “I came to WICKED on one. Shuckin’ terrifying.”
“I understood some of those words.” Minho raises his eyebrows. “Planes?”
“Like, you remember the helicopter that got us out of the Maze? It’s kind of like that, but safer for a lot of people, really huge.” Minho scoffs at Thomas’ explanation.
“Right, and I’m sure Newt and the other shanks found a giant truck like Jorge’s,” he says. Thomas scowls.
“I’m not joking, plus, I’m pretty sure huge trucks were a thing. But if you wanna be a slinthead, let’s go see one, then. They should be around the back.” Thomas grins wolfishly, the dare laced innocently into his words. It’s a look that tightens something in Minho’s stomach. Disgust, definitely, for the stupid shuckface and his stupid crooked smile.
“Fine. There’s probably more supplies hidden in the back anyway,” he huffs.
The building is less daunting with Thomas confidently picking his way through. While most of it was hidden from view where they entered, towards the back the walls are made entirely of thick glass, some panels broken up into shards covered in dried blood. Ominous, but the bright sunlight filtering through makes him feel better.
“So, what exactly can you remember? About before,” Thomas adds.
“Same as most boys. How I got here, what WICKED taught us. Food, books, just dumb little things.” Mingo flips a blade, whirling it around his fingers. “You remember more than any of us, especially with your little girlfriend..”
“She’s not my girlfriend!” Minho smirks at Thomas’ reddened cheeks.
“You know what I meant, shank. You two have a freaky weird connection.”
The air between them shifts, and Minho doesn’t miss how Thomas’ jaw tightens slightly.
“I’ve told you guys all I know. I’m not keeping anything from you.” Minho’s words obviously hit a nerve in Thomas, so he relents.
“I’m just teasing, Thomas. You’ve got to admit it’s a little odd, the way she knows you.” Thomas sighs.
“That’s got nothing to do with me. I worked just as hard to get out of the Maze, and all of you still think we’re planning something against you.” Thomas crosses his arms as they near a giant arch.
“Hey.” Minho stops, forcing Thomas to do the same. “We don’t think that. All of us followed you out of the Maze, without even knowing if we’d make it. We trust you, I trust you, so don’t be a slinthead about it.”
“I’m just tired of everyone pointing it out. Teresa and I both are just trying to survive, and you know I wouldn’t hide anything from you.” Thomas softens as Minho bumps his shoulder.
“I believe you, okay? I won’t joke about it.” Minho grins as they reach the arch. “Gonna show me that plane, then?”
“Alright, fine. Carefully, though.” The arch leads to a tunnel, some of the wall siding ripped out to show the sandy outside. The boys carefully make their way through, until they’re met by a gap between the flimsy walls and a set of stairs. Through it, Minho can see the plane, and Thomas hadn't been lying. It’s huge.
“Still want to go in?” Thomas’ voice is teasing, and Minho rolls his eyes.
“Please, I’m not scared of a little jump.” He swallows as Thomas takes it, though, relieved when his feet land inside the door.
Minho follows, arms flailing for just a second before Thomas catches him. “I’ve got it,” he grumbles, pushing the other boy off.
“Right, ‘cause our fearless leader is never shaken. Unfamiliar territory, huh?” Thomas grins, and Minho’s stomach does the same stupid swoop as before, that slinthead.
He doesn’t say anything, though, as they walk through the plane. It’s run-down, some of the windows shattered and metal walls peeling. Thomas motions towards the front.
“Here, I think that’s where they drive it.” He ducks in, giving Minho space to peer in.
Thomas is right again, the space obviously where it’s controlled. The seats are eaten at, and the windows are yellowed, but it’s mostly intact.
“Huh.” Minho sits in one of the seats, slightly tilted back. “You’d think a machine like this would survive the end of the world.”
“Yeah, well, something must’ve kept it on the ground. Missing fuel, probably.” Thomas leans against a board covered in rusty buttons.
“Poor planning. You’ve gotta keep in mind the zombie apocalypse when designing anything durable, obviously.” Minho tentatively traces the steering wheel, wondering how people used to control something like this.
“Had to have been good in its time, though. Imagine one of these in the air, so high you could touch the clouds.” There’s a weird expression on Thomas’ face, gentle and longing and curious. Minho wishes he had his sketchbook, fingers itching for even the splintery pencils WICKED provided.
“You think they actually used to do that?” Minho doesn’t know why he’s whispering. “You don’t think they were scared of falling?”
“It would’ve been worth it, probably. Being able to feel something you thought was so untouchable, I don’t think any fear would hold me back.” Thomas’s eyes are huge and dark, and Minho can see the way he sucks in each breath.
“You know what it feels like, to want that.” Minho’s response is not a question. They both felt the fleeting moments in the Glade, when their fingers would brush when they reached for the same pencil, when Minho tossed Thomas an apple after a grueling day, when they collapsed against each other after surviving the night in the Maze. That was back when neither of them knew if they’d make it out.
Thomas shifts forward, leaning to be able to meet his eyes in the odd chair.
“Minho,” he murmurs, eyes flicking down to the boy’s lips. Minho can see his Adam’s apple jerk as he swallows. He lifts his fingers to trace Thomas’ waist.
That’s when an almost-silent crack sounds out from behind them. Minho’s up in an instant, blades out.
Close to the entrance of the plane, there’s quiet rustling in one of the seats. Thomas pulls away, hand on his holster.
He tilts his head left. On cue, Minho carefully takes his right.
They creep up towards the front, eyes locked on the shaking seat. Minho takes the lead, extending an arm to bar Thomas’ way. The thing is rising.
It’s a crank, its eyes cloudy and skin grey. It moves disjointedly, raising itself to look at the boys.
“Mine mine mine mine mine,” it babbles, staring straight into Minho’s eyes. “Need to find my her, mine mine mine is waiting.”
“Thomas, we have to leave.” Minho’s voice barely passes his lips, he isn’t even sure if the boy hears him.
Thomas’ fingers grasp at Minho’s. They’re shaking slightly.
“It’s blocking the door,” he breathes. “We have to turn back.”
Minho remembers the broken windows in the control room. It’s too high up for them to jump.
“How many bullets you got?” Thomas stiffens.
“One.”
“Let’s make it count.” Minho grimaces. “I’ll hold it down, but you’ve got to hit it right in the back of the head. Infecteds don’t go down otherwise. Can you do it?”
“Minho, no. If it doesn’t move, we can shoot it from here, the boys in the Maze were different. We still don’t know who is and isn’t immune. It’s too risky.” Thomas squeezes Minho’s fingers as the crank lets out another string of nonsense.
“I’m not gonna die. We have unfinished business, remember?” Minho puts on a cocky smirk, knowing that Thomas can see right through it.
“One shot,” he murmurs, and then he’s launching himself forward.
There’s something horrible about the cranks, how human they still are when you look past the rot and grime. There’s still an expression on this one’s face, sad and lost. It’s still looking for something, a “her.”
They go down with a horrible thud, its limbs flailing as Minho tries to give Thomas a clear shot.
“Mine mine mine!” It screams. “You took her!”
They struggle, the thing flipping Minho over. Its eyes lost the glazed look, instead crazedly furious. “Give! Her! Back!”
A gunshot rings out, and it collapses, hot breath stopping against Minho’s neck. He pushes it off, scrambles away desperately, stomach empty but retching anyway.
“Go, go,” he grunts through it, pulling at Thomas’ arms. The other yanks him up, and they stumble through the tunnel.
The jump is more daunting, Minho swears the distance is longer now, but somehow they make it over. Minho has to catch Thomas before he falls, arms pinwheeling, but he recovers quickly, and they’re sprinting down the hall in seconds.
They reach the arch again, and Minho drags the giant latch closed. They flop down against it, and Minho is terribly reminded of the night in the Maze.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he pants. They’re silent, for just a second, before both boys break into hysterical laughter.
“You– ah, you’re not funny,” Thomas gets out, wiping at his eyes.
“Seems like I am.” They catch their breath, the adrenaline from before sinking in with what happened.
“I can’t believe we did that.” Thomas murmurs. “It was insane.”
“Could’ve done it cleaner. Gross, you got crank blood all over me, real mood-killer.” Minho wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Thomas shoves him over.
“You sayin’ there was a mood before?” Thomas’ voice is less teasing now, and Minho rights himself carefully.
“Yeah, well, cranky back there wasn’t the one about to kiss your shuck face.” It’s much more direct than either of them have been, probably ever, and Minho’s breath catches as he says it.
“Actually, I’m pretty sure I was the one about to–” Minho rolls his eyes, grabbing Thomas’ collar and pulling him in.
Kissing Thomas is everything Minho’s wanted for a long time now. He sighs into it, shifting as Thomas’ arms circle his shoulders. He can still taste the adrenaline on the other’s lips, and it’s making him lightheaded. He knows it’s cliche, but Thomas tastes exactly and entirely opposite from what Minho was expecting. He could stay like this forever.
Eventually, though, Thomas pulls back.
“As much as I’d love to keep doing this, it’s getting late,” he murmurs. “Jorge would kill us if we didn't find anything and were late because we were too busy making out in an abandoned airport.”
“I hate that you’re right, for once.” Minho gets on his feet, pulling Thomas up with him. “Let’s run back quick then, so you can tell Newtie all about how I gave you a sweet kiss while we were covered in crank blood and sweat from our romantic rush for our lives.” Minho bats his lashes dramatically before breaking into snickers.
“Ew, Minho, why would you say it like that? Besides, I tried to kiss you first,” Thomas grumbles, twining his fingers with Minho’s anyway.
“Sure, shank.” Minho bumps against Thomas’ shoulder, and they laugh. They’ll have to haul ass to get back to Jorge’s camp, but Minho’s optimistic. Somehow, Thomas’ warm hand in his definitely makes him run faster than he’d been capable of before. It was just a fact.