Chapter Text
June
“You know, if you think it’s so easy to complete, then why don’t you go yourself?”
The words his sister had snarled at him a few years back in the comfort of their family’s living room echo in Newt’s head as his left foot makes contact with the first safety platform. He briefly wonders how different his life would have gone if they had watched How To Become a Millionaire instead, but his focus quickly switches to something else. His eyes scan the next obstacle quickly, mind whirring while trying to come up with a way to conquer it.
“You always get in your head too damn much,” is also something Sonya keeps telling him, and given that this is now all he can think about, it seems to be true. Concentrate, is what he tells himself before he leaps onto the next obstacle, relieved to find that it is actually less intimidating than he had initially thought. Letting go of his thoughts gets easier with every complicated step he takes and before he knows it, he finds himself in front of the first hanging obstacle.
Through the loud rush of blood in his ears, he can hear some occasional cheers from the crowd, or maybe even from some of the contestants that had their go before him. This might be his first time competing in GLADEiators, but he has somehow already managed to make some new acquaintances.
Which is, again, nothing he should be thinking about in this very second. With a deep breath, he takes a half-step back as his vision focuses on the exact spot where his hands will grab the suspended spinning wheel in front of him. There are three of them in total, and from watching most of this show’s seasons, Newt knows this is where most of them fail, where the amateur climber gets separated from the people who would finish this course injured just to win. A makeshift calculation runs through his head, trying to come up with the perfect equation on how much momentum he will need to get through all three of them without hitting the water below. His fingers flex, and then his feet carry him towards the ledge. His legs push him into the air, and for a moment, he feels like he’s flying.
A sharp tension runs through his arm as he manages to grab onto the first wheel, but Newt has no time to acknowledge it. He uses the momentum to get straight to the second wheel and to the third, but as he looks down and sees his feet dangling in the air, the next platform suddenly seems so, so far away. The height startles him for a split second, but it’s too much time to keep up the momentum. The crowd makes a noise Newt can’t interpret, because his mind is racing. He’s made it too far to be eliminated not even halfway into the finals. Sonya would not let him hear the end of it.
And with this thought in mind, he swings his legs, once, twice and dares the leap of faith. Cheers erupt from somewhere underneath him as his feet hit the soft platform and he can’t hide a grin himself. Take that, Sonya.
Conquering this short moment of uncertainty, a moment that felt like an hour and was only a few seconds in real life, gives Newt enough courage and strength to face the other obstacles with almost ease. His foot slips on The Pipe Dream, a diagonal pipe-like structure with a light but dangerous stream of water running through it, but he gets to the top nonetheless. People cheer as he leaps towards a row of dangling metal rods, swinging from one to the next as if he was born to do it. Maybe I’m getting farther than the contestants before me, he wonders as his feet hit firm ground again. He takes a second to breathe, ignoring the silent whir of the cameras around him. He is 10 feet up in the air, looking down on a small swimming platform. Newt doesn’t have a particular problem with being high up nor with getting down, or else he wouldn’t have won high bar gold three times. Nevertheless, the prospect of potentially getting soaked isn’t exactly promising.
Someone shouts something from below and Newt snaps back into focus. He has to get down there one way or the other, so he flexes his legs and makes the jump. The platform immediately tilts when his feet hit it, causing Newt to topple over on his knees, then smack down face-first onto the soft surface. Based on the fact that people are still cheering him on, he must have made a good impression despite his faceplant. He grips the sides of the platform until it steadies out a bit, then gets to his feet quickly, thanking years of gymnastic training for his impeccable balance. It’s the same skills that make the jump onto the next, stable, platform so easily.
His arms and legs burn like hell, but his lips pull into a smile when he sees the end of the course right in front of him, the 14 ft. tall Warped Wall. It towers above him, but Newt feels only excitement running through his every vein. Fuelled by the realisation that he’s made it this far and the prospect of the finish line, he takes a few steps back and charges towards the obstacle, feeling like a superhuman as his feet carry him up the almost vertical wall. His hands find the edge, and just like that, he hoists himself onto the final tier and slams the buzzer. Another wave of cheers erupts. When Newt turns around, blinded by the light while looking back at all that he’s conquered, he feels like the king of the world.
Newt hadn’t thought that it would be so loud down here.
Joyful cheers are roaring in his ears as he watches last year’s champion, his eyes following the effortless movements and jumps of the man who did not only win the last season of GLADEiators, but also won over millions of fans worldwide with a quick wink and that cocky smile of his.
Though, to be quite fair, Newt seems to be the only person who’d describe it as cocky. “Charming” and “heartstopping” are what most fans use, one sports magazine even describing it as “a smile that could move the very mountains it is so often directed at”, which is okay. Calm down.
Growing up, Newt had been taught not to judge people by their looks and that you never know what’s going on in somebody’s life. And he does stick to these principles; he truly does. But watching Minho from the sidelines of the parkour as he takes a break on one of the platforms between two obstacles just to flex and flash the camera one of his billions of bucks smiles, Newt has a hard time not being irritated.
Nevertheless, he can’t deny the sheer fascination that keeps his eyes glued to the man who is now speeding through the same wheels that had almost cost Newt the second round. Minho makes it seem effortless, like anyone could just get up there and get through the course in one piece. A guy standing beside him – Thomas, as far as he remembers – is cheering so loud that Newt’s ears might fall off. People actually seem to like this arrogant prick and Newt hates to admit that the excitement of the crowd is pulling him into its fangs. He’s not rooting for Minho. But he doesn’t quite want him to fail, either.
The irritation comes right back as Newt notices that Minho doesn’t even take a single break to breathe between his obstacles. The only reason why he stops seems to be to flash his muscles and his smile at that camera, the crowd, the hosts, and the sheer air that surrounds him. A sliver of self-consciousness sneaks itself into Newt’s brain. How did he look up there? Did people see right through to his wiring mind? Minho looks like he never thinks twice, always ready to take a risk. Maybe Newt isn’t made for this after all. Maybe his uncertainty will guarantee his elimination. Not now, but probably in the next round. This is not his field of expertise, what if-
“This man is a fucking machine.” Newt snaps back and looks at the person next to him, a woman his age with her strong arms crossed in front of her chest. He feels like he might have seen her before. Her short bob sways around her face as she shakes her head in disbelief. “I hate him.”
Newt furrows his brows at the strong expression of resentment and is about to say something when the woman directs her grin at him. “Just kidding, oh my god. Don’t look so shocked, we’re all like this!” While Newt does not know who they are and what they are like, he simply smiles politely and looks back at Minho, who is already past the pipe and is basically flying through the rods now.
“He’s not even using his full potential today,” the woman keeps talking, apparently satisfied with being the single carrier of this conversation. “Asshole his saving it up for the later levels!”
“Woah shit! Brenda, did you see that?” The guy next to Newt exclaims so loudly that Newt flinches. The guy also appears to be dripping wet.
“Yes, I do indeed have eyes,” comes the snarky remark, but she looks impressed nonetheless. Minho has just made the jump down onto the platform with ease, landing on his feet as if it weren’t swimming on the water. He grins, waving his hand dismissively at the camera like it was no big deal at all. People are going wild around Newt, who has to refrain from rolling his eyes. He does notice though that a camera is directed at him, so he might not look too impressed either. It has happened before that the show has produced some good old-fashioned rivalries and Newt feels like he might be the next target for this scheme if he keeps acting like this. And if he can even make it far.
Of course, it takes Minho about zero effort to get up the wall. He even gives the audience a dramatic bow and blows them a kiss before slamming the buzzer. Newt wants to throw up. Preferably on Minho’s shiny white shoes. That would certainly start a rivalry.
Newt suddenly notices that the two people next to him are gone. In fact, most of them are gone and he’s one of the only ones remaining. His eyes spot the crowd close to the tower where the hosts sit, all surrounding Minho and patting him on the bag. He can hear their laughter through the crowd's cheers and suddenly feels extremely lonely.
As if sensing his feelings, two people appear next to him, one with a camera hoisted on their shoulder and one with a microphone that they shove in front of Newt’s face.
“How was your first try on the Glade? We’ve never heard from you before, but you finished the course on the first try. How does that feel?”
Newt takes a second to register what is happening, thrown off by the double question. The person interviewing him does look pretty young, younger than Sonya, for sure.
“I feel great!” He manages, even though his body hurts like hell and his mood is wavering somewhere around God, I wish I would understand what’s currently happening to me. “It’s amazing to be surrounded by so many skilled people, it’s….really motivation. And inspiring.” His mood shifts to God, I was not made to be in front of a TV camera, despite this not being his first experience with TV crews. “It’s a lot to take in at once, but I’m excited to get to the next round and experience more of this.” He vaguely gestures around, at the course, the crowds and the cluster of people around Minho. The cluster that is getting closer now. The interviewer’s attention shifts visibly and they mutter a quick “Thank you!”, before as much as running towards the Minho-Crowd. The camera person sighs and follows, but not as quickly.
And just like that, Newt is alone again. Surrounded by hundreds of people. But alone. He wishes dearly that Sonya would be here. She was with him during most of his competitions, attended all of his Olympic triumphs and cheered the loudest in stadiums full of thousands of people. But now she’s off to college thousands of miles away, probably crammed in front of a small laptop with some of her new college friends and making fun of his awkward TV appearance. That image at least lights some of his spirit, though the feeling of loneliness won’t quite leave him yet.
The small crowd around Minho appears to be scattering as the course is finished setting up for the next contestant. Upon second glance, Newt finally recognises some of the people, though he can’t pin a name to anyone except for Brenda, Thomas and Minho. Most of them have attended the seasons before as well, some more successful than others. Brenda was a runner-up last year, if he remembers correctly. And the lanky dude with the constant scowl got pretty far as well.
His analysis is put to a harsh stop when one of the people from the crowd is heading straight towards him. And out of all the people that could have chosen to talk to him, the absolute Newbie, it of course has to be Minho. The King of the Course, checking out this newcomer to deem him as unworthy. Or a threat.
Newt straightens his back and pulls back his shoulders, pushing up his chin slightly to fake some well-needed confidence. Minho’s eyes dart over him quickly and if Newt isn’t mistaken, there’s a curious glint behind them. His opponent's head tilts to the side slightly, a smile tipping in the cocky direction.
“Good run, Newbie,” Minho says as he stops in front of Newt, brows raised in a silent challenge. “Not often that one of you makes it this far on their first attempt.”
“One of us?” Oddly, Minho’s arrogance gets Newt annoyed enough to turn that energy into confidence. Who is he to let himself be intimidated by some random guy who thinks he’s better than everyone just because he can run some colourful obstacle course.
“New ones.” Minho shrugs as he crosses his muscular arms in front of his chest. “You’re a gymnast, aren’t you? High bar?”
“Yeah, helps a lot with momentum and balance,” Newt says, feeling defensive of his sport of choice. He had figured that people would underestimate him. He’s not a climber like most of the contestants, didn’t grow up parkouring through a city. But it won’t stop him from getting as far to winning as he possibly can.
To his surprise, Minho doesn’t shoot back a snarky comment. Instead, he nods slowly, almost impressed. “I bet it does. It’d be nice to have some fresh air. Given you’ll make it far.” He adds it almost as an afterthought, but he makes it sound like that’s exactly what he expects. Newt can feel something inside of him catch on fire, a flame that fuels his motivation like nothing else has in some time.
Newt opens his mouth for a clever, well-thought-out comment that will shut Minho’s arrogant mouth up for some time, but the crowd erupts in cheers again, and Minho’s attention shifts back to the course as if this conversation didn’t even happen. The flame inside of Newt grows bigger, but he contains it for now, following Minho’s gaze instead. The guy who is currently making his way to the first obstacle looks young, barely eighteen. Minho and Newt watch him jump on the first obstacle, a huge sphere that tips back and forth, try to get up, slip and fall down onto the soft mats face first. Everyone is silent until, a second later, the guy gets back up on his knees and gives a thumbs-up. The crowd erupts in supportive cheers and Minho whoops loudly beside Newt as well. Newt joins, and his nerves calm down just a bit.
Every qualification consists of three stages that the contestants have to go through. At first, 24 runners get a chance at it. By the end of the three stages, they will be reduced to six that can proceed to the semi-finals, where six of 24 will, again, go to the finale. It doesn’t surprise Newt that Minho gets to the semi-finals with ease, just as Brenda, Thomas and some other people he doesn’t know the names of yet. What does surprise him is that he is one of his group's lucky six. He doesn’t believe it when he falls down into the water in the last stage, just one obstacle away from the finish line but with a score that will guarantee his advancement. He doesn’t believe it when he sees his score and he still does not believe it now when the other lucky contestants are pulling him into their midst, making him jump in excitement with them and babbling all over the place. Newt barely registers what’s going on, but he’s smiling wider than he has in a long time. Thomas is behind him, hands on his shoulders and shaking him, laughing. Brenda has also wrapped one of her arms around his shoulders, making their unsynchronised jumps even more clumsy, but they don’t care. The lanky guy is smiling for the first time tonight. A woman about Newt’s age is dancing with her arms thrown into the air.
And then there’s Minho, completing their little celebration circle. His grin has grown even wider than Newt had deemed possible, and he hates that his eyes keep coming back to it. He has seen Minho on the TV screen so many times, has made fun of his pretentiousness with Sonya and (though he would like to deny it) silently cheered when he failed on an obstacle after goofing around for too long. In a way, he has felt above Minho so many times. And now he is in this little lovely cluster beside Minho, smiling that same victorious smile and wondering if maybe, he might have misjudged him.
“God, yes. He’s just as an arrogant arse in real life,” Newt says later on the phone when the initial euphoria has died down and been replaced with pain, aches and burning muscles.
“I knew it! I…sorry, what?” Something rustles at the other end of the line and Sonya’s voice sounds more distant. “You’re not supposed to put spoons in the microwave!” A pause, someone else’s voice even further back. “No, it does not matter whether it’s in the mug or not! God, Newt. I am losing my mind over her,” she says, louder again.
“I can tell!”
“Stop laughing! I thought only smart people went to college!” Her roommate yells something at her from behind, but Sonya ignores her. “Anyway. Where were we? Ah yes! Pretentious arse! Of course he is! Did you give him proper shit for it?”
“We…barely talked,” Newt admits, gaze drifting out of the window of his hotel room. “And quite honestly, I don’t think we will talk much anyway. They have like…this secluded group of regular competitors and I don’t think I’m invited.”
“Well, not yet! But if you keep going like this, you’ll earn their respect in no time.”
“You make it sound so dramatic,” Newt mutters and snuggles deeper into the hotel bedsheets. All he wants to do is sleep off the aches, but he misses his sister more. “But I’m honestly surprised that you haven’t asked about Harriet yet.”
He can practically hear his sister blush on the phone. “She wasn’t there tonight, was she! Why would you have seen her! I bet you would have told me if you did!”
Newt laughs tiredly and tries his absolute best to keep his eyes open. “You know I would have. But she wasn’t.” Harriet, one of the regular competitors, is not only one of the fastest people on the courses, but also a huge crush of Sonya’s. Newt pokes his fair share of fun at her for being so obsessed with this woman she only knows from different screens, but Sonya usually tells him to “Shut the fuck up and keep dreaming”.
“Do y’all have joined training quarters?”
“This is not The Hunger Games, Son.”
“Yes, but will you see her anytime soon?”
“I don’t think we-“ He interrupts himself with a yawn, and before he can pick up his sentence, Sonya speaks, much gentler this time.
“I’m sorry, you must be tired.”
“It’s okay,” Newt mumbles tiredly.
“I have to head to class soon anyway! Text me when you’re up again, okay? Love you, and I’m so proud of you!”
“Love you too,” he replies, barely awake anymore. He manages to turn off his phone before drifting off into sleep.
July
One of the best parts about competing on GLADEiator (apart from the competing itself) is that you get the best seats to watch your opponents perform on the course. And it’s completely different from watching it on TV. The excitement of the entire crowd runs through Newt’s veins, making the fine hairs on his arm stand up and pulling his lips into a constant smile. He hasn’t felt this electrified since standing on the podium at the Olympics, a medal weighing heavily on his neck. This is different, however. Up on that podium, he was alone, bathing in his own glory. Now he’s surrounded by people who share the same excitement with him, who cheer on their opponents as if they’re on the same team.
It's the second qualification he gets to witness from these seats and the feeling hasn’t died down one single bit. It’s the last one before the semi-finals and people are dying to see who will be the last lucky six to make it. Newt spots Harriet in the warm-up area, stretching her long legs and talking to another person. Sonya would lose her mind.
“Gummy worm?” Newt blinks down at the back of candy that’s magically appeared in front of his face.
“Is it the sour ones?”
“Yup,” Thomas says, shaking the bag in front of Newt. “You gotta decide because I won’t ask again,” he adds, repeating himself for the third time this evening alone. Newt huffs a laugh and takes one from the bag before Thomas leans over him and shoves it into Minho’s direction, who’s sitting on Newt’s other side.
“Gummy worm?”
Minho’s head turns slowly towards Thomas, but his eyes are still transfixed on the course as if trying to take in every single bolt of each obstacle. In the last seasons, some obstacles were repeated throughout all of the runs, but the rules could change every year. Maybe Newt hasn’t prepared enough for this, but then again, he came here mostly to have some fun and get a little variation from his high bar training, not to win.
Thomas waits, in vain, for Minho to take a worm. When he doesn’t, Thomas simply dumps some in Minho’s outstretched hand, who doesn’t seem to mind. He does not eat them either, he simply retreats his hand and holds them.
“How does this keep happening?” Thomas mumbles, amused, and turns to the people next to him. “Gummy worm?”
Newt laughs silently to himself and watches the next contestant while chewing on his worm. It is still strange to him, sitting between these people he’s seen on TV and feeling like one of them, for the most part. There are so many inside jokes between them that Newt can’t possibly keep up and he still feels like an intruder to this closed group, but he’s warming up so much quicker than expected. Not that it’s hard with people like these.
Even Minho, and Newt admits this only reluctantly, is feeling less and less like the arrogant prick he made him out to be. Newt quickly realised that it’s not as much arrogance as it is determination. It’s confirmed in this moment as well, because the gummy worms in Minho’s hands are long forgotten. “Are you gonna eat these, or?” Newt asks, grinning when Minho turns to him with a look of utter confusion.
“Huh?”
“Are you gonna eat these worms?”
“What worms?” His eyes widen comically when he looks down at his hands, but then he has to laugh as well. “Fuck, okay. I don’t even like these.” He hands them to Newt without another word, who takes them reluctantly.
“Oh, yum. Thanks, you kept them nice and warm.”
“Everything for you,” Minho says and has the audacity to wink at Newt before redirecting his attention to the course. Newt has the sudden urge to keep up this conversation.
“Why did you take them if you don’t like them then?”
“To make Thomas shut up, mostly.”
“I heard that!” Thomas complains.
“Good,” Minho replies, mouth quirking up at the corner. They hear a splash as the current contestant fails one of the obstacles and suddenly, Minho’s attention snaps on Newt. “So you can stand being close to me now?”
“What?” Newt spits out, almost choking on a sour worm.
Minho’s head tilts to the side and there is that stupid smile again. For the first time, Newt notices the dimples it presses to the left side of his face. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the looks you threw me on that first day.”
“I…didn’t think you would,” Newt mumbles as heat crawls into his cheeks and he has to look away. “Sorry, I was a little on edge. Honestly, I thought you were kind of an arrogant arse.”
Minho bursts out a laugh at that, surprising Newt. “Woah, okay. And you don’t think that anymore?”
“Hm,” Newt hums, confidence fuelled by Minho’s reaction. “Yeah, no. I still think that.”
“We’ve got a rude one here,” Minho exclaims, sounding amused and impressed all the same. “Nice. I like the rude ones.”
“I bet you do,” Newt huffs, daring to look at Minho from the corner of his eyes. “I don’t know yet if the rude ones like you.”
“And what would I need to do to make the rude ones like me more?” Minho hums almost conspiratorially as he leans in closer to Newt, making their shoulders bump into each other. Oh, Newt thinks to himself, He’s flirting with me.
In this truly unexpected turn of events, Newt almost breaks out into laughter. Sonya would give him so much shit for this. He can’t wait to tell her. But before that, he needs to come up with a comeback that is smart and witty and shows Minho that, while not exactly opposed by his looks, Newt is not interested in being with someone who loves jumping over obstacles more than anything else. And who’s an arrogant prick, still.
“The-“ He starts and doesn’t get far when the people around them suddenly erupt in shouts and gasps. Newt and Minho look down at the course just to see someone get pulled out of the water and wrapped in a towel, paramedics already rushing to them. “Shit, what happened?”
“They hit their head on the metal pole over there,” Brenda answers from Minho’s other side, pointing to the moving obstacle. “Looked fucking painful. I hope they’re alright.” Newt looks back at the person, who is nodding while one of the paramedics is talking to them and shudders at the thought of being in their spot. He witnessed some nasty accidents in his ten years of experience in pro sports, but that doesn’t mean he has gotten used to it.
“Get ahead,” Minho mutters.
“Don’t end up dead,” Brenda, Thomas and the others reply in unison, distracting Newt from the happenings down at the course.
“What?”
“Get ahead,” Minho repeats.
„Don’t end up dead,“ Brenda finishes naturally.
Newt must look extremely confused because a grin slips right back onto Minho’s face when he looks at Newt. “It’s just a thing we say. Usually, before we all go onto the Glade, but also when someone gets hurt. It’s like ‘break a leg’, but our own version. It’s a little morbid, but…” He shrugs.
“And you better answer when someone starts it,” Thomas says and bumps his elbow into Newt’s side. “Because you’re one of us now and we don’t need the bad luck!”
“I will,” Newt says with a careful smile, trying to categorise the feeling inside of his chest. He doesn’t quite understand how he met these people merely a week ago and already feels more accepted than in any space he’s ever been in before. He’s never felt seen as a young boy who got obsessed with gymnastics. Never felt seen as an out queer kid in professional sports. Never felt like he fully belonged, even when someone hung a medal around his neck. But now, surrounded by beautifully different people from all over the country who all decided that trying not to fall off some platforms on live TV was a great idea, he feels like he’s supposed to be taking up that space.
“Get ahead,” Minho says, eyes watching Newt intently.
“Don’t end up dead,” Newt replies without hesitation.
Newt almost doesn’t believe his eyes when he watches Minho’s hand slip off the diagonal platform he just tried to hold onto. For a second, it looks like he’s frozen in mid-air, but the moment breaks when gravity wins and pulls him down into the cold water with a loud splash.
“Oh god fucking damn!” Brenda exclaims beside Newt, hand slapping against her forehead. “This stupid dickass needs to stop flexing the whole time and watch what he’s doing!”
“Serves him right,” Gally, the tall guy from the first qualification, adds with a shrug. His brows are furrowed worriedly, though, just until Minho pulls himself up from the water and waves off the paramedic who’s waiting for him. “He does these jumps easily any other time, but of course, he fucks around on competition day.” His eyes flicker to the camera that is facing his direction.
“He’s okay though, isn’t he?” Newt asks.
“I bet he is,” Harriet replies, eyes narrowed as she tries to catch a look at Minho, who’s now wrapped in a blanket and looks like an angry, dripping puppy.
“I’m gonna head over,” Brenda then says and starts jogging towards Minho, waving at him as one of the camera operators follows her.
Newt’s eyes snap to the leaderboard that is now showing Minho in the fifth position. Sixteen of them have already run the course, and eight are to follow. Minho’s score isn’t bad per se, it might just not be enough to make it to the finale. Especially considering the people who will compete after him. None of them are safe yet, but Newt has to admit that being second place behind Brenda does feel extremely gratifying. Next to the leaderboard, the hosts Vince and Jorge are vividly talking, hands flying everywhere. He can only picture the witty comments they’re making.
Though Newt feels sorry for Minho, he can’t deny that it’s his own fault, to some extent. Being Minho, he naturally had to show off before making the jump, fucking off the timing and sliding right off the platform. It’s a Minho-mistake. But Newt won’t be an ass about it. Even if it’s extremely hard.
“Didn’t look as cool as you thought it would, heh?” Gally shouts at Minho as soon as he’s close enough to hear and Newt has to do his absolute best to bite back a laugh at Minho’s face.
“Shut it,” Minho mumbles as he takes his place beside them on the pedestal reserved for the current top six. Newt scoots to the side to make space for him and bumps him with his shoulder.
“Gally is not the one to talk, he’s only one above you,” he stage-whispers so that Gally hears it.
“I didn’t make an utter fool of myself though,” Gally correctly adds. He slaps his big hand on Minho’s shoulder before ruffling through his wet hair, much to Minho’s despair.
“Vince and Jorge are probably out for your ass right now,” Harriet says with a grin, nodding towards the commentators’ booth where both men are chatting extensively.
“’course they are, no one would watch that show otherwise,” Newt says, mostly to cheer up Minho, but he receives questioning looks instead.
“You’re not much on social media, are you?” Harriet says, one brow raised.
“My…sister is?”
“Oh, my sweet baby,” Brenda coos, reaching out to pet the top of his head. “People fucking love us. You do have a public account, don’t you?”
“Uh-“
“Oh my god,” Brenda sighs. “No, of course, you don’t, look at you!”
Newt doesn’t know if he should be offended by that comment, but at least Minho is back with his usual grin. “Do you even have a phone? Like, with wifi access?”
“Why did I let you become friends with me?” Newt complains.
Brenda hums happily and butts her head into his shoulder repeatedly. “Aww! We’re your friends!”
“Not anymore if you keep going like this,” Newt says, smiling as he wraps an arm around Brenda and squeezes her shoulder. He hopes that they show this on TV, because Sonya will be so proud of him for forming connections and finding friends and not hiding in his little shell.
The attention shifts back to the Glade when the next contestant starts her run. She doesn’t make it to the top, and it does actually take quite a while until someone makes it further than Minho, kicking Ben, the current sixth place, out of this season.
“Nice one, Alby,” Brenda yells in the guy's direction, who joins them with a big smile. “And Newt! We’re fucking safe!!” He doesn’t realise what she means at first, but a look at the leaderboard gives him clarification. They are in first and second place. There are only four people left to compete.
“Congrats, man,” Minho says and pats Newt’s back. “First try and already in the finale.” Newt meets eyes with him, looking for some resentment in that comment, but he can’t find any. Instead, Minho smiles at him like he is genuinely happy for him, a feeling Newt isn’t used to receiving in sports.
“You better join me in the finale,” he says, surprised that he means it.
“We’ll see about that.”
“Can I tell you something?”
Newt looks up from his leg stretches to meet Minho’s intense midnight eyes. “Uh…sure.”
A playful smile slips onto Minho’s lips. His hands are buried in the pockets of his training jacket as he crouches down to be at eye level with Newt. Newt is glad that he’s coming closer, since the excited crowd makes it hard to understand any conversation.
“When I watched your very first run, the one during qualifications, I had hoped that I would have to face you in the finale.”
Newt is so surprised by this unexpected burst of honesty that he almost loses balance and falls backwards on his ass. Catching himself before it comes that far, he halts his stretching and sits down on the floor, crossing his legs. “You’re just playing mind games with me,” he teases, but the look on Minho’s face is too surprised for it to be true.
“Why would I?” Newt almost apologises, but Minho adds, “As if I‘d need that to win,” with a wink and he rolls his eyes instead. “No, but seriously. It’s gonna be a blast.”
If someone from his earlier high bar competitions had come to him and told him something along these lines, Newt would probably have laughed and written them off as weird. It’s always been about winning, the stakes were always too high for…well, for Newt to enjoy it, he realises now. But this entire experience? He’s made friends, he truly had a blast throughout all of these runs. He hasn’t felt this passionate about any competition in a very, very long time, even though it isn’t about winning this time. And Newt can say this with a clear conscience.
“You will never let me hear the end of it if I lose, huh?”
“If you lose?” Minho laughs as he gets up, reaching his hand towards Newt for him to take and be pulled up next to him. “Careful with your words, Newbie.”
“Well, Thomas told me earlier about this little internal crisis he’s having because he doesn’t know who to root for.”
“A betrayal only a very best friend could commit,” Minho sighs, followed by a smile. He lays his arm around Newt’s shoulder and shakes him slightly. “You be careful out there, these courses are harder than you think.”
“Now you’re patronising me,” Newt complains, but he knows it comes from a kind place. “Or trying to intimidate me.”
Minho shakes his head with a soft laugh, turning his head slightly to look at Newt while still holding onto him. “Damn. You are not used to people wishing you nice things.”
“I am! Just not in competitions.”
“Good thing you’re here now,” Minho says with one last squeeze before letting go of Newt. There’s something in the air between them, but Newt doesn’t get the chance to analyse it or act on it, because someone from production pokes their head around the corner to their three-wall warm-up tent.
“You’re up in a minute!” They say before scurrying away again.
Newt and Minho will be the first of three pairs to race against each other in the finale. The three winners will go onto the final stage, where the ultimate winner – the GLADEiator – will be determined.
As soon as Minho and Newt step out of the warm-up area, the air around them seems to erupt. Cameras are on them, people are screaming their names, chanting for their preferred winner. And maybe Newt was wrong about this. Maybe people actually do care about the people who compete. He knows they do for Minho, because as soon as his smile flashes and his hand waves through the air, the screams go even louder.
“You’re a show-off,” Newt teases and pushes Minho lightly. Suddenly, that smile that was there for millions of people is suddenly on him; only for him.
“You know they’re cheering for you as well, do you?”
Newt is about to rebut, but then he takes an actual look at the stands and sees self-made signs reading his name, wishing him good luck, cheering him on. And for the first time, it hits him that he is truly here, on a show he’s watched from the comfort of his home, that people perceive him like this. He’s had this feeling before, of course. But this is different. People at the Olympics mostly cheered for him as a representative of his country. Here, it is all about him.
“Yeah, that’s how I felt as well,” Minho murmurs beside him, only for Newt to hear. He can feel Minho’s eyes on him, but looking away from the crowd is nearly impossible. He only manages to when another person from production ushers them forward to the starting point of their courses. Newt’s eyes scan it for as far as he can see, which isn’t quite far at all. It goes immediately into the air, starting with a rope ladder. Knowing this show, Newt is fairly certain that it will move in some ways.
“Hey, Minho,” he says after managing to drag his gaze away from the course. “Get ahead”
Minho’s face lightens when he hears the words from Newt’s mouth. “Don’t end up dead. Let’s give them a show.”
And they do.
As soon as the start signal sounds, both of them are flying through the air. Newt’s suspicions were correct, because the rope ladders move down like a conveyor belt as he tries to get up, making the climb much longer than needed. Newt barely pays attention to Minho, completely focused on what’s in front of him. But when he finally reaches the platform, he can see from the corner of his eyes that Minho is already on his way to the next obstacle.
Gripped by determination, Newt’s legs carry him forward. Before him, there is a long horizontal metal beam, just a little wider than a foot. Newt wants to cheer internally, but then he spots the true challenge of this obstacle. Above the beam, there is a moving structure with several padded rods hanging from it. They move continuously from left to right, offset so you could technically make it in one go with the right sense for balance.
Which Newt owns.
He stops for just a second, waiting for the perfect moment to start, and then he runs. The obstacles make swooshing sounds all around him, but he is in his element. They never even get close to him and he’s at the end of the beam as quickly as he got onto it. He hesitates there, spotting the next obstacle. From here, he has to jump to a kind of pull-up bar and swing over to the actual obstacle. Easy for him. But after that, there is a boulder wall and from what he remembers of the last seasons, the holds will start randomly falling off as soon as he gets onto it.
And this could be his downfall.
The beam? The bar? Everyday practice things for him. But he knows Minho is a climber and will have no trouble getting over there.
In the time it took him to think about this, Minho has caught up and is already hanging from the bar. The sight gets Newt going again, knowing he could catch up easily. He’s watched Minho struggle to build up momentum on these before. It takes Newt only one swing and he’s off the bar again, now hanging onto the holds like his life depends on it. He moves slowly on them, clumsy even and even without seeing Minho, he’s certain that Minho is ahead.
Holds fall into the water with loud splashes and Newt braces himself for the impact of the water any second. But by some miracle, he makes it farther on the wall. His foot slips off when a hold gives away under him, but he catches himself, pressing himself closely to the wall. The wall finally ends and Newt looks down to spot another swimming platform. He’d feel so embarrassed if he missed this, but he makes the jump as easily as he gets down from the high bar.
Before him, there are three more of these swimming platforms, each wobbling from the waves this one created. Each one is further away from the next one than the one before. You’d need good momentum and timing to make it over there, with momentum being the bigger problem on this tiny platform. Newt dares to take a look over to Minho, who’s also quickly scanning the platform before charging forward.
For once, Newt doesn’t think much.
He’s on Minho’s feet, the ground wavering dangerously under his feet. But it doesn’t feel dangerous at all. It feels freeing, the way he’s running and jumping and basically flying, and if his focus wouldn’t be exclusively on this race, he’d notice that he is grinning.
The buzzer is close, but Newt has to make one last jump. His feet finally land on solid ground and he tips forward, hand hitting the buzzer. An alarm blares loudly around him, joined by so much more noise that Newt can’t even hear his thoughts. He doesn’t even know if he’s made it, but this feeling is a prize of its own. His eyes dart over to Minho, who’s already looking at him with a big grin. “Good challenge,” he says under quick breaths and wipes his forehead with his arm.
“Who won?” Newt manages somehow, despite being just as out of breath, but Minho just shrugs.
“Look at these absolute legends!” Someone exclaims and both of them turn toward the commentators who are making their way over to them. Jorge beams in a crimson red shirt and a dark brown vest, looking like an absolute show master. Next to him, Vince glows in a sleek white shirt that, despite being a simple piece of clothing, he manages to make look expensive.
“Jorge, can you believe that for the first time in the history of GLADEiator, we have to take a closer look at the video replay?”
“That’s right, Vince,” Jorge says into his mic, taking his place beside Minho and giving him a fatherly pat on the back. “You two managed to hit the buzzer at the exact same second.” The crowd erupts all around them and Minho and Newt lock eyes, grinning like excited schoolchildren.
Vince, standing next to Newt, looks up at the big screen that used to act as a leaderboard and is now waiting to show the winner of this race. In a way, this isn’t fair. They’ve both got the same time, but only one of them gets the opportunity to win this season. Newt is about to dive into a spiral about this, but then suddenly, Minho is by his side, wrapping his arm around his shoulders like he did mere minutes ago.
“Can’t believe you’re coming for my ass like that,” he whispers, squeezing Newt’s shoulder.
“Scared?” Newt teases, leaning into Minho and snaking his arm around his waist so it doesn’t hang awkwardly to the side. It feels nice to have someone to lean on like that.
Minho doesn’t get to reply.
The video replay shows up. Newt and Minho stand together, watching themselves from a few seconds ago from the top. Minho makes it onto the platform first, but Newt’s arms are slightly longer. If it wouldn’t be slowed down so much, one truly couldn’t tell who was first. But like this-
“And we have a winner!” Vince exclaims, and Minho’s face shows up on the screen, grinning down on them with that stupid cocky smile that Newt is slowly starting to like.
If this would be one of his normal competitions, Newt would be devastated. Years of training just to be unable to make it to the finish line. He’d go home and wonder why he failed, work out what he could improve next time.
But it’s different now. The moment he sees Minho’s face pop up, he turns and pulls him into a hug, rambling whatever encouragement comes to his mind. Minho laughs into his ear, wrapping his arms around Newt. He’s saying something Newt can’t understand through all the noise. Vince and Jorge are talking as well. Their friends have somehow materialised as well, saying things like “I didn’t think that was possible!” and “You are both fucking show-offs!”
Somehow, in all the beautiful chaos, Minho and Newt manage to part. They look at each other with smiles that might just be for each other, even when cameras are facing their way and Vince is already shoving a microphone in their direction.
“Uh, sorry, what?” Newt says, grinning. Vince smiles back at him and takes back the mic.
“Wow, look at that smile! That is not the smile of a loser.”
“To be honest,” Newt says into the mic, “I’m just…so grateful to be here and for all the friends I got to make. This is amazing.”
“Now that’s what a fair loser looks like!” Jorge seems to be absolutely enamoured by what he is witnessing. “Minho, you’ve once again made it into the finale! How does it feel to make the cut so close?”
“Jorge,” Minho says, running his hand through his hair and flashing a brilliant smile at the commentator. “You know I love a good challenge. And Newt was certainly out for one. He’s pushing me. And I hope I get to try again next year.” At his last words, he looks at Newt expectantly.
Vince’s mic flies towards Newt, a bunch of raised brows directed towards him. “Well, I mean, if you’ll have me again,” he says with a laugh.
“We certainly can’t wait to see that magic happen,” Vince beams, eyes wandering suspiciously between Newt and Minho as if there lies a deeper story between them. The crowd seems to pick up on that as well, but Newt’s attention shifts to Minho.
“You better win this one,” he says and puts his hand on Minho’s shoulder, squeezing. Minho’s eyes don’t leave his.
“Only if you promise to be back next year.”
A rush of something Newt can’t grasp runs through his every vein, making his heart bump higher again. A determination. A flood wave. A new purpose.
“I promise to try.”