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Running through the Last City with the guy who almost killed him should not have made Gally feel the way it did. Clearly, being kept prisoner had done nothing to dampen Minho's ability to run like his life depended on it, which was no bad thing given the circumstances. But Gally had never been able to run like Minho.
"Min... Minho... Hold up..." Gally panted as he hauled himself along the backroads as fast as his legs were capable.
"What d'you mean, hold up?" Minho snapped without even turning his head. "Newt's dying!"
"I know... So am I..." Gally stumbled around a corner after Minho, slumping back against the side of a building. "Can't breathe..."
Minho whipped around, his irritated glare softening slightly when he found Gally wheezing with his hands braced against his knees. "Y'okay?"
"No." Gally's single remaining lung screamed for air, forcing harsh, painful coughs from his chest. "Stupid... shucking Runner..."
The set of Minho's jaw turned defensive. "I don't think the guy who let a psycho army into the city should be throwing around the word 'stupid'."
Gally huffed out a frustrated growl. "He lied to me." After a few long, deep breaths, he pushed himself upright and off the wall. "Okay," he puffed, nodding in the direction of the Berg.
As they took off again, Gally could see Minho side-eyeing him. He ignored it, along with the fact that Minho was now jogging to allow him to keep pace.
"So... You let your fitness go in the Crank army?" Minho asked conversationally.
Shaking his head, Gally puffed, "No talk... Just run..."
But Minho wasn't letting it go. "You were no Runner, but you had more stamina than that."
Gally grit his teeth, shouldering Minho around another corner as more militia appeared behind them. "One lung."
"What?" Minho blurted out, wide-eyed.
"One... Lung..."
Grabbing Gally's shoulder, Minho shoved him against the wall. "Why?"
Blinking at him twice, Gally said bluntly, "Spears aren't good for lungs."
Minho's face filled with horror. "Wait..."
"We need to keep going," Gally muttered, pushing Minho back from him. "Newt."
But Minho grabbed his arm before he could run again. "You've only got one lung? Because of me?"
Gally blew out a long sigh and hung his head, rubbing a hand over his buzzed hair. "Yeah."
"And... And you forgive me for that?"
Everything in Gally ached, his heart thudding dully against his ribs. "I'd forgive you anything," he said softly. He sniffed, then jerked his head down the alleyway. "We need to keep going."
This time, Minho grabbed fistfuls of the front of his stolen WCKD uniform, forcing Gally to face him. "Why would you forgive me?"
Gally should have squeezed his eyes shut and forced them to continue, but Minho gazing up at him so earnestly was too much for his heart to take. Those eyes full of questions were the same ones he'd gazed desperately after as they left the Glade, and been so overjoyed to see again not fifteen minutes ago. "We gotta go..."
"Tell me why," Minho insisted, his hands shaking with tension.
Resolve shattering, Gally grabbed Minho's face with both hands, diving in to kiss him. The way their mouths met was less coordinated and more forceful that Gally would have liked, but Minho's hands in his uniform tugging him closer made up for any imperfections. He wanted to stay here forever, kissing the Runner he had watched longingly from afar for three years, tangling his fingers in his hair and memorising the taste of his lips.
But Newt was dying.
Tearing himself from Minho's mouth, Gally mumbled, "We gotta keep moving."
"Yeah..." Something in Gally was almost proud that Minho finally sounded out of breath. "Yeah." Dropping his hands, Minho smirked, "Took you long enough, shank."
Gally snorted and rolled his eyes, grabbing Minho's arm and pulling him along the alleyway. "Shut up. We got a friend to save."