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The Spring was ice-cold, 24/7, and the only chance of getting away from the elements would’ve been to huddle near a fire in a poorly insulated shelter. Wind whipped with such aggression that, at the time, you couldn't fathom being grateful for any kind of breeze.
But now? It's hot. So goddamn hot. All the time. And you could kill for a gust of wind.
You're panting like a dog in this heat, with sweat visibly soaking through the thin fabric of your grey t-shirt. Most days, it was hard enough to be indoors, lingering next to a little fan propped up against a wall, but to be standing outside with a tactical vest strapped to your chest and a black mask over your face, on the hottest day you can remember experiencing? It was starting to become unbearable.
Gally, however, seems to be doing just fine. You share a shift with him five days a week, maintaining a watchful eye on the city street from a balcony, and despite the fact that it will be over in just 15 minutes, you're having trouble maintaining an authoritative stance under the sun's intense rays for the remaining time. It had peaked in the sky right above your heads when you first came out here, and as sunset approaches, it's now beaming down at you like a laser, blinding, and reflecting off the metal roofing on buildings as far as the eye can see to microwave you.
You step away from the railing for a moment and lean against the wall behind you where nobody below can see your face, careful as ever to avoid being recognized, and take off your mask to get a breath of fresh air. It helps, minimally, with the feeling of suffocation, but you still feel like you're being slow roasted.
Without turning around, Gally asks, "You alright?"
You nod, and then remember that he's not looking at you, and compose your breathing to say, "I'm fine. Just taking a break."
"From standing over here to standing over there?"
A lazy laugh pushes its way through your exhausted lungs. "I had to take my mask off. I was starting to feel like I couldn't breathe under it."
For just a second, he turns to look down at you, with your hands on your knees, catching your breath through cracked lips.
"Drink some water," he advises.
"I finished it all," you reply.
"Then have mine." Gally unhooks a dark green canteen from his belt and tries to pass it to you.
"I can't do that. It's yours."
"I don't need it." He shakes it around, and the sound of the water sloshing around is tantalizing enough for you to take it.
You take a few sips, and when you try to hand it back, he doesn't accept it, so you lightly smack his arm with it to make sure he notices.
"Finish it,” Gally tells you. “I said I don't need it.”
"Are you sure?"
"Yes,” he says, sounding a little exasperated by your hesitation. “I don't want to carry you and all your stuff around the block when you pass out from a heat stroke."
Hesitantly, you drink a little more, and upon realizing just how thirsty you are, you chug the rest. "Thanks," you say guiltily.
"Don't mention it." There's a beat of silence before he asks, in a tone that's probably harsher than necessary, "If you can't take the heat, then why're you on this shift?"
It takes you a moment to answer. You look up at his tanned forearms, kissed with freckles and painted with brush strokes of prominent veins running up his biceps. His skin is coated in a thin sheen of sweat, and the visibility of his muscular arms is cut off by the hem of his black t-shirt. The form-fitted fabric outlines his broad shoulders, and his vest hides a well-toned back that you've turned to see on accident in the locker room a handful of times.
This view of him, his hyper-competence on duty, and his mildly pleasant company are why you're on this shift, and not taking up some miscellaneous cleaning job indoors. The days you aren't with him are spent in the infirmary receiving further medical training, so that the next time there's a mission Gally volunteers for, you're there to look after him the way he always seems to look after you. He keeps people safe, but someone has to keep him healthy. And that's why you need to get used to this heat.
But you can't say any of that, so you say, "I want to pull my weight."
"You can pull your weight inside. Or on a night shift." He turns to look at you again as he says it, expression hidden under the mask. Coming from someone else, it would sound cold, but for someone with such a naturally abrasive attitude, his tone now is almost like one of concern.
And you hate that, because everyone has enough to worry about without Gally needing to to hold your hand to keep you hydrated.
You sigh, and decide to tell him only half of the truth. "My Maze was freezing cold. It was all ice, all the time. I have to get used to the sun if I want to be able to help out when it matters. I should be more adjusted to it in a few weeks."
He nods slowly. We don't talk details about our Mazes very much. "I guess mine got pretty hot, sometimes. Do what you gotta do if you think it'll help in the long run. It's probably my fault, anyway."
"What? You didn't-"
"You spent all that time with me in the infirmary when you could've been outside a season ago, before it got this hot."
He's not wrong; after he exacerbated his injury trying to help people escape during an emergency evacuation, his recovery was slowed massively. The tear in your arm left by a Shade had healed relatively quickly, but Gally was resigned to bed rest once more. Even after being moved to a bunk with the general population outside of the infirmary, you always seemed to linger near Gally's cot.
You steel yourself for another half-truth, because speaking aloud the affection you feel for him wouldn't be well suited to his stoic nature, and you don't want to make him uncomfortable. "That was my choice, Gally. I stayed inside to switch bandages and clean bed pans because I liked being by those little plug-in fans, and I wasn't ready to go out into the field."
"And it didn't have anything to do with keeping me company?" He may not be overly emotional, but he's certainly not blind or stupid. Nonetheless, you're surprised that he noticed how much you hung around him back then.
Well, if he wants honesty, he can have it. "I mean, sure it did. You're the only other person I've ever met that got out of a Maze. How was I supposed to leave you on a base in the Scorch when everyone else we've ever known is dead, or with WICKED?"
You put your mask back on and stand up straight. "I didn't want to be alone in the City," you say, going back to your post.
He pauses and considers your confession, one that left you with enough plausible deniability to avoid admitting that the most important reason that you stayed wasn't a practical choice; it was for him.
"Well, neither did I,” he says. “So, thanks."
"Don't mention it. It's what Icers do."
Gally tilts his head in question.
"Icers are what we called the girls in my Maze," you say sheepishly. It almost sounds silly to say out loud to someone who wasn't there.
"We were Gladers. Cause we lived in the Glade."
You snort. "That's not very creative."
He chuckled a bit. "Oh yeah? And yours was? Icers. In the ice. Must've taken a genius to come up with that one."
Grinning, you say, "Ximena was pretty damn smart." You pause.
Oops. This is the first time a name has come up from either of you. The wound of her death is still fresh, despite occurring months ago, so you suppress that pain by keeping the smile in your voice as you say, "But yeah, I guess you're right. Calling it the Spring during a perpetual Winter was pretty ironic. I still like 'Icers' better, though."
Gally leans down and rests his arms on the edge of the balcony. "Ximena was the first?"
You nod.
"Alby was ours,” he continues. “I was up two months later, so I was in the Glade for around three years.
"Holy fuck. I was only in for nine months."
"That isn't nothing. Your maze sounds like shit."
"It wasn't all bad,” you chuckle. “The climbing sucked, but at least we didn't have any of those big ass spider things that bit you."
"They were Grievers. And it was a Sting." Humor is absent from his voice as he says it. His face is shielded, but you can imagine that he's thinking about how painful the venom felt running through his veins. It's enough to remember what he'd looked like when they brought him back to the old base, so you don't press him for details about the man-made monster that did that to him.
Your watch goes off with rapid beeping, alerting you to the fact that the shift is about to be over, as if you haven't been checking the time every few minutes. "The next group should get here soon."
"Stand in the shade while we wait."
Looking around at the exposed balcony and seeing nothing, you ask, "What shade?" He points at his shadow on the ground, stretching out on the concrete.
You do as he suggests, standing on his left, and sigh in relief at the mercy it grants you from the sun. "I should've thought of this an hour ago,” you sigh.
“Next time, then,” he says.
You wait in silence, and once the next two people get there, you all briefly take off your masks to confirm your identities, then hand over the guns strapped to your backs; walking around the city with weapons tends to make people nervous.
Now unburdened by the extra weight on your chest, you have a spring in your step as you and Gally make the short journey back to your base.