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Gally takes a long, slow, mouthful of his drink, and there it is — that burning sensation itching from his fingers to his ribcage. It's always there, yes, but tonight it's just a little stronger than usual. It doesn't help that Minho is smirking at him, eyes half closed, from across the roaring bonfire. The heat from the flames has flushed both of their faces, but the sweat that breaks on Gally isn't from the warmth, but rather the anticipation of what he knows all too well is to come.
Minho keeps smirking, the control, the reins, solid in his hands. It angers Gally enough to close his lips, cutting the sip of his drink short. The thundering inside of his chest — not powerful enough to be any sort of love or passion, yet holding none of the misery anger so often brings — dims so he can continue breathing and glaring properly without loosing sight of Minho, which he has found to be dangerous.
It has always been this way, maybe always will. Gally never expected Minho to get under his skin like this and it's not that he hates the fact he has, it's more the way in which he is now bombarded with emotions, many unknown to him on multiple levels, that irritates him to a large degree.
Of course, it isn't long until they're completely alone. When that first hand brushes against Gally's skin, moments before it clamps down and grips him just hard enough to hurt, Gally is aware that Minho's name is being chanted through the very veins Minho is constricting with his fist as he tears at Gally's mouth, hunger written between the lines of his teeth. It is intoxicating in the best way, feeling one's body move like this with a high so near begging to be chased. Gally no longer blames it on the alcohol, because even copious amounts of his moonshine can't make neither himself nor Minho act this desperately.
When Minho bites at his lip the way he does, sharp and carnivorous teeth threatening to puncture the soft flesh, Gally can't help but open up his mouth and let him in to have his way. Breathe him in. Allow him control. Gally enjoys the respect and domination being a Keeper grants him, but the sickening satisfaction he gets from having that ripped away from him just for the night is the sole reason he bends to Minho's will so easily.
Gally cannot help it, despite the great risk he knows it holds. If someone were to find this out about him, well, he wouldn't be able to guess what could happen. Furthermore, Gally still doesn't trust Minho. Minho could switch up right here and do many, many cruel things with his power. Everything about this is decided by Minho from start to end, meaning Gally can't change a single damn thing if Minho wants to take another step with him. And still, Minho could shred him to pieces right here and all Gally would say is, "More."
It's never enough. If only they had bonfires more frequently, for once a month cannot sustain Gally forever, Minho too. Two things are bound to happen, and may even be on the horizon, beyond those Maze Walls currently as the sun starts to stir. The first is that freedom envelopes them, a new world where Minho doesn't have to be gone, and Gally won't need to be scared. Unfortunately, the secondary option is more realistic, and it reads; they will have to end it before it goes from one extreme to another. Before it goes too far, before they wake up and realise they're bound too tightly to each other and can't go back.
Or, maybe it's too late for that. They could have crossed that line many months ago when this all began and won't realise it until the worst happens. Until Minho doesn't make it back on time, until Gally breaks once and for all, until the Glade goes quiet.
A hand yanking his hair melts Gally's mind into oblivion, and he decides that whatever happens, he won't regret it. And Minho better not too.
Gally is far from prepared when it does happen, the days of procrastinating amounting to nothing.
Thomas was always going to be bad news, but for things to go this way almost.. almost prematurely, is what pierces Gally's heart the hardest.
The fun they've had hasn't changed since the Greenie arrived — if anything, their anger and contradictions have only burnt at their actions further, lighting up the smallest of touches into something silencing. But as Gally sits here now at the Medhut window and watches the timbers of the Map Hut, an orange spec beyond the trees, fall and burn and groan and crumble into ashes beyond repair, he is reminded of what needs to happen. What needed to happen a long time ago.
He built that hut for Minho. Back before the Changing, when he was called "nice" and the world was bigger. Minho had used it well. Its final end is now, burning in a blaze of smoke. The Grievers are gone, Thomas is in the Pit, Alby and so many brothers are dead, and Minho is half asleep.
Gally doesn't know why it happened between them tonight. Maybe just because it was quiet after the chaos, even though they are both wary about this being only the eye of the storm. In the darkness they had gravitated to one another time and time again, before they watched the Map Hut catch alight side by side. The Medhut was empty. It's never empty.
Minho moved first, a fist towards Gally and a yell about Thomas. Gally dodged, got in his own hit, then fell to the floor as Minho lunged. Just as they'd been expecting, the fury of the moment was lost to pain. It has all slipped from their grasp, everything they have built up in three years now dust and fumes and mangled corpses littering the fields of the Glade.
As Minho straddled him, he made a sound almost like a guttural sob as he kissed his mouth, fingers digging hard into the muscles of Gally's shoulders, anchoring himself and not daring to move from him. The sensation was choking, Gally rolling his hips as he clung onto the fabric of Minho's shirt, doing his best to kiss him back with just as much intensity.
Now, Minho is laying on his side, facing away on the bed in the Medhut. Gally peels his eyes from the Map Hut's glow and stares at Minho's exposed back, toned muscles visible in the darkness. They're both pretty bruised up from the events of tonight. Taking a deep breath, Gally picks up his top and stands, the creaking of the mattress announcing his departure. Minho's shoulders lift, tensing at the finality. The goodbye.
Gally runs his tongue over his bottom lip, hand clamping on his shirt stiffly. There is a lot he wants to say but he can't do it. He can't make it any worse than it already is. Keeping his head high, he turns around and just leaves. There's too much he needs to do. He needs to protect Minho now, not care about him.
"I really liked you, Gally."
And, there it is. The knife not quite plunging into his back, but resting on his shoulder, stopping him dead in his tracks, and forcing him to stay just a little longer.
"It would've been nice if you'd shown that." Gally grunts, passing his shirt from hand to hand as he stares into the darkness in front of him.
"You're a very different person to me, Gally." Minho murmurs, and Gally can picture him still laying in that bed, half covered by the thin blanket, "I guess we'll be going our own ways now, huh."
"You're going nowhere."
"Says who? You can't keep us all here forever, Gal." Minho laughs quietly, the sound alien in their surroundings. It gets under Gally's skin, but not in a good way. It makes him twitch, fingers tensing as he fights the urge to scratch it out of his system.
"It's the right thing to do." Gally sniffs, exhaustion clouding his actions. He tries forcing his body to take another step, but the groan of the floorboards betray him.
Not that Minho probably cares, "The Grievers will be back tomorrow, and I don't suppose you want to watch another chunk of our population die?"
"It's the right thing to do."
"Gally." Oh, god. The way Minho says his name, like it's something breakable but ready to discard, it hits Gally where it shouldn't. He shivers unwillingly, gritting his teeth together to keep his sounds down. Minho's good. He's amazing, even, in bed. Images of what they've done in the minutes prior to this flash in Gally's eyes and make his knees weak. They don't buckle, however. He keeps himself firm.
He can sense Minho sighing, rolling over to look at him, frowning. Doesn't Minho get it? They can't afford to be selfish after so many perished tonight. They need to work together, and if that means… exterminating the plague that has overcome them — brainwashed them, then Gally is prepared to get his hands dirty. Thomas will pay, he tells himself, the girl too.
"Repeatin' that won't change the fact we both know I'm right." Minho adds, then a quieter, "I hope you come with us. There's a whole world out there we haven't seen before." follows.
Scrunching his face up, Gally does his best to control himself. One break in his voice could be the end of it all, the end of his pride. "You're not leaving, no one is. I'm sorry."
"Yeah, right." Minho scoffs, and Gally is painfully reminded of Minho's confidence. Not just that — his true control too. Gally would fight it but why do so if it feels so good? It's not his fault that his eyes chose Minho from the first second he saw him laying there in the grass three years ago. Gally let Minho in long before Minho even looked at Gally twice. If Minho asked him to come back to bed right now, Gally would without hesitation. But Minho won't.
With no more to be said, Gally starts pulling his shirt over his head, the worn fabric softly coating his aching body. They did go at it rather hard tonight, so in a way Gally can feel for Minho, especially because the Runner hardly ever lets Gally go on top.
Running his hands down his sides, Gally flattens the creases his top has started to take onboard and marches onwards, leaving the Medhut whilst it's still dark. No one knows what tomorrow morning will hold, but it won't be pleasant, that's for sure.