Work Text:
Every time you smile, it's like paradise fleeting by in an instant.
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Newt didn't know the exact name of that thing, but it had been haunting his mind ever since he'd accidentally noticed it.
It was a small indentation that looked like a short scar on Minho's right cheek when he smiled.
One thing Newt was certain of was that it wasn't a scar. He could bet his honor on it.
Because he knew what scars were. In Glade, who hadn't been injured? One way or another, there were always a few random wounds appearing on the bodies of these energetic teenagers every day. Some wounds formed from a spontaneous wrestling match or simply from carelessness at work, in which case medical intervention wasn't necessarily needed because the wound healing process could manage on its own. At that time, there would only be thin streaks of clotted blood on the skin that would disappear completely after a few weeks, leaving no scars.
Scars only appear when people let their minds wander in a fantasy world near sharp tools. Like the time Frypan's kitchen nearly collapsed because of the bloodcurdling scream of a new apprentice whose duties Alby hadn't yet assigned. The entire Glade district almost tasted human hand soup because the poor boy had cut carrots on his hand instead of on a cutting board. It successfully created jobs for two unemployed Med-jacks who had to work in the garden instead of focusing on their profession. And even though Clint tried his best to wrap the boy's fingers tightly with all sorts of bandages, a long, dark line still remained on his index and middle knuckles, impossible to hide. That was a scar.
But the mark on the Asian boy's cheek was different. It seemed to appear only particularly when he raised his cheekbones in a smile. Newt meant when he actually smiled, not just a slight smirk or a contemptuous grin.
When Newt first saw it, he thought he was hallucinating.
“Minho, you and this blondie are going to gather firewood.”
“Don't call me by that weird name,” the blond boy grumbled. But he cooperated and stood up to take on the task.
“Only when you remember your name,” Alby coldly waved the two boys away, then returned to assigning tasks to the remaining boys.
The group had only woken up half a day ago in this godforsaken place. They had absolutely no idea where they were, why they were there, or how they got there. Like overgrown children lost in a shopping mall, hoping someone would come to rescue them. But it was even worse than being a lost child. None of them knew who they were. They couldn't even utter their names immediately when asked. Their minds were simply completely blank. It took considerable effort for some in the group to finally say their names. Of course, that didn't include the blond boy.
Annoyed, he followed the boy named Minho toward the sparse forest. The first step to survival in a situation like this was finding firewood, for cooking or warming himself. There were a few boxes of matches in the strange iron cage in the middle of the field. Even better, they appeared along with some baskets of food. He didn't want to starve to death before he could even remember his name.
But no matter how optimistic he tried to be, he couldn't deny the unpleasantness of this amnesia. Who would like to suddenly lose all the knowledge they'd painstakingly accumulated over the years? The only consolation was that they still seemed to retain some basic vocabulary and could still communicate normally. But that didn't help much in his quest to find his name. His name couldn't possibly be "blondie", "tree" or even the "firewood" he was holding. And his partner didn't seem inclined to open his mouth and inadvertently suggest any wonderful nouns for him.
He cautiously approached the base of a large, sprawling tree, its lush green foliage casting shade over a vast area, hoping for many fallen branches to fall beneath. The surroundings were eerily quiet. It seemed that, apart from their group, there wasn't a single animal in sight. Although he couldn't remember his past life, he was certain a typical forest wouldn't be so oppressively silent, at least there would be a few birds chirping and flitting about, or some annoying insects buzzing. In contrast, this forest lacked even the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze.
He gazed at the tree, waiting for some kind of movement. But what caught his attention was a protrusion on the trunk. It was a bump, as if the tree had intended to grow its branches in that direction but changed its mind midway, leaving it sticking out like a dark, rough-skinned creature hiding on it. That strange association made him frown and stand motionless.
“Newt.”
“What?” Minho replied, pausing his wood-gathering to check on the blond.
“My name. My name is Newt.” the blond boy repeated, each word clear. He turned to look at Minho with his big, round eyes, his brows slightly furrowed, creating a serious expression as if he had just announced a name for an entire newly discovered planet.
“Newt?” Minho asked, still maintaining his sullen expression from when they woke up, "Like a lizard?"
“I think they are not quite the same.”
A silence fell over them, eyes locked. Until one of them could no longer maintain their composure. Minho broke the silence first with a wide grin that made Newt blush. His stern, middle-aged expression was instantly replaced by the radiant light of a carefree teenager. His eyes narrowed into crescent shapes and his cheekbones lifted in a broad smile.
And for a fleeting moment, Newt saw something. A strange indentation on the right cheek of the boy in front of him. Somehow, at that moment, Newt didn't perceive it as a defect but was almost stunned because it made Minho's face even more charming. Unfortunately, it only appeared for a moment and disappeared as soon as Minho stopped laughing and returned to his original expression. It happened so quickly that Newt could hardly believe it was the same boy standing before him.
Life in this desolate place wasn't easy either, as there were so many things to do to survive in this strange environment that Newt almost forgot about it.
Newt might have thought of Minho's "smile" as a contemptuous grin when someone says something stupid for the rest of his life, if the angels in heaven hadn't given him a second chance to witness it.
"Well done, shank. Get ready for the return trip!" Minho said, having rested enough after traveling a longer distance in the Maze than yesterday without encountering any monsters.
After several months of survival, their group decided to form a small team to begin their maze-solving journey after realizing there was no escape in the Glade area. Starting a new chapter with great ambition but without forgetting caution, they would always travel in pairs, supporting each other. Minho and Newt were paired up to run together through the West Gate.
“Tired?” the Asian boy asked as he helped Newt stand up.
“Bloody full of energy,” he replied, brushing dust off his pants.
“I didn’t expect you to be so strong,” Minho said, hands on his hips, his face turned towards the fiery orb hanging overhead, calculating the time remaining before sunset.
“What do you mean?” Newt turned to Minho, his face contorted, asking in a questioning tone.
"Hey, I mean, look at you," Minho gestured with both hands toward Newt's body to express his clumsy meaning, "You just look pretty skinny."
Newt raised an eyebrow, almost in disbelief. The boy in front of him, even though he'd cheated on his height by slicking his hair back like a ship's bow pointing to the sky, was still a few inches shorter than him; he was just a little more muscular, and yet he dared to tease him about his physique.
"I'm stronger than you guys!" he retorted, tossing his head provocatively.
“How about a race? Whoever gets into Glade first is the best Runner.” Minho smiled, making a bet. For a fleeting moment, Newt saw something flash before his eyes, but he told himself it was just the glare.
“Alright, shank.”
The two boys got into position for the start.
“Don't be left behind!”
They started simultaneously.
Including the round trip on the first day and today, they had only walked this route three times in total. Therefore, they only vaguely remembered the route. It was unwise to gamble at this point. But a race is always more exciting than a patrol.
Given his penchant for physical training in his free time and his toned physique, Minho was clearly born to be a Runner. He dashed forward like a black panther across the grassland. But Newt was no less impressive. Thanks to his slender build and long legs, he could take strides that were roughly twice the length of others. Neither of them wanted to be outdone, they sped along the winding paths of the maze, their footsteps pounding on the firm ground. They were full of energy.
What surprised Newt on today's patrol was that Minho seemed to have shed his usual stern demeanor. While he still hadn't spoken or laughed much, he looked more like a teenager. And now, he was grinning mischievously throughout the race. The two lines of laughter that had been so prominent since they started showed no sign of disappearing. Newt continued running at a steady pace, but his eyes were fixed on his opponent's grin.
Minho seemed to notice Newt's blatant gaze and quickly sped up to show off. The blond boy snapped back to reality when he realized Minho was no longer running alongside him. Newt refocused on the race. There was only one corner left, and Minho was still in the lead. But he made a mistake by not calculating the distance to create momentum for a corner run, causing him to pause briefly to turn, giving Newt the opportunity to surge ahead.
Newt was very close to the exit at the West Gate, the lush green lawn appearing right before his eyes. Newt tried to sprint. When the two stone gates were just insignificant objects drifting to either side of his vision, Minho suddenly lunged forward and hugged him tightly around the waist. Newt felt two rough hands grab his hips, his body pulled against the other's, lifted up, spun around in the opposite direction of the run, and after a thud against the ground and the sound of crushed grass, he found himself lying on top of the other person, face up towards the sky.
They lay right on the doorstep, Minho's back pressed against the ground, taking the fall meant for Newt. Or rather, he had deliberately turned them both around at the threshold so his back would touch Glade first.
"I won!" Minho shouted, raising both hands to the sky in celebration, even though his back had just hit the ground with a loud thud.
"You cheated!"
Newt yelled, rolling over beside his friend to regain his balance. Suddenly, time seemed to stop.
Minho was smiling radiantly. A few wrinkles peeked out from the corners of his eyes as he squinted. His mouth stretched wide to the sides, pushing his cheekbones high, and a deep, mischievous chuckle escaped from the gaping, white lips. The sunlight at that peaceful moment, as the sun was about to set, was no longer as harsh as at midday; it became a soft, golden hue, gently spreading across the grassy slope and illuminating the smiling face of the Asian boy. Beside the right laugh line, a short indentation was clearly visible, as if an invisible hand had pressed down on the skin there. It no longer flickered in and out of view, but stood distinctly in the middle of the right cheek, gracefully remaining there like the final brushstroke on a perfect painting. It made the face of its owner shine like a fallen angel. Newt almost forgot how to breathe.
For a moment, Newt believed that indentation was a sign of an angel, of some other fairy world, certainly not of this mortal realm. It made his smile dangerous, making Newt dizzy. Perhaps he shouldn't have looked at it in the first place.
This time, Newt didn't think he was hallucinating. He thought he was going crazy.
"What are you two idiots doing lying here?"
Newt looked up in the direction of the footsteps. It was Alby, standing helplessly, staring at the scene before him. Minho also tilted his head back from his supine position to observe the situation, he had been lying there smiling all this time. Immediately, that otherworldly smile vanished, replaced by his usual serious expression. The indentation disappeared once again.
He tried to figure out what it actually was. But none of the Gladers had such an indentation on their cheek. It was as if it were a unique mark bestowed upon that person by the gods.
When Newt mentioned the indentation on Minho's cheek, his eyes almost popped out of their sockets when Newt used the word "graceful" to describe it. Newt was equally surprised that the dimwit understood the word "graceful". And of course, he immediately dismissed the topic because of its absurdity. How could a Keeper of the Runner team, with such a majestic and imposing presence, possibly have something that could be described as "graceful"?
It was understandable that he didn't believe it. The Creator probably feared that the princes, isolated here, would be so engrossed in admiring their own handsomeness that they would neglect their duties, so never sent any mirrors here. Even reflective things like lakes weren't clear enough to show anything. Therefore, there was no way to prove to Minho that there was a strange indentation on his face. Newt actually considered shoving his head into Frypan's soup to prove his point.
"Hey, Alby," Newt sighed.
"What's up, shuckface?" the dark-skinned boy still had his head down, gnawing on a slice of toast.
"Do you know what that indentation on the cheek is called?"
Today was a day off for the running duo Minho and Newt. Newt really didn't want to get up early on such a wonderful day, but the questions in his mind prevented him from sleeping soundly.
"Scars?" Alby replied in a tone as if Newt had just asked what one plus one equals.
"No, it's not," Newt replied, his brow furrowing as he tried to articulate it. "It's more like an indentation that only appears when you smile. I mean, when you really smile."
"I don't know. Leave me alone." Alby took another big bite, swallowed hard, and quickly gulped down some water. But he still asked, "Why ask?"
"Just curious. Didn't you notice that when Minho smiled?" The blond boy tried to keep his mind from overthinking things early in the day. Otherwise, he'd go crazy all day.
"Pfft"
Alby spat out the water he'd just drunk onto the ground, coughing.
"Hey, what's wrong?" Newt snapped out of his daze, frantically patting his friend's back.
"Nothing, just choked." Alby wiped the water from under his chin with the back of his hand, taking a deep breath to regain his composure.
"You were shocked that Minho laughed, weren't you?" Newt teased, laughing.
"If it weren't for that aggressive Gally helping him practice his contemptuous expression, I'd think he was an emotionless robot."
Alby wasn't wrong. The expression on Minho's tanned face was mostly one of cold, stern seriousness, the kind of expression Newt would have kept a ten-meter radius around if they weren't stuck together. Unless he was having a fight with Gally or hearing the Greenies' bizarre questions, he rarely showed any other expression.
Alby took another sip of water to clear his throat after his recent coughing fit and stood up. Before turning to begin his duties as a leader, he patted the blond boy on the shoulder as a farewell.
"He only smiles at you," he said casually before walking away.
•.☆°○☆~•
The restless sleep he had last night had somewhat affected his alertness. In his drowsy state, Newt found himself in a lush green patch of grass, nestled deep within the sparse forest, and let the gentle rustling of the plants lull him to sleep.
He didn't know how long he'd been asleep, but when he woke up, the sky was much calmer. The Deadheads provided cool shade, and his light brown hair fluttered gently in the fresh breeze. Newt stretched, humming softly as the stiff muscles in his shoulders relaxed. Although still a little sleepy, he didn't want to disrupt his biological clock, especially since he had a run scheduled for the next morning. He really needed a good night's sleep tonight.
Newt propped himself up on his elbows, leaning to stand, when he realized someone had been lying next to him for some time. It was none other than the person who had been keeping him awake all night.
Minho lay comfortably on the grass, his hands propped behind his head as a pillow, his face relaxed as he drifted into a dream, yet still sharp and menacing, warning anyone who dared approach. Of course, Newt dared. He leaned closer to assess the situation. Judging by the gentle, even rhythm of his breathing, he was probably not yet in a deep sleep, but had only recently drifted off. Newt hesitated, wondering whether he should wake him to preserve the peaceful scene in the sparse forest before Minho sank into a deep sleep filled with his terrible snoring, or simply leave him there to rest.
Newt looked up at the sky, squinting slightly to reduce the amount of light shining into his eyes. In Glade, there was no way to know the exact time, it relied mainly on survival experience and personal estimation. Based on the significantly reduced glare of the sun and the gentle coolness in the air, they were probably in the late afternoon. Not a very suitable time for a nap. Perhaps he should wake Minho up.
A thought suddenly flashed through his mind. Newt stared at Minho's right cheek, unsure if it was a good idea.
He reached out, not to touch the cheek. He'd observed long enough to know it wasn't there. Instead, his hand moved down to the stomach. It wasn't right to attack someone unprepared like this, but the thought of seeing that thing again had overcome his reason, and he wasn't sure when this expressionless guy would ever smile again.
Newt cautiously poked his slender finger into the boy's waist, deliberately pressing down. There was no reaction. Okay, perhaps that's where the enormous amount of food he devoured each day accumulated, forming a thick layer of muscle like a shield against this unexpected attack.
But Newt wasn't giving up yet. His hand groped to another spot on the boy's waist, trying to find his sensitive area. His mischievous fingers poked and prodded around, becoming bolder as the person lying beneath showed no signs of waking up.
Suddenly, Minho sprang up, startling Newt. But before he could scream, Minho grabbed his mischievous hand, his other arm wrapping around his back and pinning him to the ground.
Minho was hunched over him, his hands supporting him on the ground. His face was expressionless, his eyes staring intensely, terrifying Newt. But he couldn't escape as his hips were pinned between the muscular thighs of the boy above him.
In the blink of an eye, his face relaxed, his eyes curved like crescent moons, revealing a few wrinkles at the corners. His mouth widened mischievously, and Newt knew he was doomed.
"Tickling me, huh?" Minho yelled, frantically tickling the poor blond boy below him.
His rough fingers moved all over Newt's waist. His body recoiled at the unexpected touch, and he couldn't stop bursts of laughter from escaping his mouth. It was unfair that he had such thin skin and no belly fat, made this tickling was nothing short of torture.
"Hey, hey! I'm sorry!" Newt yelled, his voice breaking with uncontrollable laughter, his hands gripping Minho's wrists as he tried to push him away, but to no avail. "I'm sorry."
“Do you know you’re wrong?” he asked again, pausing his cruel torment, his hands still on Newt’s waist.
Newt was laughing so hard tears were streaming down his face. His face was flushed and his heart was pounding. He lay still, trying to regulate his breathing as if he’d just finished a grueling workout. Newt took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, and exhaled. He took another breath, looked up, and immediately swallowed it back down because of the sight before him.
Minho was grinning broadly over him, his face radiant. That mesmerizing indentation on his right cheek was clearly visible. The white light of a cool afternoon hung overhead like a halo emanating from an angel. Newt wondered what he had done for the world to be so honored to witness this magnificent sight. The focus in his eyes shifted constantly, zooming in on just the indentation on his cheek, then zooming out to get a more complete view of the angel before him.
“How dare you not answer me?” Minho bared his teeth threateningly, gesturing for a new attack.
“Hey! Stop! It’s my fault! Sorry!” Newt yelled, forcefully pushing Minho’s hand away from his waist. He breathed a sigh of relief when he successfully pushed it back to the ground.
Newt was still reeling from the fact that Minho was still laughing uncontrollably above him. It was strange to see him with that playful expression.
“You should smile more,” Newt said, scrutinizing him as if he were a work of art that had escaped from a museum.
“Does it make me look more handsome?” the boy above asked with a smile, running a hand through his waxy hair, causing Newt to squint.
“A lot,” he answered honestly, “Especially this.”
The blond boy raised his hand, hesitating for a moment, but then mustered the courage to gently touch Minho's right cheek. His finger lightly traced the indentation that haunted his mind and quickly moved away.
"I want to see it more."
Minho froze, his face bewildered like a fawn's, his dark eyes wide, staring at the person who had just taken the initiative. A seemingly endless silence stretched between them. Unconsciously, Newt felt his face flush red from his impulsive actions, but there was no turning back now.
And then Minho smiled, a smile gentler than any metaphor Newt had ever known. The corners of his eyes curved slightly, reflecting sincerity and affection. A sliver of starlight was easily discernible in his eyes. His lips parted gently, curving upwards without haste. Surprisingly, that gentle movement didn't make the indentation disappear; it even became more pronounced.
Newt sincerely wished he could unravel the mystery of that thing.
"I don't even know what it is, but I'm starting to like it now," Minho whispered softly, leaning down and burying his face in the crook of the neck of the boy lying beneath him.
Newt also started to smile shyly because of it. He'd seen a blush spread across Minho's cheeks as he lowered himself, and he could swear that the combination of it with that thing looked adorable. But there was no way he'd let it out loud.
"You're so cheesy!" Newt laughed, wrapping his arms around the back of the person lying on top of him.
"Who confessed first?" Minho whispered into the crook of his neck, making Newt shiver.
Immediately, he slapped the annoying person on top of him hard on the back, who was giggling. He flipped over as if to throw him ten meters away.
“Hey, don’t get me wrong!” Newt sat up from his kneeling position, glaring warningly at the boy rolling around on the grass.
After three rolls, the dark-haired boy’s face finally hit the lush green grass. He struggled to sit up, his head bowed, scratching the back of his neck. From a meter away, Newt could still hear his muffled whisper: “So, do you like me?”
The question startled him, a blush slowly spreading across his cheeks. Newt didn't answer immediately, turning his face away shyly, pretending that the surrounding nature was more captivating than ever, but deep down he wished the wind would untangle his heart.
A series of rustling sounds arose nearby, Minho moved swiftly forward like a fox gracefully gliding across the grass. He sat down directly in front of the blond boy, cupping his hands around the boy's cheeks, allowing their eyes to meet. They gazed deeply into each other's eyes, hoping to catch a glimmer of shared longing.
“Can I?” Minho’s voice became cautious, as if afraid the boy in front of him would run away if he said something wrong.
Newt’s face lit up, the right corner of his mouth curving into his characteristic radiant smile. He nodded slightly.
It’s unclear who made the first move, but they sat together on the green grass of the sparse forest, exchanging a heartfelt kiss.
Before separating, the blond boy didn’t forget to plant a kiss on the indentation on the other boy’s cheek, causing both of them to burst into laughter.