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Everything around him was spinning.
It wasn't often that Minho drank, but when he did, he could usually tolerate his alcohol well. Tonight was different. He was unable to even stand up straight, stumbling into nearby trees and other things he couldn't quite make out through the blurring of his vision the alcohol provided him with. Clearly, it had hit him harder than expected. At some point, he'd fallen onto the ground and had to push himself with his hands onto his back. Laughing like a maniac, he clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound, hoping not to wake anyone up.
When everyone had left the campfire, Newt insisted on walking Minho back to the Homestead, which Minho tried to argue he'd do alone. After far more arguing than should've been necessary, Newt had finally relented, warning him not to fall asleep outside unless he 'fancied waking up with a cold', whatever that meant. However, Minho was drunk enough he didn't really care anymore and sleeping under this tree with the breeze blowing on him felt like the best idea he'd ever had.
The only thing that snapped him out of his intoxicated laughing was feeling a few gentle kicks into his ribs. Minho's laughter faded to a confused mumble, and he squinted to make out the figure above him. It wasn't until the person who had been kicking him spoke, and then he realised who it was.
"Drank too much, shank?"
Gally.
Of course, it was Gally.
Minho just stared at him for too long, waiting for his eyes to focus upon the boy above him. He shook his head aggressively, rubbing his face with both hands.
"No" Minho slurred, trying (and clearly failing) to force his voice to be stern. He'd never gotten along with Gally. "'M fine."
The builder gave him a look that Minho had immediately decided was judgemental, and he put his arms behind his head, trying to look casual, but just looked stupid. "Maybe I jus' wanna sleep here tonigh."
Gally let out a long, unimpressed sigh. "Yeah," he muttered. "You look real comfy there." He placed his hands on his hips, looking down at the runner sprawled across the grass as though he couldn't decide whether to laugh or strangle him. Moonlight lit up Minho's face.
Minho frowned up at him. "I am comfy." A crooked grin tugged at Minho's lips before turning into another fit of laughter, and his head lolled lazily to one side.
"Come on." A calloused hand appeared in front of his face, snapping him out of his laughter. Minho just blinked at it. Then at Gally. Then back at the hand. He didn't want to accept help. Especially not from Gally of all people. Not that stupid idiot with gorgeous eyes and a pretty face which Minho wanted to punch.
Minho reached for him anyway. His hand missed and hit the empty air, which prompted him to attempt again. He managed this time to latch onto Gally's wrist instead of his hand. "There you go." Gally muttered under his breath, surprisingly soft. "Close enough."
With a firm tug, he hauled Minho to his feet, the movement making Minho's stomach churn. The ground dropped away beneath him for a split second before crashing back into place. He swayed so hard he stumbled straight into Gally's shoulder, his forehead nearly knocking against the builder's jaw. His fingers instinctively bunched in the front of Gally's shirt as he fought to steady himself. "Whoa there." The taller boy muttered, grunting whilst planting his boots more firmly into the dirt to keep them both upright. Minho squeezed his eyes shut. That only made everything spin faster.
"I think..." He swallowed. "The ground's movin'."
"That's you."
Minho considered that with surprising concentration. "...Oh."
For one glorious second, he managed to stand on his own, until his knees gave out. The strength left his legs all at once. Gally caught him with an irritated sigh, one arm wrapping firmly around Minho's waist while the other seized his bicep. "You done proving you're fine?" Gally asked, trying to sound annoyed, but not quite coming out that way. It was almost like the Gally was concerned.
Minho's brow furrowed as though he'd been asked an incredibly difficult question. "...Maybe." He muttered, admitting defeat.
"Thought so." Spoke the taller boy, a slight smugness coming out. With an exasperated shake of his head, Gally pulled Minho's arm over his shoulders and adjusted his grip until the runner was balanced against him, still holding him around the waist. Minho leaned heavily into his side without a hint of shame, nearly all his weight pressing down onto Gally. "You weigh a shucking ton."
"I run," Minho mumbled into his shoulder, "muscle."
"I don't care what it is."
They started toward the Homestead. Their shoes crunched softly over patches of dry grass and the breeze rustled the leaves of trees overhead. Somewhere in the distance, one of the animals in the pens let out a grunt before everything settled back into silence. Minho's feet cooperated only when they felt like it. Every few steps he'd drift sideways, forcing Gally to tug him back before he wandered into another tree or tripped over an exposed root. Gally let out a snort at the boy who kept stumbling. Minho's head snapped around, eyes narrowing with drunken suspicion.
"...Did you jus' laugh?"
"No." Gally said, but the smirk on his face said otherwise.
"You did." Minho accused. Gally rolled his eyes toward the stars, tightening his grip just as Minho stumbled over absolutely nothing.
"I'm only doing this because Newt would have my head if I left you out here."
"Sure."
"And because I don't wanna dragging your frozen corpse back tomorrow morning."
"Mhm."
"You even listening, shank?"
Minho rested the side of his head against Gally's shoulder for a moment, already half-asleep. "Nope." He muttered, emphasising the 'p' sound. Gally shifted his hold just enough to keep Minho from slipping, muttering another curse under his breath as they continued through the sleeping Glade.
By the time they reached the Homestead, Gally's shoulders ached from supporting practically all of Minho's weight. The old wood from the porch steps creaked beneath their shoes. Inside, the building was almost silent. Most of the Gladers had long since fallen asleep. The moment they crossed the threshold, Minho pushed himself away.
"I got it." He insisted, yet his legs immediately wobbled beneath him.
"You sure about that?" Gally asked dryly, looking the boy up and down.
"Yup."
Minho managed exactly two uneven steps before listing sideways. His hand shot out on instinct, latching onto Gally's forearm to steady himself. He frowned. "...Didn't count." Gally did not respond.
Still muttering things under his breath, mostly non-sensical, Minho allowed Gally to guide him through the quiet Homestead. Their footsteps echoed softly, and every now and then Minho's shoulder bumped clumsily into Gally's. He didn't seem to notice. Or maybe he just didn't care.
When they reached Minho's room, Gally finally loosened his grip. "There." He spoke quietly, trying to not wake anyone up. "You finally made it."
Minho didn't move. Instead, he stood there swaying gently, his dark eyes fixed on Gally's face with an intensity that made the builder shift uncomfortably. "What?"
Minho didn't answer. He just stepped closer. Close enough that Gally could smell the lingering stench of whatever he'd been drinking mixed with the smoke from the bonfire clinging to his clothes. For a second, Minho just stared.
Then he leaned in.
Gally's eyes widened.
Before Minho could close the remaining distance, Gally placed a firm hand against the centre of his chest, stopping him with a gentle pressure. "You're drunk." He stated quietly.
Minho blinked up at him. "And?" The single word came out almost wounded, as though he genuinely couldn't understand what the problem was. Gally let out another long sigh, rubbing his forehead with his free hand.
"You don't mean it."
"I do."
"No." Gally replied, particularly stern, meeting his eyes. "You think you do." For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence just settled between them. Gally looked away first. "And I'm not about to catch a case." He muttered, mostly to himself. Quieter still, almost beneath his breath, he added, "I'm not gonna take advantage of someone who's drunk."
Minho's gaze lingered on him for another few seconds before his expression softened. His fingers curled loosely around Gally's sleeve, giving his arm a small squeeze. "...Guess I'll see ya tomorrow, shank." Minho stated and then smiled.
Gally looked back at him. And if Minho wasn't drunk, he would have kissed him right there and then.
A beat passed before Minho spoke again. "...Thanks for takin' me home."
Something in Gally's expression eased. He didn't smile, but the stern expression from before faded. "Yeah. No worries." Sliding an arm back around Minho's shoulders, he guided him the last few steps to his hammock. It dipped beneath Minho's weight as he sat down with a tired exhale, immediately looking as though he might fall asleep where he was. "Stay there," Gally muttered.
Minho gave an exaggerated salute.
"I'll get you some water. Might save you from a shuckin' awful hangover tomorrow."
"I don't get hangovers." Minho... pouted? Gally wasn't sure how to describe the expression on Minho's face.
"You've said a lot of stupid things tonight." Gally shook his head with quiet amusement before turning toward the doorway. The room fell silent behind him.
"...Gally?"
He paused with one hand resting against the doorframe and glanced back. Minho was watching him again. This time there was something different in his eyes. Less drunken confidence, more uncertainty and almost a pleading look.
"...Ya woulda kissed me if I was sober," his words slurred together slightly. "...Right?"
For the first time that night, Gally didn't have an immediate answer. His mouth twitched into the faintest hint of a smirk. "Maybe." Then he slipped out into the hallway, pulling the door nearly closed behind him.
----
The pounding in Minho's skull was the first thing he noticed the next morning.
The second was how dry his mouth felt.
He groaned, dragging an arm over his face before forcing one eye open. The morning light spilled through the window, making his headache throb even harder. On the small table beside his bed sat a glass of water. He stared at it for a long moment.
Then, piece by piece, the memories of the night before came rushing back.
The bonfire.
Falling over.
Gally carrying him across the Glade.
Trying to kiss him.
The question he'd asked.
Maybe.
Minho buried his face in his hands.
"...Shuck."
Heat flooded his face despite the pounding in his head.
Oh God.
He was in love with Gally.