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The Glade was loud, as per usual for these monthly social gatherings.
A new greenie had arrived that day, terrified and confused like every other greenie before him. Though, both feelings seemed to have settled by the time they were all sat round the fire. Smoke filled the air, yet nobody minded. The smell wasn’t rare and the gladers had all gotten used to it by now.
Most people were louder than usual thanks to what Minho could only call the most vile drink a person could ever taste, which of course Gally had been making over the months and brought there.
Minho didn’t often drink. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he did. He would kill to forget about the Maze for a few hours, to socialise. But if he did that every time he’d had a long day, he’d probably be considered an alcoholic.
Besides, it would be irresponsible for the keeper of the runners to be hungover. It would be irresponsible for any runners to get drunk tonight, but if they wanted to run with their head feeling like it was being crushed, then so be it. They couldn’t say Minho didn’t warn them.
One of the older gladers was trying to convince some newer members of the glade that he’d gotten a scar on his knee from a griever attack. Simply, that wasn’t true. Newt had pointed out it was from a chicken, which caused some laughter and then conversation. The newest greenie, still amazed by everything, had asked how Alby got a scar on his hand, and then the conversation shifted sharing stories behind scars.
Frypan showed a small scar on his hand from a hot pan, one of the builders showed a scar from a nail catching the side of his hand, some runners even tried to brag about their scars from the Maze walls.
For once, Minho felt at ease. So at ease that he didn’t notice the greenie watching him as he stretched his arms over his head, feeling the satisfaction of easing his aching back and shoulders after a long day.
“Oh.” The greenie mumbled, not drawing much attention than the people besides him. “You’ve got a big scar.”
A thick, long scar from the bottom of his rib to his hip, and despite the fact the scar was fully covered by his shirt unless he lifted his arms up (which he done to stretch) you could tell from a quick glance it was deep and lengthy. Instinctively, he tugged down his shirt to cover it. It wasn’t insecurity, but instead it was habit. Minho wasn’t too sure why, maybe because he didn’t like the memories associated with it or because it made him feel weak.
“You know, runner stuff.” He spoke, trying to not reveal much. If he made himself seem boring, the attention might be drawn away from him.
Someone else piped up, curious. “How, though? Maze walls, griever attack, something else?”
Minho shifted. He didn’t answer, just looked at the fire and thought to himself, as if he was reliving the moment. He tried to keep the smile on his face, but it definitely faded.
He still felt the ache at night when he tried to sleep.
He remembered being crowded over, someone putting pressure on it to try and stop the bleeding.
He remembered trying to make a joke, but the pain being so unbearable he couldn’t finish his sentence, just mumble nonsense to himself nobody else seemed to understand.
He remembered trying not to yell, because Minho was meant to be calm, and he wasn’t about to make a fuss over a stupid cut that was his own stupid fault.
He remembered-
“Yeah, well.” Gally, spoke suddenly, loud enough to catch everyone’s attention and break Minho’s train of thought. And as he spoke, people’s heads snapped around to him. “I knocked myself out once.”
“You never told us that.” One of the builders mentioned and Gally shrugged him off, trying to make it seem like it wasn’t a big deal, but he knew that was draw more attention and interest. It was almost like Gally knew what he was doing.
“’Cause it was embarrassing.” He sighed, and Minho looked at him with surprise. “Fell off a ladder, beam fell with me and knocked me out. Woke up to Alby stood over me.”
Alby seemed to realise what was happening and went along with the story. “Thought we lost out keeper of builders for two whole minutes” He chuckled. “Though, at the time there was very few of us, so it was more like our only builder.”
People laughed, made jokes, mocked Gally. Honestly, Gally’s sentence originally left his mouth on instinct. Only then did Gally glance over to Minho, seeing him smile again, and then he realised why he’d done it. Somehow, Minho’s smile made the entire thing more worth it. Minho didn’t join along with the teasing or watch as someone laughed so hard they fell backwards; he was looking at Gally. And when they made eye contact, Gally gave him as small nod, as if reassuring him.
When the fire went out and everyone had gone to sleep, Gally was collecting the jars of alcohol that were still full, preparing to save them for next time. Familiar sounds from the Maze echoed through to the Glade, but it was nothing people weren’t used to.
Minho just sat there still, watching the builder tidy up even though everyone else had left.
“You made that story up.” Minho said, standing up to move and linger behind Gally.
Gally shook his head, clicking another lid into place and then scratching his nose. “No. It’s true. You were too busy running to know.”
Minho scoffed in disbelief. “Liar. You touched your face. You always do that whenever you lie.” He continued to watch Gally, not making an effort to help him. “You’ve never fallen off a ladder.”
Gally’s face shifted to something closer to a smile. “I haven’t.”
“And you’ve never been hit by a beam.”
“Nope.”
“And you’ve never gone unconscious.”
Gally hesitated, then smiled wider. “Does sleeping count?”
Minho seemed in thought. “So, you embarrassed yourself for no reason?” Then a pause. Somehow, he couldn’t control what he was saying, and the word just seemed to slip out. “Thanks.”
Gally shrugged, then stood up to take the jars to, well, wherever he kept them. It took a few seconds before Minho started jogging to catch up to him, once he finally reached his side, he took two jars from the top of the crate in Gally’s hands and started carrying them. “You know, they’re just going to ask next time, right?”
“Then next time I’ll tell them about the time Newt fell in the pig pen.”
The runner snorted. “He’s never going to go along with that.”
“Guess I’ll just have to push him in then.”
For the first time since he could remember, Minho laughed so hard his stomach hurt.
“There it is.” Gally muttered once Minho had calmed down.
Minho paused. “There what is?”
Gally hesitated. “...Never mind.”
Minho rolled his eyes, but the smile on his face remained.
This was the nicest thing Gally has done for him, and maybe he could get used to that.