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serenefreakgeekao3 · 25 days

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Apricity

[Table of Contents]

CHAPTER SIX, Preparation

Week 4

Step One: Be inconspicuous.

You step out of the Medjack hut, blinking your eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness of the night. You hadn’t realised you’d been in the hut for so long, assuming only a few hours as Clint had said. Minho notices your confusion, leaning in to quietly inform you that your swelling might’ve taken a little longer to go down than originally anticipated. The comment about calming everyone down seemed to make a little more sense now than it did inside the building. You walk forward, relying on the cane heavily, and begin to wonder how long your ankle will take to heal. You’ll need to be able to run for your plan, so you have at least as long as it takes to heal to prepare.

You realise that Minho has been herding you toward the outdoor dining area- and it’s becoming increasingly apparent that this is the hangout spot for most of the Gladers, including you and your friends. You scan the crowd around the table, half of them sitting while the other half hover nearby- Thomas sitting on the table itself with his feet on the seat, and Newt sitting with his back against the table on the bench next to him. They’re facing each other, Newt’s arm resting on Thomas’ thigh, and seem to be speaking seriously to each other from the looks on their faces.

“Too distracted to notice the object of your affections approaches?” Minho interrupts their private conversation with his loud, boisterous voice, which causes both men to turn suddenly, their eyes skipping over him and landing on you. They both look at a loss for words, before Minho steps between their eyes and yourself, playing on his theatrics some more. “Don’t worry boys, I’m right here! No need to cry yourselves to sleep tonight.”

Thomas, always so single-minded in his thoughts, immediately pushes to a stand and circles around Minho to get closer to you. His eyes stray nowhere toward your cane or wrapped ankle, staring into your eyes as he reaches for your free hand, taking it with an almost anxious energy. “Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” You begin, laughing as you watch Newt circle Minho’s other side, his eyes scanning you up and down and lingering on your ankle and new cane. “I promise, I’m completely fine. They just had to ice my ankle a bit so the swelling would go down, and then he wrapped it.” You study Newt’s sudden focus, seemingly staring at the cane in your hand more than your actual injury. Thomas gets your attention back with his voice once again.

“Are you sure that’s all it is? Clint wouldn’t let us in to see you, even after I offered to help him out.” You laugh at this, shaking your head toward Thomas with a smile.

“You’re a runner, Tommy, not a Medjack. I think Clint knows what he’s doing.” Thomas sighs, running an agitated hand through his hair.

“Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Uh- I’m right here guys?” Minho pipes up finally, and you look at him standing between Newt and Thomas with an amused expression. He has his injured and newly wrapped arm up in the air, waving it around for emphasis. “Your actually injured friend, who was bleeding to death about five minutes ago? Hello?”

Thomas huffs a laugh, shaking his head with mirth as he faces Minho with a smirk. “We knew you would be okay. You injure yourself every other day!” You furrow your brows, looking at Minho, though you’re surprised when he doesn’t deny it. Was he really so careless? Was that where he went to when he disappeared through the day? Your eyes are slowly drawn back to Newt, who is still staring down at the cane in your hand. You follow his gaze, your own eyes studying the cane. Was there something about it that offended him?

The memory catches you off-guard as it pops into your head so suddenly- the fall that Newt took, and consequentially his injury from that. Was this the cane he had used to learn how to walk again? Suddenly, the thought of using this cane filled you both with a sense of unease, but also a strange sense of comfort that you’re holding what helped Newt to heal. You stare down at the smooth stick in your hand, wondering if it had just so happened to be the right size and shape, and then Newt’s grip on it over time just smoothed it to this shine? It was a ridiculous thought, Gally probably used sandpaper on it at some point. But the thought of Newt’s touch being all over this was nice.

You take a hesitant step closer to Newt, shaking him out of his thoughts as the cane moves out of his direct line of sight. He blinks as if coming back to himself, and you lean closer to him while you mildly hear Thomas and Minho bickering next to you. “I’m okay, you know.” You smile at Newt as he finally meets your eyes, trying to give an encouraging nod. “I just slipped a little, but I’m fine. Just gonna be walking funny for the next week.” He gives you a peculiar look, one that likely translates to his own injury and some pointless linking of the two events, until suddenly Minho appears between the two of you. He wraps an arm around Newt’s shoulders, somehow pulling him from his thought spiral- Newt even smiles just slightly at the jostling that Minho supplies.

“What is it with you two and ignoring me today? I’ve been wounded! Don’t you care!” His last sentence was yelled out more as an exclamation than a question, causing the three of you to laugh at his antics. You were appreciative of Minho’s help- if you were anyone else you might just think he was always oblivious and boisterous in a way that he didn’t realize was disrupting. In actuality- knowing of him from books and movies and not just from the few weeks you’ve known him in person- you knew he had a particular knack for noticing when people were feeling a certain way, and was happy to play clown if it meant taking someone’s mind off of things for awhile. He had this way of reading people, especially Thomas and Newt, that you envied. Although with the more often occurring looks that he shoots you, you wonder if he can’t read you at all.

Step Two: Gather supplies.

You were given leave from your job to focus on healing. Which meant a lot of sitting around, staring at people doing their work and feeling antsy to help out. This also gave you plenty of time to stew in your plans, picking them apart piece by piece and thinking up excuses or safety measures for each part. Besides the main goal of actually killing the thing, you had one part of the plan that just wouldn’t seem to fit itself into place. It has you awake tonight, laying in bed and staring at the darkened ceiling above you, listening to the breaths and snores and mumbles of the Gladers around you.

How were you going to get into the Runner’s shed? You obviously had to, that much was for certain. Firstly, they had the running shoes. The good ones, shoes that aren’t falling apart on your feet like your current ones already are. They also had the majority of the paper and pens, which would come in handy. Then, there was the major thing; the map of the maze. You weren’t exactly sure you could memorize the whole thing, or even make a sketch in quick enough time before being noticed missing, but at least taking a look out which gate you’ll be exiting might help.

You turn over on your pad, looking at the barely-covered back of Thomas as he sleeps quietly next to you. It’s almost surprising he’s not a snorer to you- you’re unsure why, he just seemed like the sort. But considering the events of the book series, you suppose it's a good thing that neither Thomas nor Newt were particularly loud sleepers. You wonder for a bit if Minho is- which is when the thought finally comes to you. You sit up quickly, glancing around the dark space looking for him. After all this time spent here, you still have no clue where exactly Minho sleeps, or even if he’s on a bedpad or a hammock. But, this might be the chance you were waiting for.

It’s been a few days since your injury, but your ankle still smarts as you stand without the cane, slowly looking around for Minho’s head. You take a few careful steps, wincing in pain every time you need to use your right foot, but keep your head on a swivel. That’s when you finally see him, sleeping near the middle of the crowd of Gladers in a hammock. You take your time as you make your way over to him, scanning the area surrounding him for some sort of bag or box that might denote his belongings. Your heart sinks as you get close enough to find that his bag is in his hammock with him, laying like a pillow for his feet.

‘Where is that key…’ You wonder to yourself, then begin scanning his form and what you can see of his bag for something that might show what you’re looking for. You’re about to give up- you couldn’t just dig your hand around in his clothing or bag blindly without him noticing- when you finally spot a glint of metal poking from one of his pockets. You glance at Minho’s sleeping face, taking a deep breath and slowly inching your hand closer, gently tugging the metal out of his pocket. You were right, it was a key! Hopefully, it was the key to the Runner’s hut, but you couldn’t exactly know without testing it.

And you couldn’t just keep the key for yourself, considering he goes to the hut first thing in the morning before his run. You curse inwardly as you stare at the key in your hand, biting your lip. You hadn’t exactly planned to be doing this immediately, but you knew you weren’t likely to get another shot like this. You pocket the key as you stare at Minho’s sleeping form once again, promising to return it soon. Turning, you gently pick your way through the crowd of Gladers until you break from the sleeping area, free to walk along the grass.

You want to jog or run- do anything to make this process go faster, but your ankle is still killing you and you don’t want to risk going back to fetch your cane. It takes some time, but eventually, you make it to the small hut in the centre of the Glade, tucked away slightly by a few stray trees from the Deadhead. You shakily pull the key from your pocket, lining it up to the hole in the doorway. You take one last glance around, then stick the key in and turn.

You hear a click as the key does the trick, unlocking the door in front of you. You push the door open, leaving the key in its keyhole as you take a few slow steps inside. All things considered, the hut is just as small on the inside as it looks from the outside- made worse by the large circular table taking up the centre of the room. The table holding the meticulously placed sticks that make up the map of the maze. Your eyes scan over it quickly, a vision of the movie playing before your eyes before you flash back to reality. It's larger in person than you thought it would be, and yet looking inside at the thin walls they have laid out to mock the large stone pillars surrounding you- it’s overwhelming suddenly. You stare at this map in horror- you’re surrounded by layers upon layers upon layers of harsh stone, and yet the runners somehow were able to map the entirety of it out, down to the outskirts.

You’re finally able to tear your gaze away, though you don’t have to look too far to see notes upon notes piled along the table’s edge, and as you grab a couple you notice even more hung along the wall. The papers you hold are labelled for certain days of the week, with lines drawn randomly across the sheets- some papers being held together by some glue-like substance to extend the paper’s reach. You take your time studying the papers in your hands and finally notice the numbers in the corners. Slowly, you take Wednesday’s paper and line it up with the corresponding number on the map. You suck in a breath, as suddenly the walls are changed by the lines of the paper- this was how they were doing it.

The maze changes every day, that was Minho’s entire problem with making this map himself. They seemed to have found a solution to that within the last five years- not only do they have the entire maze mapped out, but they have addendums in place for each subtle change every day. You’re placing different days down on the map, shaking your head at the overflow of information being poured out at you. You weren’t even sure you could memorize the one map, now it’s all of them?

Your eyes slowly glance up and notice a bundle of papers on the wall right next to the door. Tilting your head, you realize it looks familiar, though it’s nothing you’ve ever seen in the movies or read from the books. No… This is what they would imagine a calendar to look like. You place the papers in your hands down, approaching the calendar and studying it closely. There are marks through the days that have passed- not big exaggerated slashes, but enough to know what day it was.

It’s Monday- or, rather, Tuesday you suppose, considering the late hour. Your hand traces the small marks and acronyms along the page, each one meaning something special to the Runners that you have no idea how to comprehend. Your finger drags slowly across the next few days, with no marks along to note anything happening. Your finger stops on the 30th, this Thursday.

You flip the page, expecting the next month to be listed, but it's just the previous month instead. As you flip back more pages, you realise this calendar has been going on for years- likely just adding a new page the next time the month renews. You wonder why they haven’t prepped any extra months in advance, then wonder if it was some notion of hope for freedom. At this you take in a deep breath, fingers tracing across the page. Then another memory comes to you- one more recent and from your current reality.

“So what job am I working?” You asked, ready and eager to help out- to prove yourself if you must. You hesitate at Thomas’ laugh, freezing as you wonder what you said to make him laugh like that. Did he think you were lazy?

“Oh, don’t get too carried away now,” Newt speaks up instead, and you turn an uneasy look toward him as he walks over, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “Today’s a light day on the work front- it’s Bonfire Night.”

“Bonfire Night?” You question, glancing slowly back to Thomas as he finally regains control of himself.

“Yeah, no, sorry- that wasn’t that funny I don’t know why I laughed that hard.” Thomas apologises, waving his hands dismissively. “Yeah, it’s Bonfire Night. No one worries about work on Bonfire Night.”

“Speak for yourself,” Chuck mumbles, elbowing Thomas out of his way to be included in your little group. You smile down at the young boy- you think you might be starting to like this one. “But as the glader of honour, you especially can’t work, though. Not until tomorrow- oh!”

“And what he means to say-” Newt interrupts quickly, shooting Chuck a smirk as he pouts from being interrupted. “The Bonfire Night happens the first of every month. They used to be a celebration of the arrival of new Gladers, but we’ve already told you that that’s been dying down. So instead we just throw the party for ourselves.”

“Work for twenty-nine days, and party hard for the last day!” Thomas insists, his grin large as he pumps an arm into the air. You laugh at his bombastic nature, tilting your head.

“Well, technically it’d be the first day.” Newt’s challenge causes you to laugh as Thomas playfully deflates, but you notice he can’t keep the smile off of his face as he stares into Newt’s eyes. You glance between them back and forth, noticing something in the air between them.

“So, anyway, if you’re wondering about what job you’ll be doing tomorrow, why not try out the Sloppers?” Chuck’s enthusiastic voice pops in, interrupting whatever moment was happening just next to you, and you take in a deep breath as you look down at him. With a smile, you chuckle, reaching a hand out to mess with his hair.

“Yeah, sure, kid. Let’s do that.”

Bonfire Night.

Your finger drags across the number 30 to the blank square next to it, tapping on the day. Friday night, bonfire night. If you’re quick enough- if you’re quiet enough- then maybe they won’t even notice your disappearance. That gives you until the end of the week to get your ankle into running shape. The hard part is out of the way already, being inside the Runner’s hut means you can gather the majority of the supplies you’ll need for that night. The last thing you need to worry about now would be getting ahold of some Grief Serum.

With a date set, you turn back toward the map with more determination. You place all the papers but a few back where you found them, laying out Friday’s map across the spikes of the pretend walls. It looks like the east and west gates will be open that day, and you bite your lip, glancing out of the door to look at either of them. You leave the door open, realizing the only light you’re reading by is from the artificial moon above you. You decide to leave through the western gate, the one right next to the Deadheads. Gladers don’t go in there very often, it’ll be easy to hide your bag of supplies there until the end of the week.

You take longer than you would like to study the map. You find what markers meant what traps, and find a few stone-crushing traps that could work to crush a Griever if you timed them just right. Dropping them off of a cliff wouldn’t help, you needed their stinger. You huff a sigh, then grab a piece of paper and begin drawing a very rough, very basic image of just inside the western gate. You needed to at least get there without getting lost. If you could secure the stinger, even if you didn’t make it back-

You stop that train of thought with a huff, shaking your head and folding up the paper you drew on, sliding it into a pocket. You replace Friday’s papers where they go, then take a long look around the rest of the hut. The extra supplies were stuffed on a shelf in the back, practically forgotten. Hopefully, they weren’t taking inventory often and you could use that to your advantage.

You find a sack backpack and a pair of shoes your size, as well as a few blank pieces of parchment, a pencil, a canteen that you’ll need to fill with water, and finally you find a watch that seems to still work. You watch the time ticking away, wishing you could just wear this from now on, but knowing it would be conspicuous. It would be nice to know the exact time whenever you wanted to know, though. Sighing, you pocket that, and everything else, into the bag. Scanning the shelves, it doesn’t look like anything else could be of use to you.

You close and lock the Runner’s shed behind you, heading along the edge of the Deadheads toward the Western Gate. You get as close to the wall as you can, then walk three trees inside the woods. You find a nice crevice between a few tree roots, pulling some dirt out and burying the bag there. Sighing, now that that’s hidden away, you thought you’d feel a sense of ease for not having the contraband on you anymore. If anything, it’s like a weight settling on your shoulders now, a grief that you can’t share with anyone. You make sure to brush your hands clean and pick the dirt from your fingernails on your limped walk back to the sleeping area.

Your eyes are heavy, having supposed to be asleep hours ago. Perhaps more, now, considering you really didn’t know how long you’ve been in the Runner’s hut. At least you didn’t have work in the morning, you tried to reassure yourself, taking your ankle into account. You manage to carefully step your way back to Minho’s hammock without stepping on any stray hands or feet, considering that an accomplishment. Your eyes are heavy, your ankle hurts, and your weight shifts just so while you’re sliding the key back into his pocket. Pain flares up your leg- just the same as before when you fell- and you attempt to muffle your cry of pain as you fall forward, losing balance.

“Hey, what-” Minho wakes up quickly, though unsurprisingly considering you fell on top of him.

“Shuck, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“[Y/N?]” Minho’s voice is rough and sleepy, but he manages to blink his eyes wide enough to see you leaning against his hammock, making it tilt dangerously to one side. “What happened, are you okay?”

“Yeah, no, I’m fine, just my ankle-” You hiss out in pain as you reach down, prodding the bandage with your finger. “Shuck, sorry, I didn’t mean to fall on you at all.” Your eyes land on his form, scanning quickly. You see the edge of the key peeking out of his pocket- at least you managed to put it back before rudely waking him up. Minho pushes himself up to what could be called sitting if it wasn’t in a hammock.

“Hold up, let me-” He swings his legs around, getting out of the hammock and letting the fabric flop uselessly beside the two of you. He turns to you, concern etching across his face. “What were you getting up for? You know that Newt and Thomas would run to grab you anything, even in the dead of night?” He turns quickly at this, scanning across the way as if to assure himself that both of the boys are still there. You watch his shoulders relax slightly once he notices them sleeping peacefully, turning toward you with a confused expression.

“I- I know,” You stutter out, your mind running a mile a minute. “But I couldn’t wake them for this, I-” You hesitate at this, your brow furrowing with panic. Of all the excuses you’ve planned out, you never expected to be in this situation. You begin ranting quietly and quickly, hoping something that makes sense comes out. “My ankle was just throbbing really badly- like it really hurts- and I wanted an ice pack. And I know I could’ve sent them to go get it, but I didn’t want to wake them, I mean it’s Tommy’s last day of work before his day off so he needs the sleep. And of course, Newt always needs his sleep. He’s running around constantly trying to take care of whatever Alby can’t get to. Plus, my foot is all wrapped up and I didn’t want to make it wet with the ice pack and mess it up, so I thought I could go over there without disturbing anyone and unwrap and ice it and then maybe find a fresh one and wrap it up and-”

“Okay, okay” Minho holds his hands out, begging you to calm down with his expression and gestures. “Just, take a breath for me for a second, okay?” You nod, taking a deep breath and trying to calm your racing heart. He’s studying you closely, you can tell even if his face doesn’t show the concentration, and you hope he doesn’t see past your lie. He huffs out a sigh, dropping his hands. “And when you got there, and found out the Medjack hut is locked, what would you do then?”

You freeze at this, wondering if you’ve been caught out. Though he doesn’t look suspicious or blameful, so you take another breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t know? I guess I would’ve walked over there for no reason.” Minho huffs out a quiet laugh at this, finally smiling and nodding toward you. He motions for you to follow him, then stops with concern etched across his face once more.

“Wait, where’s your cane?” You bite your lip, gesturing toward the sleeping area. He sighs theatrically, shaking his head. He mumbles something under his breath, and it takes you a moment to realize what he said. “Just as stubborn as he was.” Minho motions for you to stay, picking his way across the sleeping area not quite as carefully as you had. He takes up the cane, bringing it back over to you. The moment you rest your weight against it, you let out a long sigh. You really should’ve brought it with you on the little expedition you took, you hadn’t realized how badly it was hurting you. Minho’s voice is quiet and careful as he places a hand on your elbow, “Come on, I have a key to the Medjack hut. Let’s get you that ice pack.”

“You know, if you had woken Newt up, he could’ve gotten the key and the ice pack for you, and brought it over to you somewhere closer to the sleeping area so you wouldn’t have to walk on it for so long.”

You swallow roughly, shrugging a shoulder once Minho turns around from unlocking the door, holding it open for you. You limp forward, leaning heavily on your cane, and make your way to the closest cot to the door. You hop up onto it, your eyes immediately flicking to the cabinet with the Grief Serum but glancing away just as quickly. Leaning the cane against the side of the bed, you look up and watch as Minho makes his way over to the little storage area situated in the ground, pulling the trapdoor up and reaching inside.

“He barely gets any sleep as it is,” Your voice is quiet, mumbled really, but you know Minho is easily able to hear it in the silence that surrounds the two of you. He sighs as he pulls out an ice pack, closing the trapdoor softly and moving over to you. You pull your leg up onto the bed belatedly, reaching down to pull apart the bandages. Minho bats your hand out of the way, setting the ice pack on the bed and working on carefully undoing them himself.

“Yeah, ‘cause he worries about you lot.” Minho’s own voice is quiet, you hadn’t really heard him speak this way but for a few short and serious moments. They were few and far between, but you were always curious when they did pop up. It was as if he was showing you his real self instead of the front he puts up most of the time. Although, you couldn’t classify his playful side as a front in all honesty; every person is multifaceted.

“Yeah,” You agree with a wince, causing him to glance up at you before looking back at what he’s doing. “He’s always so worried about the Glade, even when Alby-”

“I wasn’t talking about the Glade.” Minho’s interruption was just as gentle as his hands, talking softly but full of care. He pauses his hands, looking up at you with a serious look. “You lot. Thomas, Chuck, even Gally. And now you.” He lowers his gaze to your ankle again, pulling the bandage more gently now that he is peeling it from your skin.

“He worries about you too, Minho.” You didn’t know why you felt the need to say this, but you watched a small smile grow across his face. Then, you realize that you fully admitted he was right when saying that. You hadn’t even bothered to deny the notion.

“I know he worries about me. But I’m the least of his concern.” He pulls the old bandages up, placing the ice pack on your ankle before beginning to inspect them. “You were right before though, you definitely need new bandages.”

“And how did you get so good at Medjacking, then?” Minho’s smirk grows, giving you a side-eye.

“I get injured pretty often.”

“Ah. So plenty reason for Newt to worry, then.” Minho’s small falls slightly, just enough for his expression to turn serious once more as he turns to face you.

“But I heal just as quickly.” He circles the bed, standing next to you and looking into your eyes as if searching for something. “I’m his friend, sure. And he worries about his friends. But he worries about you more.” You’re already shaking your head, ready to deny it when he interrupts you, lifting a hand as if to pause you. “Don’t deny it. I know you see it just as much as I do. The way he acts and caters to you.” Minho drops his hand and is quiet for a moment before he finally whispers, “Just like he is with Thomas,” Then begins to walk over to the wash basin for the Medjacks. It’s currently empty, but he lays the dirty bandages inside, moving to go grab some fresh ones. You’re quiet as you watch him walk, only speaking up once he has them in hand and is moving back toward you.

“Is there a point you’re trying to make?” You huff out a sigh, shaking your head. “Everyone keeps telling me how Newt treats me special. Keeps equating me to Tommy- which they shouldn’t. I’m not like Tommy. I’m-” You huff out again, your eyes scanning the room around you as you try to think up the words to finish the sentence, even though they refuse to come to you.

“They’re saying it because it’s true, obviously.” Minho snarks, smirking at you as he takes a seat on the bed next to your iced ankle. “If I’m saying it, then you know it's serious.” You just set a glare on him, feeling tired still. The pain and falling onto Minho had filled you with adrenaline earlier, but the tiredness from your lack of sleep was catching up to you. Minho’s face gentles as he notices this, placing a hand on your leg. “Look, the point I’m making is that Newt has sunk a lot of his feelings into you. And that’s not a bad thing. So long as you feel the same way.” He ends his sentence like a statement, but you see the question mark in his eyes. You take a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

“He,” Your voice cracks and you clear it, but you can’t manage to get your voice to go above a whisper. “There’s nothing for me there. I’m not like Tommy.” You say it with more emphasis, begging him to understand with your eyes. You see confusion cross his face for a few moments before it clears like he finally realizes what you’re saying. He looks away, chewing on his lip and messing with the bandages in his hand. When he speaks, his voice startles you, having been silent for a good few minutes.

“You know, Thomas always talks about you on our runs.” You furrow your brow, tilting your head as you stare at his side profile.

“What?”

“Well, he talks about a lot of things. That boy can talk, let me tell you. But he mostly talks about you. Or Newt.” He glances at you from the corner of his eye, then lowers his gaze down to the bandages he keeps unrolling and rerolling back up. “It used to be just Newt. But from the moment you came into the Glade, he can’t stop thinking about you. Worrying about you.” He laughs, shaking his head. “Man, the day after your Bonfire Night, you were the only thing he could think of. Only thing he talked about, for sure.” You don’t know what your face looks like as you take in this information, but whatever it is must’ve been funny from the laugh that Minho lets out when he finally looks back at you. “No, I’m serious!

“When we go out running, we don’t always stay together. We have certain paths we trace, different ways we need to explore and record and whatnot, but we generally all meet back up at different parts throughout the day, especially during lunch, everyone gets together for that one.” He shakes his head, looking off into space as he’s remembering. “I remember that day, though, specifically. Because he just wouldn’t shut up. ‘Do you think they’re taking to the new job well? I don’t think they’ll be a Slopper, do you think they’ll be a Slopper? I mean, it’s fine if they’re a Slopper, they can have any job they wanna have, obviously.’ Like, my man, shut up.”

You laugh finally at this, but the idea of Thomas thinking of you like that- so often, and so early on?- was enough to have your brain freeze on the spot. Thomas? Really? Although, he hasn’t exactly made any attempt to hide his curiosity of you, even going so far as to ask a million questions the second week you were off work. The third day off you guys shared was once again full of play, relaxation, but none of the serious talk. It almost felt as if he was scared to bring up anything serious like that again. You wondered why, but you had a pretty good inkling it might’ve been the slight shyness you’d felt after remembering everyone and where they’re from. You still wished you could tell him something to explain that away, but nothing felt right when you tried to come up with the correct lie. Maybe you just didn’t want to lie to Thomas.

“Anyway, we’ve been putting up with it. I mean, how could you not? Thomas is so single-minded, even if we screamed about another topic at him, he still wouldn’t shut up. Unless it was another thing he cared about. One time I got him to finally stop worrying about who you were hanging out with by asking him if Newt was going to be hosting Gally’s surprise party.” You perk your ears, tilting your head at this news.

“Surprise party?”

“Not the point,” Minho holds out a finger toward you, exasperation clear on his face. “The point is that Thomas likes you also. As much as Newt does, I’d bet.” You furrow your brows as you try to understand this thought. The words weren’t hard to understand, true, but the concept that Thomas might like you as much as he likes Newt? You’ve seen the way he looks at the man, how could that be possible? You bite your lip in doubt, but Minho ploughs forward. “In fact, he’s one of my best friends too, right alongside Newt. So I’ll say the same thing as I did before. He feels a crap ton about you, which is fine. That’s all dandy, as long as you feel the same way.” He sighs, staring directly into your eyes as if he can pull the truth from them himself. “I just don’t want this to go on for too long if you don’t have plans to reciprocate those feelings. You guys move on your own terms, sure, but-”

“What are you saying?” You couldn’t help but interrupt, your breathing speeding up as realisation is slowly coming to you. “That- What, that Newt and Thomas both have feelings for me?”

“Well,” Minho winces, looking away finally as if trying to come up with an excuse for his argument. “I mean, feelings is a very general term, so yeah, sure. Feelings. I won’t specify which ones, but strong feelings, yeah.” You scoff, then begin laughing, shaking your head.

“No, no. That’s not possible.” You continue to shake your head in disbelief, staring at him with wide eyes. “No, ‘cause I’ve only been here a month so far. They can’t-” You change direction, throwing a hand out toward him. “Everyone always says they feel some sort of way for each other. Even Gally compared the two of them to him and Ben!” Minho starts to chuckle, then nods slowly.

“I can see where he would get that notion, though Newt doesn’t quite move as fast as Gally does.” You blink a few times, watching Minho as he voluntarily brings up the context. “Oh, Gally was obsessed with Ben for a good few years before even talking properly to the man. Then he took another year before he finally asked him out.” Minho laughs, shaking his head. “Granted, Newt and Thomas hit it off immediately and have been friends the whole time. But they haven’t made an actual move yet, that I know of. Everyone knows they’re practically destined for each other, it’s a wonder why they aren’t making out at the seating area every day before the run.”

You continue to watch his little rant, nodding along. “Yeah. So, that, then. They like each other.” Minho turns to look at you with a look of disbelief mixed with annoyance. He sighs, leaning closer to you, placing a hand by your thigh to hold himself up.

“You must’ve missed what I said then. Newt and Thomas like you just as much as they like each other.” It was almost an impulse at this point, to start shaking your head in rejection of what he just said. He sighs, straightening back up and throwing his hands in the air in mock surrender. “I’m just calling it like I see it. But I feel like if you’re gonna listen to anyone about this, it should be me.” He hesitates, then wiggles his head back and forth. “Well, Newt and Thomas firstmost, but I doubt they’d make any moves considering their history. But me also. You know, I am their best friend.” You nod, conceding that point to him. Hell, they broke into Wicked’s main complex to spirit him away toward the end of their story, you already knew how they felt about each other.

The silence that surrounds you feels suffocating. It’s hard to accept they have feelings for you mainly because you know the type of risk that you’re plotting. Going out into the maze, killing a Griever? If they lo-... If they liked you as much as Minho was saying they did, then it added so much more risk to the operation. No, you just couldn’t accept that they felt that way about you. Because if it killed them to see you gone, then it would kill you just as much to walk away. Into that maze. You were already terrified for your own safety, you couldn’t take having this stacked on top of it.

“I don’t want to hurt them,” You whisper, and you glance up to see Minho’s surprised face as he turns to meet your eyes. It seems like he wasn’t expecting an answer. “I’m not saying I don’t feel the same way. I-” You sigh out, shaking your head, “I don’t know what I feel. But I can’t just choose between them.” You watch Minho’s surprise melt into a mix of sympathy and understanding. He only says two words, but it changes something in you as you hear it.

“Then don’t.”

#apricity #gender neutral reader #newt x thomas x reader #second person pov #mazerunner #fanfiction #minho & reader #chuck & reader

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serenefreakgeekao3 · 2 months

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Apricity

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[A/N] Ta da! The long awaited next chapter has finally arrived! If you need a refresher, feel free to check out the masterlist, which as a link to both Ao3 where this is published altogether, and links to each part of this story that I posted to tumblr. I hope the chapter lives up to the wait! This one tends to jump around to different scenes a lot more than the previous chapters, but i kinda intended it that way to show the confusion of remembering where you are, who you are, and perhaps even what is happening? I hope you all enjoy!

CHAPTER FOUR, Remembrance

Day Six-Eight, Monday-Wednesday

You gasped awake, clutching your chest and breathing heavily. Your eyes fly open only to meet a pair not too far from your own. Wide-eyed, anxious dark brown eyes stared back at you, the face of Thomas becoming clear. It was in such a similarity to what you had just seen, you feverishly flashed back to your dream. The image of Thomas running through the maze replays quickly behind your eyes, turning a corner and sprinting. He's panicking, looking both ways at another turn before dashing in a seemingly random direction. His face was frantic, and your mind filled with details that couldn't have possibly come from this scene. You knew Thomas was younger, by approximately five years. You knew he had worked for Wicked, and that he had betrayed them. You knew he was supposed to get out. In your memory, he did get out.

"Why are you here?" You're back in the present, gasping for breath and beholding a twenty-three-year-old Thomas, face visibly aged from before. Your brain flashes between the two again, and you shake your head in confusion. "You were supposed to be out. Five years ago, no, you left."

"[Y/N]?" He squeezed your shoulders and you came back to yourself slowly, feeling his hands resting there suddenly. "Wake up, it's just a nightmare." You couldn’t help your heaving breaths, trying your best to slow them down as you stared into his eyes. They weren’t quite as calming as Tommy probably hoped for, showing signs of panic and confusion, but just staring into his face was enough to finally remember where you were.

“Right,” You stutter out, nodding. You quickly take a look around, a few boys wiggling about as if to get comfortable, and you let out a long breath. Talking quietly, you turn to meet his eyes again, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” Tommy’s hands begin to rub up and down on your arms, trying to press into you some comfort.

“It’s okay. We all have those dreams sometimes. The walls closing in, yeah?” You’re silent for a moment too long perhaps, as Tommy stares into your eyes. The word ‘Wicked’ flies across your mind before you finally manage to supply a weak nod, letting him believe his own excuse. Thomas stares at you a moment longer before dropping his hands and moving to your left side which was usually left unoccupied. He plops down facing you, laying down as if to resume his sleep, though he refuses to close his eyes. You take one last deep breath before laying backwards slowly, your skin feeling ansty like you need to get up and go for a walk.

“Was I loud?”

“Not any louder than any other person who has had nightmares, here.” You nod, then let your head fall to the side to face him. He’s studying you intently, and you’re worried he’ll see right through you.

“Thanks for waking me.”

“Anytime.”

≣≣≣≣≣

“Heard you had a rough night last night?” The accented voice startled you, causing you to jump and accidentally clank your spoon against your breakfast bowl. His following laugh was soothing as he took the seat across from you, the light pink of the sunrise bathing him in a soft glow. His words catch up to you and you take a moment to look around, not spying Thomas nearby. “He’s still sleeping, if you’re wondering.” You meet his eyes again, tilting your head.

“If he’s sleeping then how-”

“Well, you do sleep right next to me.” At this you hesitate, then bite your lip and drop your gaze. You’d ended up unable to sleep after your nightmare but pretended to be long enough for Tommy to fall back asleep. When the first dregs of light had filled the space, you decided to get up, thinking about what you had dreamed about. It had felt so real, but it couldn’t have been, right? You’ve never seen Tommy look that young before, it just didn’t make sense.

“Sorry,” You mumble, stirring your breakfast around in circles. Frypan had been surprised to see you up so early, though he’d easily excused it since you’d woken up early the previous day for Cook training. You couldn’t help but feel grateful that people were able to come to their own, albeit wrong, conclusions. It left you able to think in peace.

“Don’t be, it’s fine. Nothing you could control, anyway.” Newt reaches a hand forward, a habit at this point that he’s likely unaware of, though you reach to take his hand all the same. His touch helped to ground you.

Wicked flashed across your mind’s eye once again, dark flashes of metal walls and blinking computer screens. The image of a girl. The face of Thomas behind his own screen, the glow lighting up his face eerily. An adult woman, blonde and regal, walking behind him a few steps. Panic lights up his face, panic lights up everyone’s faces- this wasn’t supposed to happen, they were supposed to be helping-

“[Y/N]?” You breathe in quickly, raising your gaze to Newt’s own.

“Yeah?”

“You okay there?” Newt is ducked his head now, worry evident in his eyes. His hand tightens his hold around your own, or perhaps he had earlier when you had zoned out. Everything felt so confusing right now.

“Yeah,” You stutter out, nodding and dropping the spoon into the bowl finally without a bite. “Just, hung up on that nightmare, I guess.” Your eyes slid away from Newt, over his shoulder toward the sleeping area. A couple of people were standing, one bent over someone toward the back of the area. If you weren’t mistaken, it looked like Minho was trying to wake up Thomas.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You feel a lump in your throat as you swallow, watching Tommy sit up, then look around his little area blearily. His hand patted the mat beside him- where you should’ve been- before his shoulders slumped. He’s facing the spot you had been lying until, with a burst of energy, he was pushing himself up to standing. Minho is there still, patting his back and talking to him, though they’re much too far away to hear any of it. Thomas’ words echoed back into your mind from earlier.

“Just the walls closing in, you know?” It’s hard to meet Newt’s eyes after the lie, but you force yourself to. You can tell he doesn’t quite believe it, but he doesn’t push you. Studying you, he nods very slowly.

“Yeah. The walls.” Minutes stretch by in silence as the Runners take their time getting breakfast, and neither Newt nor you have said anything before Thomas and Minho plop down next to the both of you. Thomas is unusually quiet, though he begins to stuff his face in a show of normalcy. Minho finally deigns to break the silence.

“So, last job training today, yeah?”

≣≣≣≣≣

"So you're a builder," You began, your tone indicating more ahead, though pausing as you glanced over toward Gally. You held a large slab of wood vertically, Gally holding a nail in the corner of his mouth while trying to angle his slab of smaller wood correctly. His expression as he glanced at you was filled with both incredulity, as if this was obvious, and apprehension.

"Yeah..." He drawled out around the nail, slightly mumbled. He focused back on his work as you turned your head to survey the area.

"It's just that you've been here, what, over five years?" You turn to look back at him, hearing his mumbled, 'Eight,' before continuing. "But Tommy mentioned that when he got here five years ago, those buildings," You nodded your head toward the homestead, kitchen, and MedJack hut, "Were already up and running."

"Oh, Tommy mentioned, did he?" Gally mumbled, distracted, before he plucked the nail from his mouth, holding it in place as he quickly retrieved his hammer from his belt, eyes focused. After three swings onto the nail, he finally responds, "Yeah, so?"

"So," You drawled out, attempting to hold the vertical wood steady under his heavy hits, "What exactly have you built this whole time? In five years?" You surveyed the area quickly before finally meeting his eyes. He finished his hammering, wiping sweat from his brow and moving his glare from the project to you. You try your best to project nonchalance, as if your dream last night wasn’t still weighing heavily on your mind.

"Are you assuming I do nothing with my time?" He huffs out, replacing the hammer in the tool belt where it belonged. You roll your eyes, attempting to gently lay the piece of wood down, Gally reaching out to help lower it.

"Not nothing. Just- there are no big projects at all? For a whole five years?" You shrug noncommittally, dusting your hands off by clapping and rubbing them together and refusing to meet his gaze.

"What, you want a rundown of every project I've done for the last five years?" You finally lift your gaze to meet his. He's wiping his own hands off on his pants, a permanent glare set to his face. Your gaze is challenging, and all you do is shrug in response. "Well fine. Five years ago we already had those outhouses by the Deadheads," He punctuated this by nodding his head, placing his hands on his hips, "But we built the other two about four years ago when our population grew.

"We've had to build more benches and tables as the need arose, and there hadn't been any for the TrackHoes over there." He nodded his head again, before finally breaking your locked eye contact to survey the Glade. "We do near constant repairs, and improved on the watchtower to make it safer." You nodded along as he spoke. Gally finally shrugs, huffing. "I don't know what you're expecting me to say, [Y/N]."

"Just- wonderin' if you had any actual big projects, I guess." You shrug, glancing around as you sigh, "Just seems like a lot of builders for such short projects. But it's fine-"

"Why do you want to know?" You met his gaze again, and he almost looked suspicious.

"I just- I want to feel helpful. Needed." You shrug again, feeling a bit self-conscious, "And it doesn't really seem like you need the extra help in the Builders." It was quiet for a while, almost too long, before Gally finally spoke.

"Fine. Follow me." He spun around on his heel, walking with long strides toward the Deadheads and you rushed to follow. You wondered why Gally relented so easily, but you weren't about to question it and have him change his mind. You passed by the pond, outhouses, and even father out. After passing the graveyard, which you had really only heard about but hadn't seen yet, you kept your attention focused on Gally and tried to keep up with him. He finally stopped near the corner of the giant walls, turning and crossing his arms as he faced you. "Can't have you freaking out if I show you this." You raise your hands in a placating gesture and he only sighs in response, nodding his head, "Well come over then." You approached, rounding a small hill, and tilted your head at the metal doors pressed against the side of the hill. Gally reaches forward, opens it and waves a hand in an, 'after you,' gesture. You're hesitant as you walk inside, stepping down the few steps made of pressed dirt.

The inside was just a large room with a single support pole in the centre. The floor was packed tightly, the walls supported with pieces of wood pressed in, the roof covered in support beams and thick pieces of rope running through them, holding unlit lanterns at different intervals. The floor was covered with a smattering of old boxes, holding what you assumed were supplies. You studied the layout a little more before realizing with a jolt that all the boxes were set up like tables, chairs, and benches- little groups of them huddled close to each other, some with pieces of cushion or blankets lying on top. This was obviously a bunker, but it also looked used. Not by the entire community, as it was obviously designed for, but perhaps by a few groups of people who just wanted to get away for a night. You weren't sure how you knew this so suddenly and with such clarity, but you didn't question it as you turned to face Gally. "This?" You studied his face, though you could see that he was doing the same back to you. "A bunker?"

"Of a sort," Gally mumbled, sighing and raising a hand to roughly rub his face. "I just," He began backing up until his knees hit the back of a nearby box, sitting heavily down on it as if he'd done this a million times and was sure of its support, "We were here for years. And- well, it was hard to keep morale up." He raised his eyes to meet yours, hesitant and unsure whether he should continue. You just watched quietly, not wanting to force whatever this was. He eventually continued, in a quieter voice. "About three years ago, I was lying in bed considering our circumstances. And I had this thought hit me out of nowhere," He mimed a punch to his head, opening his fist like an explosion, "And once it was there, in my head, it was like I couldn't get rid of it." Gally shook his head in a huff, gaze lowering to the ground, "What if the doors didn't close one night? What if those sounds that we hear," A shuddering breath is taken, and you can see real, looming fear take hold, "What if those Grievers, those things that have killed my friends, have free access to come into the Glade? To-" He cuts himself off, rubbing his hands on his pants, swallowing audibly. "Anyway, I decided a contingency plan was in order."

You finally lift your gaze from the anxious man, spinning slowly on your heel. Your eyes linger on the metal doors, flung open to let in what little light can bounce off of the giant walls directly across from the opening. The lump in your throat is back, images of the Griever you saw that first morning, mixed with images of different Grievers from a different time shredding into children as they tried to escape. The image of Ben, a Griever sting on his stomach swollen and red as he fought and fought against the hold of the Gladers popped into your head, and you turned quickly to meet Gally’s eyes again.

He was still studying you with a suspicious glare, so you measured your steps carefully as you moved closer to him, then sat gingerly next to him on the large box. Your hands lay flat on either side of you, raising your shoulders up around your ears and leaning back slightly. You’re quiet for a moment longer, choosing your words carefully before you finally nod toward the metal doors once more. “Think they’ll hold?” Gally feels just as free to sit in silence as you did before his whispered voice finally meets your ear.

“Honestly?” You turn to meet his gaze, his eyebrows finally raised and relaxed, though fear stark in his expression. “No,” The word is sobbed out, and suddenly he’s falling forward and resting his forehead against your shoulder, sobs wracking his body. You raise your arms quickly, encircling the man and applying pressure in hopes of soothing him. You rub his back gently, staring over his shoulder at a lightly swinging lantern. The candle looks half-burned, wax frozen in time as it melted down the side, little droplets of that same white wax clinging to the edges of the lantern. It swings, Gally sobs, and it swings-

Sirens, on and off blared as the swirling red lights reflected off of the metallic walls. Empty, aside from the blood. Aside from the group of teenagers edging their way slowly into the room. Bodies filled the floor- they’re not dead- as the computer screens blinked incoherent numbers. Thomas recognized the place, as well as Theresa. They stood behind their chairs, staring at each other over the middle console. Her voice begins to play in the background.

Speed, rushing, a flash-forward moment in time until someone else appeared at the door. Not the exit, but the entrance they had just come from. Gally, shaking and pale and trembling. A wickedly sharp dagger in hand, twisting it nervously. He says something and his body acts of its own accord. The dagger sails through the air.

Twisting and turning, over and over through the air before it sinks into flesh. Not Tommy’s flesh, where it had been aimed. Chuck is gurgling blood and falling to his knees and there’s so much noise but none at all and you shouldn’t be here, this shouldn’t be happening, but it should’ve already happened-

Gally pulls away from your embrace and you gasp in an uncontrollable breath. He’s studying you with intent. You’d say suspicion, but it’s not. Not anymore. You see the trust behind his eyes there, as he studies you now with confusion. Perhaps even worry. Then his mind seemed to drop whatever he had been thinking, turning his head away to roughly rub at his eyes. He clears his throat loudly, pushing himself to stand.

“I think that’s enough of a break for now. Let’s go finish up.”

≣≣≣≣≣

Lunch was nice, though plain. There was no meat in the meal today, though the way Fry had cooked the veggies made up for it. You were famished, having not eaten any of your breakfast before having a hard day’s work learning to be a builder. And you had hardly even worked, mainly watching the correct practices the majority of the time. However, you were used as an extra hand to hold something in place quite often. You were sure that if you kept this job, you’d build muscles in no time.

“How’s the job workin’ out for ya?” Newt asks, sliding into the seat next to you. You were eating at your normal table this time- something that was different than any of the other lunches you’ve had- and Gally was sitting across from you silently. His eyebrows had dropped down into his resting glare, and you were beginning to think that his reputation of being mean came solely from the way his face sat rather than actually performing any misdeeds. You let your gaze slide away from Gally easily, however, to meet Newt’s easy calm. There’s a tenseness to his shoulders that shows he’s holding something back, but you indulge his small talk.

“Good. Learning a lot.” You take another bite, smiling when Newt fully decides to sit sideways on the bench in an imitation of previous lunches, facing you completely.

“Learning a lot? Didn’t know you had it in you!” You laugh and shove at Newt playfully, unable to hold back a smile at the sound of Newt’s laugh. “So, you think you’ll be sticking there, then?” It wasn’t your voice that answered Newt, however.

“Yeah,” Gally pipes up without even looking at either of you, gathering a large bite at the end of his fork. “They’re well suited for the Builders. I think they’ll be staying.” You blink at this, uncertainty crossing your mind. You hadn’t realized that you were doing well, actually. There were plenty of times when you’d almost dropped what you were holding, or fumbled the tools when trying to hand them off to him. He raises his eyes to meet yours, and there’s an understanding there that shows he wasn’t just saying it for show.

“Really?” Newt’s questioning voice draws you back to him, and his smile is gentle but comforting. “What do you think? A good fit?” You stare into his eyes, watching his shoulders relax slowly as if some invisible weight has been lifted from his shoulders. Had he been worried if you would ever fit in? You let an easy smile cross your face, nodding before your words finally catch up.

“Yeah. I think we’ll get along just fine.”

≣≣≣≣≣

Bright, hazy light surrounds your form and the forms of those around you. Everything blurred together in an ultra-slow but altogether speedy fashion that could only be from a dreamlike state. You were curled up on your couch, a book spread across your lap. The Mazerunner, your favourite book. People flashed by in blurs- people you knew, or people you didn’t. Adults, children, dogs and birds and all different sorts. This was your reality, where you are from. This was the here and the now and there was nothing that could change that.

Until something did.

You raise your head in this dream-like state, confused. Images blurred across your vision, the afterimage of everything that moved remaining for a second longer before fading. You knew you were in a dream, which was the weirdest part. You see someone special to you- a close family or friend smiling down at you.

“It’ll be okay.”

“Where am I?” You question them, the book falling from your lap to the ground, the louder-than-normal slam echoing in the ethereal space around you. “Why am I here?” This question feels wrong as you say it, and before you know it, another question comes: “Why am I not here?”

“Everything will all be okay.” Your friend, or family, or the closest person to you, reach their hand out toward you. You feel an overwhelming need to take it. But you don’t.

“Why did this happen to me?” At this, you watch as their face falls, their expression drooping into pity.

“Because they need you.”

≣≣≣≣≣

Your eyes shoot open to darkness. Not silence, however, as the sound of multiple snores fills the air around you. Your eyes don’t take long to adjust, and reveal the ceiling above your little sleeping area. Your hands slowly inch outward, pressing against the pad under you and pushing in, feeling the give. Your other hand drags across the blanket you have slung across you- your own blanket, finally, after Newt had given it to you a few mornings ago- and feel the softness caressing your fingers. You take a deep breath, smelling earth and fire and the strangest smell of salt that comes from being near the giant walls.

You knew where you were.

Obviously, you found out when you had come up from the Box that first day, but now you knew. The memory of that hazy dream haunts you, and tears begin to fill your eyes. You weren’t supposed to be here. This was literally impossible. To somehow be transported from your safe, albeit perhaps boring, reality to this place you’ve only ever read about and dreamed of. To meet characters you had read frantically about, chasing them through their lives- even down to the end of them, in Newt’s case. You sniff loudly, letting the tears fall down your cheeks freely. What the hell has happened here?

You give yourself some time to grieve the life you’ve lost, before attempting a few deep breaths to recompose yourself. You sit up slowly, taking a look around your space with a new perspective. There were a few things now that struck you as odd, and you slowly realize that you’ve found it odd all along without knowing why. Firstly, there was a mix of both boys and girls in this lot. Secondly, there were far more Gladers here than in the books. Thirdly, their age. ‘Five years’ echoes in your mind, and it’s so incomprehensible. If you were teleported to the world of your favourite book series, wouldn’t it have made more sense to be inside one of the scenes, or perhaps brought up when Tommy was first brought up? Why has so much time passed? Why has Thomas not gotten them out yet?

Yesterday- Tuesday- had gone by in a haze of repetition from Monday. You were now solely a Builder, a fact that had taken most people by surprise when they’d finally heard the news. Thomas was happy, though you had seen him taking Gally aside for a private moment before you had gone to bed that night. Tuesday, Gally had admitted that Thomas asked him to go easy on you. Gally promised no such thing (though you couldn’t say he was rough- perhaps just treating you like any other Builder. You appreciated it).

You woke up on Wednesday, now- a full week since you first arrived in the Glade. A full week, and suddenly you remember every stark detail about your previous life. And, in turn, every stark detail about The Mazerunner and how nothing is as it should be. You press your hands flat against your bedpad once more, feeling the foam give under your hands to ground yourself back to reality. This reality, not the one where you should be. It was all so confusing.

You felt antsy like you needed to get up and move, like your skin was crawling and you couldn’t make it stop. You pushed yourself up to a stand, folding your blanket into a nice square and leaving it atop your pillow before carefully making your way away from the sleeping bodies surrounding you. You decided to take a long walk, matching your steps from that first morning. You approach the giant wall- visions playing in the back of your mind of what you had imagined when reading about them (they were so much bigger than you could’ve thought)- and let your hand begin to drag against it as you walk. The wall was rough as you moved, numbing your fingertips from the constant agitation.

You pass the Northern gate, tracing the thin line where the walls touch. Continuing on, you circle the farmlands. Around this spot was when you noticed the sunrise, the last time you took these steps. The light is nowhere to be seen as of right now. You continue to walk past the Eastern gate, barely paying mind to the line that had opened under your fingertips the last time, ending your journey. You continued forward, staring at the cows in the pasture to your right, smelling their manure. There was space between the fence for the pasture and the wall, filled with nothing but wild grass, and you assumed not many people walked this way. You left those animals behind to see the chicken coops, none of the chickens out pecking quite yet. You pass the corner of the giant walls and leave the pastures behind.

There’s a large space between the pastures and the Deadheads, like a nice runway for the Southern gate toward the Box in the middle of the entire Glade. You stop finally as your hand rests once again on the line between the two walls, staring intently into the middle of it. You wonder, briefly, which side of the walls had been opened when Alby and Minho had been late getting back that day- when Thomas had run into the maze. The first time anyone had survived a night in the maze. You wonder if that had ever happened- though you doubt it, considering that would’ve been when they killed the Griever and discovered its secret.

Your head tilts, questions swirling in circles. Why hadn’t anything happened? What would’ve kickstarted the entire thing? Thomas killing that Griever? No, because he was only in there after Alby sprained his ankle. Alby was only there to find Ben- who they had forced into the maze at night after he had been stung. Maybe that was the start- when Ben was stung and attacked Thomas. Would that start things now?

But, no. You weren’t willing to sacrifice Ben like that. Besides that, you don’t even know if he had been stung in the past or not. Perhaps Gally’s new love of Ben- which certainly hadn’t been featured in the books- kept Ben from being put into the maze if he had been stung? Maybe they waited it out until Wicked sent the serum, and that’s why everyone is okay now. It would’ve been years ago, it would be no wonder why no one would bother to think about that anymore. If it had even happened.

Light begins to surround you, pink lighting up the sky as you look up. You narrow your eyes, trying for the life of you to see if perhaps the sky above really isn’t a sky at all. There were plenty of differences between the books and the movies. There were plenty of differences between the both of those and your current reality as well. Loud clanging, grinding, stone-on-stone squealing fills the air as the door under your hand moves, and you let your hand fall to your side. You drop your gaze once more, watching the doors open. It doesn’t take long before you’re spinning, looking at the other three gates. It seemed today, only the Northern and Southern gates open.

Thinking back over the last week, different gates had been open every single day. Always two gates, but different variations of it- until Saturday, of course, when you had been frightened to witness all four doors open simultaneously. A fear had struck you that day until Thomas had shaken you from your panic, assuring you that everything was okay. You knew now why that fear had struck you- when the end had approached in the book and Wicked decided it was the end of the tests, they had opened all the Doors and left them open overnight. You let yourself be lulled into a sense of calm that day, but thinking back now, you were glad the doors had closed back shut that night.

You wonder, now, what Wicked must think of you. Did they know who you were? Was there some kind of lore in place that explains your presence, that perhaps you used to be down there working for them too? You spin slowly until you face the maze, staring inside and letting your eyes jump around for purchase on something. A tiny, blinking red light finally catches your attention. The bug skitters across the wall inside the maze, closer to you. Watching you.

No, you don’t think Wicked planned on you.

“[Y/N]!” You turn suddenly, seeing Minho wave, then jog to catch up to you. You make his way easier, beginning to walk to meet him halfway. He’s huffing from breathlessness but doesn’t seem tired as he arrives. “You really like giving those boys heart attacks, don’t you?”

“They worried I’m not in bed again?” You smile softly, though try to keep the awkwardness from your voice. You’re unsure how to interact with Minho now, knowing what you know. You try your best to reach for how you acted before- just yesterday, even.

“More like worried you weren’t eating breakfast, I think they’re used to you being an early riser at this point. I managed to convince them to sit down and wait for you but figured I might as well take a look around. What were you doing, anyway?” You shrug in response, throwing a hand over your shoulder toward the gate.

“Just watching the Doors open, again.” You begin your walk across the Glade, Minho keeping stride next to you. “They’re different every day, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” Minho agrees easily, looking over his shoulder toward the Southern Doors dramatically before looking back forward and knocking his shoulder against your own. “Don’t worry about them, though. We got it handled.”

“I know you do,” You reassure, shooting him a warm smile. “Which way do you plan to run today?”

“Northern,” Minho immediately pipes up, then gives an over-exaggerated shudder. “The Southern way gives me the creeps.” You bark out an unexpected laugh, knocking into Minho’s shoulder again for contact. The sound of your laugh draws attention from your boys, as Thomas and Newt look from their table over to you. Their instant smiles warm your heart, and you wonder how you were so lucky as to get accepted without issue into their lives. Sure, the books were based on them, but that didn’t mean they would automatically accept you when you came here. You begin to wonder why they had, why it had been so easy.

Was the magic that had somehow sent you here manipulating them into liking you?

‘Woah, bad rabbit hole there,’ You think to yourself, shaking that entire thought process away. The boys were in control of their own minds, obviously. Unless they were stung by Grievers, though you doubted that. As you took your seat next to Thomas- Minho taking his seat next to Newt- you immediately reach out and poke Thomas in the side. He burst out laughing, dodging away from your wiggling fingers.

“Woah, hey! No, stop that! What did I do?” You laugh, relenting, leaning on top of the table and smiling over to him.

“Nothing at all. Just felt like it.” Thomas makes a show of scooting further away from you, though Newt’s voice draws your attention.

“Woke up playful this morning?” You smile at him, reaching across the table and stretching out your hand. As if by impulse, Newt reaches his own hand onto the table, taking yours. “Or is Minho rubbing off on you?”

“Minho better not be-” Thomas began, causing Minho to yell out in offence.

“Hey! I’ll have you know-!” They begin to argue, talking over each other, before finally, Minho excuses himself. “Some of us have work to do, you know!” He called over his shoulder before dancing away from Thomas’ swatting arms, jogging off to the Northern Doors. Thomas plopped his butt right back down into his seat, close enough to you this time that his leg pressed against your own.

“Unfortunately,” Newt mumbles, slowly drawing his hand back from yours. “He’s right. So I have to go too.” His eyes flicker between you and Thomas, his shoulders relaxed. “Though, you’re both off today, so maybe-”

“Yeah!” Thomas pipes up quickly, interrupting Newt. He turns toward you, reaching with both hands to grab your arm closest to him. “We can hang out together finally! I hope you’re ready to not be rid of me for an entire day.”

“Sounds like a good deal to me,” You whisper, watching the light in his eyes grow into something you couldn’t quite describe. You were excited- you’d been waiting for this all week.

“Good luck,” Newt whispers into your ear as he passes, and you startle only slightly having not realized he had stood. Newt continues to walk by, taking his and Tommy’s trays back to the kitchen before heading off to his work. You smile at Tommy, letting yourself study his features. You could get lost in this, you knew.

≣≣≣≣≣

"Did you work for them?" The sun was harsh on your heads and glinted heavily in your eyes, causing little black specs to float around your vision. You took a deep gulp from your cup, trying to look upward toward Thomas, and squinting. He sat on the table, his feet resting on the seat to your left. You both were facing opposite ways as if watching each other's backs. After a full morning of play, you both had decided to rest for a bit in the dining area before lunch, grabbing cups of water to rehydrate. When you didn't answer, he continued to speak without meeting your eyes. "I know you know more than you let on." Thomas takes a deep breath, clutching his cup in a tighter grip. "I know because I've been through that same thing."

"You worked for them." It wasn't a question. Both because he had just confirmed it, and because you knew this to be true anyway. You had to be careful, though, how much you could reveal. You had to decide what you wanted him to think about you here- where you’re from, and if you worked with Wicked. You couldn’t see yourself stooping that low, though.

"I don't remember seeing you though," Thomas finally looked down at you, meeting your eyes, and you took a drink from your cup to hide your blushing cheeks. "I get flashes sometimes, especially when something similar happens here that had happened there. But nothing about you reminds me of anything. I don't remember you."

"I didn't work for them," You didn't mean for your voice to come out as a whisper, but you knew Thomas heard when he nodded once. "I know things, you're right. But I-" You hesitate, knowing the truth is more unbelievable than anything else, and finally settle on a half-truth. "I don't know how I ended up here." Thomas nodded again, finally letting his intense gaze move away from you. You watch him start to chug the water in his cup, his throat bobbing with the motion, and you know you should look away but you are almost mesmerized.

He was just so handsome. You remembered feeling enamoured by these characters in the books. Aliking it to a crush, how you felt about both Thomas and Newt. But you hadn’t really known them, you realize now. Only now, after you finally have been given the chance to actually know them. To learn their favourite colours and their mannerisms, and watching them be happy and gross and- watching them be real people. Now, you feel you can say, is when you actually feel like it's a crush.

Thomas lowers his cup and leans his head back, the sunlight glinting against his tan skin. Except, it’s not a crush now, is it? You were falling in love with the men you’ve only known for a week and you were helpless to stop it. And helpless to stop their story. That’s the thing, isn’t it? The story hasn’t begun yet, Theresa is nowhere to be seen and the sky is still lit up in blue and puffy white clouds. The doors continue to close, and the Gladers remain oblivious to the outside world.

“Tommy,” You whisper, and his head immediately jerks in your direction, worry crossing his features from the tone of your voice. He leans over, hunching over your frame to get closer. He’s paying attention, so you continue. “Do you ever think about getting out?” You’re studying his face, but it doesn’t change at all. Worried, confused, but steadfast. “About figuring out the whole puzzle and just leaving Wicked behind?”

“All the time,” Tommy whispers back, lifting himself from his place on the table to settle next to you on the bench. He reaches forward with both hands- always with both hands, he’s such a tactile person you’ve found out- and takes both of your own hands in his. He’s staring at your combined hands as he continues. “That’s why we still run. Minho almost gave up, a few years back. We don’t learn anything new, every day that we’re out there. But I always hope for something else, something that Wicked got wrong. Just one thing.” He squeezes your hands, and you can tell the unknown kills him. It kills you that you know, instead.

“If there was a way out-” You begin, so ready to pour your heart out to him, but he interrupts.

“There is.” He finally raises his gaze, meeting your eyes. “And I will find it. I’ll get us all out of here, [Y/N].”

And maybe he will, you finally decide. Maybe he can finally get everyone out of here. But you can no longer sit here in this Glade, knowing what you do, and just leave all these people here. Trapped. Isolated. No, you knew what you were going to do. You paste on a smile for Tommy, pulling him into a hug so he can’t see the decision slot into place. You knew what you were going to do- no, had to do.

You have to kill a Griever.

#apricity #newt x thomas x reader #reader pov #second person pov #gender neutral reader #fix it #aged up gladers #cannon typical violence #mazerunner

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