Maze Runner Imagines

Perfection

~-T-~

"Do you need any help with that?" You recognise his voice immediately, a smile spreading wide across your face at your best friend's voice.

"Sure, Minho! That would be great!" You respond, handing over a stack of wood, watching with secret admiration as his muscles flex in the process. Sometimes, you wish he felt for you the way that you do him, but you always push away the thought, a feeling of disappointment lingering in the depths of your stomach. Today is one of those days, when you realise how truly undesirable you are. Your mood deflates with the thought.

"Hey, Y/N what's wrong?" Concern fills his voice as he tosses the wood to the side. Tilting your chin up, he detects even the slightest change in your mood. He has always been good at that. He stares deeply into your eyes, trying to solve the riddle that is you. "Does someone need one of my famous hugs?" He jokes lightheartedly, pulling you in before waiting for your response. This is what you love about him. He's always there to cheer you up. He always seems to know exactly what you're thinking; what you're feeling, even before you know yourself. Except, however, the way your heart flutters and your stomach stirs when it comes to him. "Seriously, Y/N, what's up?" He whispers, gently stroking your hair in a comforting gesture.

His gentle warmth and obvious care for you makes you emotional, bringing tears to your eyes as you remind yourself that you will never be good enough for him; that he will never love you in that way. You sniffle into his chest, enjoying his height as you feel his heartbeat quicken its pace. "I just really miss remembering, you know?" The lie flies off your tongue easily; it's nothing you hadn't thought before. "It's so stupid. I mean, I don't even remember my old life, but I miss it." It's only a half lie. No matter how much you wish you could remember what your life was like before The Glade, you wouldn't change a thing that's happened. Without losing your memories, without The Glade, there would be no Minho, and you wouldn't trade him for anything the world could possibly offer.

He sighs, rubbing his hands up and down your arms before pulling away so that he could ponder your face. "Come on, Y/N. I hate to act like one of those shanks that don't care about anyone else's feelings, but there's nothing you can do about it. Those slinthead Creator shanks put us here, and until we find a way out of The Maze, there's nothing we can do about it. There's no point in crying over things we have no say over."

Totally, one hundred per cent, brutal, blunt honesty. That's what he gives you. You're not even slightly surprised at his honesty; in fact, you appreciate it. It distracts you from the crushing, devastating horror of unrequited love, and instead perks you up. He never fails to cheer you up.

"Come on," He holds his hand out towards you, "It's time for lunch." You grab his hand, and he leads the way. As you pass the builder's work space, you realise that you are not headed in the right direction for lunch. You had been too distracted admiring your small hand in his larger one, fitting together perfectly.

"Where are we going?" You ask curiously, not really caring. You are simply enjoying his company.

"I'll show you." He continues walking forward, you trailing slightly behind, hands still clasped together. You approach a small pond located in the forest of the Deadhead. The simplistic beauty of this place is enough to leave you speechless. "This is where I come to be alone." He starts, looking over the pond. "The boys rarely come here, it doesn't really interest them."

"I-it's beautiful, Minho. But why did you bring me here?" You ask, your curiosity bettering your desire to stand in silence and appreciate the full beauty of the place.

"I brought you here, because I wanted to show you the only thing I know of that is even half as beautiful as you." His words shock you, a smile accompanied by a flush of colour creep onto your face. "I want this to be our place, Y/N. I want this to be just for us. I want you to know how I feel about you."

"H-how do you feel about me?" You stutter, desperate to hear that he feels the same way.

"How abut I show you?" He smirks, cupping your face with his hands. "Can I kiss you?"

You gulp and nod your head slowly, not breaking eye contact as he leans in slowly. Your eyes close, and not a moment later his lips are upon yours in a sweet, tender embrace.

"I love you," He says, breaking away from the kiss.

"I love you too," You whisper, dragging him down and crashing his lips to yours; savouring your own sweet moment of perfection.