Subject A250: The Fangirl (COMPLETED)

Fifteen: Huddling and Cuddling

Her name was Ava? As in, Ava Paige?

Trace felt sick to her stomach. She was revolted, disgusted, and wanted nothing more than to crawl into a corner a wallow in her misery. But she couldn't. Not now. Not yet. She was about to survive a night in the maze; this was important. More important, even, than finding out her name.

Ava.

It felt wrong, even as she mouthed it to herself. It felt thick on her tongue. Like it didn't fit her. Like it never had. But she was sure of it; that was her name.

She wouldn't share it. She wouldn't tell the others. They didn't even know that she'd made the name 'Trace' up anyway. This would only confuse them more, and they really didn't need that right now. Not when Trace knew what was coming in the next few days. They needed to focus on that. That and nothing else.

So, she would wait. She would only tell them if the time was right. Only then would they know.

She hoped they'd never have to.

Eventually, Thomas' snivelling got too much for her, and she scooted over to him, placing her arm around his shoulders. He only cried harder, burying his face into her shoulder. Trace made a mental note to bottle the tears on her shirt and save them for later. They probably had magical properties. She could sell them in a tear shop, along with the many bottles of her own. In fact, she could probably stock a whole shop with her own tears alone. That being said, she highly doubted anyone would buy them, but it was a plausible plan for once all this was over.

"Can I get one of those?"

Trace had been so deep in thought about her future tear shop that she thought Minho wanted a bottle for himself. Then she saw the glitter of tears in his eyes and registered the overwhelming exhaustion on his face. It took her a few moments to realise that he was talking about joining the 'Tracemas' cuddle.

"Sure," she replied. "Just call me Keeper of the Cuddles."

"I won't be doing that."

But Minho crawled over to her, grimacing as his tired muscles strained against the effort, and pulled her arm over his shoulders in a mirror image to Thomas- minus the loud sobbing into her shoulder, of course.

They sat there for a while; Thomas ridding himself of the last of his sobs, Minho closing his eyes in pure exhaustion, and Trace staring into space, riddled with disbelief.

Eventually, after half an hour of silence, Thomas spoke.

"I can't believe we're still alive," he said, sitting up straight now and rubbing his eyes furiously. Trace removed her arm from around him.

Oh great, here comes the onslaught of questions, she thought to herself. Adrenaline was wearing off, and the pain in her side from falling onto the blades of the Griever was becoming more difficult to ignore; she was getting agitated.

"Are there more of them? Did we just kill them all?" he asked, directing his questions at Minho, who reluctantly opened his eyes and wriggled out of Trace's embrace, much to her dismay.

"Somehow we made it to sunrise, or we would've had ten more on our butts before long," he explained, readjusting his position and groaning with the effort. "I can't believe it. Seriously. We made it through the whole night—never been done before."

Trace had to prepare herself for the next few moments of conversation, as it included one of the quotes she admired so much.

"What did we do differently?" Thomas asked. Another question.