TMR Imagines and Preferences - Newt, Thomas, Minho, and Gally

He Gets Sick

Thomas: You waited at the doors with a broad smile on your face, waiting for Thomas to jog out of the opening and escort you for dinner as he did every day.

It would be a massive understatement to say that you didn't expect to see Minho dragging a nearly unconscious Thomas out of the maze. He was pale and barely moving, except for his head which was moving from side to side, and his mouth which was muttering incomprehensible things. The smile dropped from your face and you ran to Minho to see what was the matter.

"Woa, woa, slow down, greenie!" He said as you ran over, throwing questions at him. The med-jacks came over and took Thomas off of Minho and allowed him to explain what was happening. "We were running around in the maze, y'know, as runners do, when Thomas was all, 'Hey, let's stop for lunch!' and I was all 'Y'think it's gonna slow us down?' And Thomas was like-"

"Cut to the chase, Minho!" You demanded. Minho groaned and continued.

"His legs went to complete and total jelly in the middle of the run. I couldn't even get him to stand up right. It was pretty funny, actually, watching him wobble around." Minho chuckled. Without sparing Minho a thank you or a goodbye, you sprinted to the med-jack hut.

Thomas was completely dead.

Well, not actually dead, but dead in the sense that he wasn't capable of anything. When he mumbled things to himself, you were convinced that they were in another language altogether. Dark circles had formed around his eyes, and he looked incredibly disheveled. Sweat beaded on his forehead, which you found pretty strange, considering the fact that his face had no coloring whatsoever.

You were sitting at his side for at least two hours before he stirred, his eyes opening a fraction of a millimeter and he turned his head upward to look at you.

"What the hell... why am I..." he asked, barely able to form the words. You silenced him and explained that he had passed out in the middle of a run. He sighed and leaned back onto his pillow.

"Minho's gonna torture me for this." He muttered. You giggled and moved his hair out of his face.

"Don't worry about Minho. I'm just happy that you're okay."

Newt: As you sauntered through the gardens side by side, you noticed that Newt was more flustered and weak than usual. He struggled to walk in a straight line, the tools he carried shook in his hands, and he was clearly unable to finish a sentence without losing his train of thought. The strangest thing? He wasn't making eye contact with anyone. If there was one thing you knew about Newt, he took every opportunity he could to gaze into your eyes. There was something seriously wrong with your boyfriend.

"Newt, what's up with you today?" You wondered. Newt shook his head and held up a hand.

"I'm fine. I guess I just didn't get enough bloody sleep last night." He sighed. He turned back to the plants and started plucking them, one by one, off the vines.

Sweat began beading on his forehead until droplets of sweat were coating his skin. His breathing became ragged and heavy, as if bringing air into his lungs was a workout. You watched him carefully out of the corner of your eye.

After about an hour of working, he dropped his tools and collapsed without a word. You shrieked as you knelt at his side, cupping his face in your hands and shaking his head slightly. He didn't move, he didn't respond. He just laid there, in the grass, unconscious.

Clint and Jeff, upon hearing your shriek, ran over and picked up the keeper. They carried him away and you ran after them, refusing to leave him behind for even a second. How could you not have noticed that he was seriously sick? You were the biggest shucking idiot.