Newt isn't like the others; he can remember the nightmares of his past.
As the weeks drag by, the memories that were supposed to be taken from him by WICKED begin to surface, creating a clearer image of who he is, why he was taken and what role he...
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Crumbs fly from Minho's mouth, sandwich forgotten, as he rolls on the floor laughing.
A few Gladers eating lunch nearby eye us wearily. It's been a while since they've heard the sound of laughter.
"Shh!" I whisper, punching Minho's leg. "You can't laugh! Besides, someone had to help him and who's better than his friend and second-in-command?"
Minho puts his hand over his mouth to avoid spitting out anymore food. "So that's part of the job description?" He laughs harder and grabs his stomach, as if in pain. "I guess that's why you should always read the small print."
I let my head flop into my hands, my cheeks burning like the midday sun. Minho's great but bloody hell are there times where I want to punch that gorgeous, sarcastic face.
"Hey, I'm only messing," he says, noticing my 'I'm-going-to-hit-you' glare. He shuffles closer to me and nudges my shoulder with his. Despite the heat from the cloudless day, I welcome the warmth that spreads through me from Minho's touch.
"I'm glad Alby is up and trying to get better," Minho says, the playful laughter from his voice replaced by a serious tone. That's the thing I love about Minho; he'd laugh as you trip and fall but catch you before you hit the floor. He'd drive you crazy but one smile would make you melt and forget you're annoyed with him. How can one person make you so angry and then feel so safe in just the matter of seconds? Only Minho.
"I don't think he'll ever be okay but he's doing his best," I say, feeling the sun's rays prickle my face.
"It's all any of us can do," Minho replies with a smile that clutches at my heart.
I let a moment pass as I drink Minho in. The day's glow makes his tanned skin appear golden, as if the sun is just a mere reflection of Minho. His hair, despite the humidity, is frustratingly perfect. As is everything else about Minho; the way his shirt hugs his muscles in all the right places, how his smile lights up his whole face. Everything. I can't remember ever visiting an art gallery but being with Minho, it's like looking at a sculpture crafted by delicate hands.
Sweat beads on his brow and an urge to wipe it away almost consumes me. Where the hell did that come from? I shuffle to sit on my hands just in case I lose control of myself and reach out... It would be easy, though, to reach out to him. After all, we're already shoulder to shoulder. Maybe he wouldn't mind if I jump, make a bold move to take his hand or hold his face close to mine. Maybe if I just reach out and—
"Newt, you're staring," Minho says, his voice cutting through the haze.
Snapping back to reality, I curl my hands into fists as my ears and cheeks burn red. Thank god I didn't give in to whatever took over me.
Minho chuckles. "You're always doing that."
"What?" I ask, still trying to calm myself down.
"Disappearing."
"'Disappearing'?" I echo, unsure of what he means.
"Sometimes you look at me and I think you're really looking at me but you're actually somewhere else entirely." Minho looks down at his hands which are playing with a loose thread on his shirt. "I just wish you'd see me."
The last sentence was almost inaudible. I stare at Minho— self-assured, confident and sarcastic Minho— and see something in him that I never would've associated with the boy; nervousness.
I reach out. Hesitantly but determined, I reach out. My shaking hands take his and for a second I think he's going to pull away. But he doesn't. Instead, he looks at me with honest eyes, as if he is pouring all his trust in me and I say, "I always see you."
An unfamiliar emotion bubbles from deep within my soul. Without examining the alien feeling spreading through my chest, I lean into Minho. I'm not sure why but all I know is that I want to be closer to him.
Minho leans in too, his heart beating rapidly against mine. Our lips are centimetres apart; if I just close the distance I could surrender myself completely to him.
Like an explosion, a sound so loud it shakes the earth beneath my feet, tears me and Minho apart. He's alert in seconds, eyeing the Glade in its entirety trying to identify the cause of the horrific noise.
Gladers pour from every direction, yelling and crowding around the same area in the centre of the Glade. Minho takes off running too and I follow, a second behind.
"What is it? What's happening?" I shout at Minho's side.
We push through the mass of boys, trying to get to the front. Despite me being taller than most, stood behind Minho's herculean frame I still can't see what's going on. I notice the tension in Minho's shoulders relax and he pulls me to his side.
"Newt," he says with a knowing smile, "WICKED's sending us a new recruit."
