Speaking when you're drunk is similar to the notion that when you get out of the shower and dry yourself, then think that the towel is dirty. It's not, you're clean, it's clean, you just use it to hold the water in so it doesn't soak through your clothes.
Both of these are stupid but something that just happens, when you don't it tends to rub your mind the wrong way. It becomes a necessity, as words often do when you drink.
It was simple with Gally, there wasn't a filter, nothing complicated in the air or hidden emotions that your drunkenness would reveal. You very blatantly disliked the people that you spoke out about in conversation with him. There were no feelings toward Gally himself, you never had to worry something you didn't want said would come out.
It was a heavy trust both of you had for each other, but held strong since you both had said foul things that would get you kicked from the glade for sure. But he needed the drunken, unfiltered, easy conversations just as much as you did. Somehow that unknowingly had formed into a vague shadow of friendship.
It is inevitable from the things said between the two of you. When you know that much about someone you either befriend them, love them, or loathe them to their grave.
You thought you always knew where you stood on those grounds. With everyone you knew you thought you had settled what they were to you and what you were to them. You could be unfiltered about it, sharing it to them as a fact without any complication.
But from tonight you have learned that you definitely do not know where you stand with Minho, not at all. And you don't have the faintest clue what he is to you.
You thought you did, truly, but your mind with all its walls and concerns withdrawn was left to revel in his presence entirely. Your eyes scanned over him, muscular and defined, his tongue running over his lips after every drink.
He was dressed in only dark jeans and a light blue button up. Much to your frustration your mind couldn't get over the thought of how well it complimented him. And how well he would look with it off.
You decided to blame it on a drunken lust, he was attractive, that was all. Everything emotional that stirred would be set aside as just pointless side effects to it. But, deep down, you acknowledged they were there and prayed for them to stay subdued just for one night. Hating him had become second nature, as easy as taking a breath. You relied on it, found comfort in it even. Without that, few things would be left certain and you couldn't deal with that.
This is why you kept your mouth shut tight, swallowing words down to burn your tongue like the moonshine did your throat.
"So, are we not going to talk about it?" Minho asked offhandedly, "Kind of feel like it's the elephant in the room."
"No," You said curtly.
"You don't want to clear the air? Make it seem less filled with every form of tension under the sun," Then he added under his breath, "Especially the sexual one."
"You said what you had to say a long time ago," You managed through gritted teeth, "Get a therapist if you need to say anything else."
"Yeah, well, Newts taking a vacation," He mused, "For shucks sake I can see you have something to say! Just spit it out!"
"Your delusion," You quipped hotly, "Maybe there's something you want to say and you're hoping I'll say something to prompt it."
"Stop psychoanalysing me, it's creepy."
You snorted and went back to your moonshine, remaining quiet while you knew very well Minho was huffing and puffing beside you. The tension was unbearable, years of grudges, wandering eyes and remorse all packed into one room. You refused to be the one to break it first, you had hated him for too long to give into some pathetic sexual desire and a cup of moonshine.
"Okay then I can talk about it myself then," Minho finally began.
You gave him a sharp look, "And what makes you think you have any right to talk about it?"
"Because I want to."
"Oh you want to?" You turn more towards him, "I'm sorry to say but what you want isn't exactly a solid reason for me."
"I'll summarize it all," He continued anyway, "We explored a new section of the maze, a newbie kicked the bucket, the ground started disappearing so we ran. It got dark, we got stuck in the maze again and we avoided the grievers by doing a lame form of bungee jumping. You got stuck, grievers were climbing up the wall and I, with possibly one of the last griever callers since we couldn't exactly get you up without cutting through the vines with knives we didn't have, let you go for the better of everyone in the glade. Even if I had used the griever caller it wouldn't have been likely to help you. You lived, yippie and now you still hold the grudge against me even though you know what I did was probably right and I didn't actually let Nick into your hut. And you haven't forgiven me, probably never will."
He tapped his fingers on the side of his cup, "Did I get it all?"
"Not really, I guess that's your end of it."
"Really? Please tell me your end then because I'm pretty sure I got all of it right. Especially the fact that you still haven't forgiven me two years later," He sounded victorious in some twisted way to you, he may not have even meant to but he did, "Admit it, you couldn't live with it all and you will always hate me because of that."
"I could have lived with it," You said harshly, "I would still have hated you for a while and been a mess in the head but I could have lived with it all. Maybe even could have gotten over it at some point."
He scoffed, "Why haven't you then?"
"Because you did it selflessly," You spoke quietly, everything seeming so still and tense, "You did it because you knew it would be best for everyone else. You didn't do it because you wanted to survive, that I could understand, that I could somehow forgive because you would have been like me. You would have been selfish and immoral like me," you shook your head, slamming the canteen on the table, "And I hate you for that because what you did is forgivable, it's right, and I became a monster for disagreeing with it. I became this cold, ruthless, selfish person while you got to be seen as a hero who made sacrifices to save everyone."
"I didn't-"
"I was expected to forgive you!" You continued bitterly, "To be okay in a matter of days and get over it! And when I didn't I was shamed, and when I struck out for revenge I was cast aside and labeled a freak! What did you get? You got praise, you got respect, you got everything I had and more! But you still left me to die and I don't care if your god forsaken saint mind did it to save everyone!"
"What would you have done?!" He defended.
"I would have clicked that button without a second thought," You replied instantly, "I would have saved you even if it damned everyone else! And for that I am a selfish person. But I don't hate you for what you did anymore Minho, I hate you because you're so okay and fine with it!
"I hate you because you're a hero who everyone likes, who sacrifices the one for the many, who is so pure that it makes me sick! We're not even anymore, I don't deserve you anymore because you're good like I used to be! And even after you caused me to turn out that way I was still criticized for trying to heal, it was all on me!"
Minho still didn't look up, eyes trained on the floor.
"Do you understand that?" You whispered, "Do you understand that when I look at you I see everything I used to have. I used to be happy, respected, and free. And now I am blamed and hated beyond my IQ. You don't regret it, you never will, that makes you the better person, and me the bad, depressed one. I don't hate what you did, I hate what you condemned me too, I hate that I wasn't allowed to feel angry or betrayed, or hurt. I was supposed to be okay with it and because I wasn't, that made me a bad person."
He was quiet for a long time, taking a drink of moonshine to unclog the lump in his throat, "I'm not a hero."
"Yes you are, whether you think so or not, to everyone else you are. And when you hate someone like you, that instantly makes you the person everyone hates," You took a drink, "I'm not saying I'm likable, because I know I'm not anymore but if I was just allowed to be angry without shame.
"To have my time without everyone calling me heartless and lazy and useless, without comparing me to you. If I could have had even a week where Newt wouldn't come and tell me that Nick was threatening to throw me out because my IQ and brain wasn't helping them. Then I could have been better, I could have been better if more than just Newt believed I could be and gave me a chance. But they didn't, so here I am, still trying to salvage anything I can while you still have it all. Good for you, Minho the saint."
You saw him wipe one of his eyes, still looking away and coughing to cover it up. He remained silent for a long time but you didn't have more to say so you let it go on, expecting him not to answer.
"I'm sorry," He said, "I'm sorry I wasn't one of the people who gave you a chance."
He didn't apologize for what he did, you don't believe he ever would and even if he did it wouldn't be earnest. But this you believed he meant, this you could accept.
You nodded, "Thank you."
Another long pause, "Do you think it won't ever be like this between us. Could we ever be what we used to?"
You looked at him, seeing what answer you could muster that would be true. And finally you believed one.
"Yes," You said simply, "But we don't have that time, not anymore. And right now, I still hate you. Our compatibility isn't good, on all fronts. We're drunk right now, when we're sober it will all feel the same again. Less hazy."
He set his cup down, "I want to do something."
"Then do it before I hate you tomorrow," You said offhandedly, "Don't punch me too hard or Newt will-"
He didn't punch you, though, he did something Newt would freak out about more. He kissed you, hand gripping your hair and the other gripping the edge of the table.
Your mouth went slack, taking a moment before sinking into him in a way you would never do when you're sober. You mustered up that feeling that stirred at you beyond the betrayal and anger and hurt, something to grasp onto just this once while his lips were against yours. You found it.
You pushed closer to him, tasting moonshine on his tongue like a potent drug, your head going dizzy with it.
Hands brushed through hair, under skin, no decency between your mouths, not an ounce of self preservation. You were on a table, his arms bracketing you when you pulled back.
You looked at him for a moment, then pulled your shirt over your head and threw it on the ground.
His eyes trailed down for a moment, his Adam's apple bobbing.
He looked back to your eyes, searching them for your answer.
You nodded and connected your mouths again in one final drunken accident. Both of you are too gone to even see the consequences tomorrow.
And if you only had one night to revel in some old flame from the past, you would go down shamelessly. And so would he.