<<published 7•Nov•2014>>
A/N:
HELLO. Wrote this last week but was dreading to post it. I mean even I don't know what's gonna happen after this.
Thanks to all of you lovely people who I've noticed have been commenting such nice things on so many chapters!! Thanks
@xcapricious
@Otaku_Wings
@-catastrophe
@alltimelukee
@Carpe_diem98
@iCheesePuff
@vanova1
And many more for sticking on and bringing the reads up so fast?!?!
Anyways, here's the last chapter for you I really hope you enjoy¿?¿
P/S: don't kill me
"Hey."
You open your eyes, finding a pair of soft, chapped lips on your own. The moment you lock your gazes with him, you smile.
Minho is hovering above you, hands on either side of your head, biceps straining as he puts his full weight on the pillow. He's bare chested, clad only in his usual pair of jeans, the waistband of what he calls 'runny undies' peeking out from them.
You put your arms around his neck, pulling him towards you and he rolls onto you, thumb brushing stray strands of long dark hair off your cheeks. "G'morning shuck face. Rise and shine."
You yawn lazily, grinning wordlessly, surveying his perfect features.
It's been two weeks since the fight, and Minho hasn't left you alone since. He decided it was dangerous.
He requested permission to share a room with you to ensure your safety, after Thomas and Newt suggested it and Alby agreed that it was a good idea. Two beds were moved from the infirmary into a room in the Homestead, but Minho and you pushed them together to form one.
He's been off runner duty for two weeks just to make sure you were totally safe, but yesterday night, Alby told him it was mandatory for him to start running again today, otherwise he'd lose his touch. And since Minho's the best of the best, being the fittest, the fastest, the strongest, as well as the keeper of the runners, they can't afford to lose his help.
Oh.
That's right.
Today he'll be gone the whole day.
"Be careful in the maze." You tell Minho, watching him.
He lowers his head to plant a gentle kiss on your forehead. "I will. I've been running the maze for years, idiot. I know the entire place by heart."
"But grievers..." You groan, cupping the side of his face. "I'm just scared something will happen to you."
He rolls off you to lie by your side, taking your hand in his warm one. "I'm Minho. What could possible happen?" He winks and you roll your eyes.
"You're Minho." You gripe. "Anything can happen."
"What's that supposed to mean, huh, slint head?" He sits up, dark eyes twinkling.
"I'm saying, because it's you, chances of slipping in a puddle of griever piss and knocking yourself out are high." You scoff, turning to grin at him.
"Oh you'll regret that, shuck face." Minho laughs coyly, before straddling you and launching a full blown tickle attack on your sides, making you squeal and laugh and gasp for breath.
"Sto-Stop! I can't breathe!" You holler as his fingers dig into your sides. He's laughing too, adorably dimples forming in his cheeks. "AHHHHHHH! Bloody hell, I'm ticklish!"
He stops, face splitting with a grin. You're both panting, amused at how much fun you have playing such a childish game. "I know." His bare chest rises and falls with every breath he takes and you can't shift your face away.
You just can't.
Look away, look away, look away, freaking shuck, look away!
"Having fun?" Minho sniggers, gesturing at his body, flexing his abs. "I know, I know, I'm the exact replica of a Greek god, just Asian, no need to tell me."
He grabs your wrist and brings your hand to his stomach where you run your fingers over his perfect, tanned, golden brown skin.
"Show off." You mutter, but you're smirking too.
A question pops into your head, and before thinking, you blurt it out. "If there were other girls here, do you think we'd still have gotten together?"
Minho gives you an expressionless stare. The one he gives you when he wants to make it clear that he doubts your intelligence.
"Dude," he chuckles. "Of course we would've."
"There are better looking girls out there. Like that Teresa girl from my memory. She's stunning. I saw another girl too, she was blonde. Reaaaally pretty."
Minho scrunches his face up.
"And then there's me." You don't say anything else but Minho smiles.
"___________, do you know what I see?" His eyes sear through yours, burning with a fusion of amusement and lust. "I see a hot, sexy, beautiful girl who loves to have her hair played with. She's fun to be with and she's always laughing, and she holds the most entertaining arguments." His hands slip to your shoulders and he tugs up the neckline of the shirt of his you love wearing. "Sometimes it's hard to stop staring at her. It's times like these when she looks the sexiest, groggy from sleep, not knowing how shucking turned on I am."
You giggle as he slides his hands under your shirt, brushing his fingers lightly up your sides. "It's times like these that I have to practice the most self restraint so I don't end up jumping her bones."
"Who even uses that phrase anymore?" You laugh, but you're silenced by his fierce stare.
"Don't ever doubt yourself, __________. It's not like I can prove myself to you, but you'll see. Someday we will get out, someday, you won't be the only girl around, and someday, you'll understand just how in love I am with you."
And then he leans down, eyes still locked with yours, and kisses you.
♡
You watch as he chows down his plate of eggs and bacon.
He hasn't put on his shirt yet, and you take delight in the way his muscles ripple as he brings his fork to his mouth.
He's one fit shank, that Minho.
You and him have finished kissing after the longest time imaginable and now you're just sitting on the bed watching him.
Trying to memorise every little detail of his being as if you won't ever see him again. It's crucial to do this. To treat every day like it might be your last. The glade is unpredictable. Too unpredictable.
You smile to yourself, taking in the sight of his perfect hair. All he did was to comb his fingers through it, angling his fringe up in a sweep.
"Be careful." You remind him again. "I'm sorry for being such a shuck headed nag but still. I'm worried."
Minho grins. "Why? Scared you'll lose me or something?"
You roll your eyes. "Just saying."
He chuckles, setting his plate down and resting his hand on yours.
It's been wonderful, having your own room. Minho and you have bonded so much, gotten closer. It's almost too good to be true, because he's starting to look happier. More chipper. You're feeling happy too.
It's bliss.
But that's why something isn't right. You have a strange feeling in your tummy. As if something's not quite normal. It's like how animals know when an earth quake is coming. You can feel it.
You can feel it in your bones.
And it's extremely unsettling.
"Minho, what happens when runners don't make it back before the walls close?" You ask cautiously, knowing it's a touchy subject.
Minho's face darkens and he purses his mouth, looking grim as death. "They get killed by grievers."
"Has nobody ever survived?" You brush your long hair over your shoulder, inching closer to him.
"Nobody's ever survived a night in the maze." Minho whispers. "Nobody." He gets up to leave, squeezing your shoulder in reassurance. "Don't worry your pretty little shuck head about me. I'll be fine."
He reaches the door and turns the key in the lock, sliding it out and chucking it at you. You catch it with one hand and grip it tight, a feeling of dread gnawing at your insides. "I love you." You whisper.
He leans down, planting a warm, sweet kiss on your trembling lips. You know you're overreacting but you don't know why.
Something is not right.
You hang on to him for as long as you can, pressing your lips to his, savouring the perfect feeling this gives you, not wanting it to disappear. You're devastated when he finally breaks the kiss, and you watch him as he goes to the door.
"I love you too, shuck face." And then he's gone.
♡
It's been an entire afternoon, and Minho still isn't back. The rest of the runners have long returned ages ago. It's only Minho who's missing.
You stare up at the huge walls, dreading the time when they'd start to close. The gladers are all crowded around, whispering. Mumbling. Mourning.
It's as if Minho is already dead.
A bubble of fear expands in your chest, pressing against the sides of your throat, closing around your heart. A hundred unwanted 'what if's surge through your mind, crushing all hope and leaving your panicked heart beating faster and faster and faster.
Gruesome scenes of Minho being torn up by a griever replays in your head, refusing to be ignored, refusing to go away.
You don't really know what a griever looks like, but Minho's described it to you before, and the image you have of it is vivid. As if you've seen it before. As Minho told you what it looked like the other day, his words formed a picture in your mind. A big, spindly metal ball of spikes, wrapped in oozing jelly like blubber, with long, metal legs and claws armed with knives of all shapes and sizes, it's sting poised to stab any moment.
The rumble of the walls have already started to penetrate the eerie silence of the glade.
There's no way he'll make it back in time.
You'll never see his cheeky smile again.
Never hear his patronizing laughter again. Never hear his real laughter again.
You'll never hear that beautiful voice calling you 'shuck face' again. Never get teased in such an endearing way again.
You'll never get to snicker at his wise crack quips or bask in his sarcastic sense of humour.
You'll never get to feel his strong arms wrapped around your body or his warm chest against your back.
You'll never get to feel his calloused hands linked with your own, or run your fingers through his always perfect hair.
And worst of all, you'll never get to feel his warm, chapped lips against yours, ever again.
A single tear slips down your cheek as you remember how he treated you since day one. Like a princess. It's been months already and you only just got together with him a little while ago. The loss you feel is horrifyingly overwhelming.
You stare hopelessly at the empty stone passage in front of you. You can almost see Minho jogging back, a great big smirk on his face, running towards you, pulling you into a hug. Whispering into your hair, "Miss me shuck face?"
Nobody's ever survived a night in the maze.
Beside you, Chuck reaches for your hand, squeezing it tight in his chubby, grubby ones. He's always been the sweetest little thing to you.
You feel another hand on your shoulder, and you turn, a fraction of you lost in the false belief that it might be Minho.
Maybe.
Just maybe.
But it's not.
It's Newt.
"Sorry mate." He says slowly. Quietly. He squeezes your shoulder and bows his head, shoulders slumped as he silently trudges away, leaving you to stare, wide eyed, at his retreating back.
Nobody's ever survived a night in the maze.
The walls have started to move. You turn to watch, mouth dry as parchment, filled with a bitter, metallic tang. Your spine feels like a pipe full of cold, running water, and frustration burns white and hot inside your veins.
"He was a great guy." Alby whispers.
The walls move slowly. Oh so slowly. Taunting you. Mocking you. Screaming Minho's inevitable fate.
Nobody's ever survived a night in the maze.
The walls of the maze are still not closed yet, the space in between large enough to fit three gladers.
Your cheeks are wet with tears now, even though you're aware of this, you hardly notice you're crying. Your mind is rushing, you're racking your brains to think of a way, some bloody way to bloody save his ass.
You can only think of one way.
"I'm sorry, Chuck." You whisper.
And then you rip your hand out of Chuck's grip and hurtle yourself through the walls at lightning speed, fueled by the image of Minho's smile.
Time slows.
The boys' yells are muffled out. You hardly hear them over the grinding noise of stone against stone.
And then the massive walls slam shut.
Nobody's ever survived a night in the maze.