The Inventor

Chapter Eight; "Better off dead"

     Minho slept in a spare hammock you kept tucked away just in case. The beetle blade was safely behind glass and being observed. A new rule had been made. Don't go after beetle blades, period.

     You slept in the hammock beside him, quiet and not minding his snores as long as he didn't mind the buzz of the disfigured looking radio. You slept even when he woke up. He didn't have a clue what time it was and thought it was strange how no one ever came to wake you up.

     He had nothing to do, seeing as you were asleep and the half finished invention you both decided to call a griever walkie talkie, or griever callers for short,  were still laid out on the table. It was late when both of you nodded off and you had no problem with letting him crash here in one of the spare hammocks. He knew his way around the workshop, knew any surprises that could be considered dangerous or set off alarms. However he wasn't made aware of one thing.

     A rhythmic knock sounded and without waiting for an answer the blonde boy he had suspected you of dating walked in. He stopped when he saw Minho and for one fleeting second Minho realized how bad this could look.

     "Hello?" Newt said questioningly, his accent curling it nicely.

     "Uh- hi," He replied dumbly but backed it up with, "How's your day going?"

     "Normal, till' this," He nodded to him but then looked away and walked over to your nearly passed out figure with your head almost completely shoved into a pillow.

     "Let them sleep," Minho spoke up, defending it with a smooth, "Some more peace before they go spitfire again, a man needs a break from the constant turning gears they got."

     No, in all honesty he just knew you stayed up late and felt concerned when you drank too much caffeine. It made your hands shaky.

     Newt frowned at you but nodded, pulling up a chair to sit down on.

     It was quiet for a while, both boys not knowing what to say. Minho stayed quiet, swinging back and forth on the hammock.

     "We haven't really met, have we?" Newt asked.

     "Nope," Minho popped the p at the end.

     "I'm Newt."

     "I know," Minho said, in a slightly bitter tone, "They kinda talk about you a lot."

     He waved a hand in your direction.

     Newt gave a slight eye roll, "I don't like em in that way, shank. We've known eachother since the start, closest thing to a family either of us have. That's what most of us are to each other here, you'll learn that."

     "Family, right," He didn't think anyone here would be family to him. Especially not you. The idea of you being some type of sibling didn't sit right with him.

     "Yeah, family," Newt continued, "Nobody has time for anything else here, no need to complicate things. Don't get any ideas."

     "So none of you have ever, you know, taken an interest in anyone?" He asks.

     "Can't exactly speak for everyone now can I?" He replied, "We are all hard workers here, we focus on that, don't feel the need for distractions."

     "Yeah," Minho replied distantly, taking a few moments to look at you and wonder if you thought the same.

     In those few moments Newt nudged the half built walkie talkie closer to himself to look at it, "What does Y/n got you building here?"