Through The Gates Of Hell

The 5 Boys and The Girl

Maze's twisty turns done,

Venting frustrations, whoops, clang!

Boys scream, plan unveiled.

Y/N's P.O.V

I winced as my knee clanged on the vent's floor. The sound echoed down the seemingly never-ending tunnel, getting fainter with every passing second. I had yet to master the delicate art of crawling through ventilation systems. I paused at the metal grate that lead to the new boys' room. Gingerly, I peeked over the edge of the metal grate. 

The boys stood with their backs to me, engrossed in the act of talking to each other. Someone laughed, and I was thrown back into the past.

I'm crouching down in a metal vent, beside a grate, but I'm not alone -- two boys stare back at me, faces in shadow. We're not strangers, no. I'm wrapped in a sense of familiarity and comfort, one that comes only if you've known someone for a long, long time. I haven't the least idea what their names are, but they look familiar. They shuffle forwards, bathing their faces in stripes of white light that filters through the grate. Shock blooms its cold flower in my heart. 

It's them. It's Mr. Hair and Blondie, younger, skinnier, not as buff and muscular. And yet, somehow, through all the changes I see, I know for sure that it's them, and that it can't be anyone else. 

"What d'ya think they're doing?" the question comes from Blondie, who gestures towards the metal grate. He has a British accent that's endearing. The question is a genuine one, and his voice is laced with a childlike innocence that is out of place in this cold, heartless tunnel. 

"Does it look like I know?" Mr. Hair demands. As in the cafeteria, his hair is styled to p e r f e c t i o n.

"Who said I was asking you, Minho?" Blondie rolls his eyes, an affectionate sort of annoyance evidently painted on his face. 

"How was I supposed to know that? You literally shout at me when I don't answer, and when I do, it turns out that you weren't asking me. Make up your mind already," Mr. Hair/Minho replies in a whiney voice. 

I laugh. It seems I am used to these two arguing. Blondie stops whisper-shouting at his dark-haired friend at the sound of my laughter, and smiles a sweet smile. His warm, chestnut eyes are a cords connected directly to my heart, which goes ka-thump, its pace quickening. He looks happy. Well, as happy as someone crouched in a vent can look. He reaches out and grabs my hand, squeezing it gently, while Minho makes gagging noises behind his back. 

I let out a small gasp as I'm jolted into the present. It was true. I did know Blondie, and Mr. Hair, or Minho, or whatever his name was. But I couldn't dwell on it now. Now was not the time for losing myself over the pieces of my damned past. Regaining my composure, I kicked open the metal grate. It toppled onto the floor with a resounding crash.

They screamed. Every single one of them.  Mr. Hair, Blondie, Brain, BFG, Acne. Each of them. Especially Brain.  They whirled around so fast, I thought they'd give themselves whiplash. 

As I crawled out, I glared at each of them. 

"Why da shuck did you just crawl out of a freaking hole in the wall?" Minho/Mr. Hair demanded.