Maze runner one shot requests

Track Star---Minho imagine, Au

((this does have sport terms in it, so I appoliguze if I get them wrong))

As you walked out onto the track field, a weight seemed to be lifted off your shoulders.

The track field was your home.

Always had been.

You were about to set off on your usual training set, when the coach of your track team called you over.

"Everyone? Everyone please come here."

You groaned inwardly, regretfully walking towards your coach.

"Yes Ms. Paige. . ."

The other kids -including you- stood in front of your coach as she started to talk.

"For track stars, you all sure walk slowly."

When no one laughed, she continued.

"As you know, our track team will be participating in the championships against the other top school."

She stopped as everyone cheered.

You had worked hard to get to the championships, and if you were being honest your track team wasn't too bad.

"Which," Ms. Paige checked her trusty clipboard. "Has named their track team the 'Grievers'. Interesting name."

You almost laughed.

They weren't the only ones with a ridiculous name.

Well, you weren't sure if you would call your team name ridiculous.

Just obvious.

Some smarty had thought of the name 'The Runners'

And it had stuck.

So.

The Runners vs. The Grievers.

"But!" Ms. Paige said, bringing you back to reality instead of imagining a deep announcer voice saying 'Runners vs. Grievers' over the intercom "There is a catch."

Ok?

Like hurdles?

"What is it?"

Someone towards the back of the group called.

Ms. Paige smiled.

"All the races will be relays."

"What?"

You said aloud.

You didn't run with someone!

You ran alone!

You ran solo!

Ms. Paige directed her attention to you.

"Ah yes, (Y/N). Your partner will be Minho."

Minho?

What kind of shucked up name was that?

"Minho," Ms. Paige said. "Please meet (Y/N) on one of the tracks."

You grumbled as you stormed off to the nearest track, waiting for your partner.

Waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting.

"Screw this."

You say under your breath as you tie your hair up into a tight ponytail.

If this Minho wasn't coming, you might as well start practicing.

Twenty minutes and many laps later, you finally stop, out of breath and panting.