𝐌𝐈𝐙𝐏𝐀𝐇 - the deep emotional bond between people, especially those separated by distance or death.
The Maze Runner fan-fiction
Minho x fem!OC
Content warnings & more detailed descriptions inside!
@𝐦𝐚𝐳𝐞𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐫
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"Okay, who votes for our yellow boy to become the leader?"
They've gathered in front of us at dinner; the ones that would make a good leader. The others, like me, have to vote.
Because of course, I know so many boys here. Will be very fair if I vote.
The boys in the front are Newt, Alby, Nick, and a few others I don't know the name of. So far, I believe Nick would make a good leader.
The others for sure have a chance too, because they seem to be standing there strongly, with confidence.
Minho explained that after the thing with George, decided to take things more seriously... which is surprising, for boys who I thought would be immature.
I'm voting for Nick because he just has the most maturity. Alby seems too grumpy and Newt too light. I don't know the other two boys.
"Yellow boy?" Newt repeats, offended.
"Yes, yellow," the boy I don't know the name of replies. "Well, raise your hand if you think our yellow boy should be the leader!"
With crossed arms and a bit of a pointed look, Newt glances at the tables. They're all picnic tables. Each one of them fits like six people.
Minho brought me to a table with some of his fellow Runners and friends. He's actually kind of nice, even with his ego as high as George is right now.
Okay, thatwas immature.
A few hands rise. Minho's hand rises, too. I almost want to follow his example, but then I don't. I want Nick to be the leader, and I shouldn't move along like a sheep following its group.
"Okay, next." The speaker steps towards Alby. "Who votes for our bowlin' ball?"
Minho has to physically push my jaw back up.
Then he raises his hand into the air, as high as possible.
"Minho, you can only vote once," the speaker warns, running a hand through his dark curls.
Minho pouts so dramatically that I want to roll my eyes, except I'm still too taken aback from the bowling ball thing.
"But, Jeff—" he protests.
So Jeff is his name. He's a tall, slim boy, with skin the same tint as mine. His clothes aren't any different from the other boys' clothes; a shirt and pants, and a little bag clutches to his hips.
That's the thing. Some have bags, some have backpacks, and others have the pockets in their cargo pants.
"Nope," Jeff interrupts. "I want to know your real vote."
"Newt," Minho says confidently, as if he wasn't debating what to choose three seconds ago.
Jeff writes some things down on the notepad he's been holding. "Noted. And who votes for our nerd?"
