Perry was the first person in the Glade. Only wanting peace and quiet quickly goes south after the arrival of twelve teenage boys a month later.
Female oc x Minho
Pre tmr- tdc
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Perry couldn't stay in bed, not with her mind racing and the heavy quiet in the medhut pressing on her chest. Despite Nick's pleas and constant worrying, her restless nature couldn't bear to just lie there and wait.
She was back in the Glade, alive and moving, and that was what mattered to her. But every time she tried to pick up her routine, Nick or one of the Sloppers would appear, trailing her, watching her with a careful eye. Perry knew it was their way of looking out for her, but she didn't need babysitting. Not from Nick, not from anyone.
She still refused to eat before the others, even though they had figured out the animal problem. Frypan, clever as he was, had noticed her habit and had started setting aside a meal just for her.
Perry hadn't realized it at first, too busy with her routine, but eventually, the carefully plated food had started to feel like a personal gesture. She didn't acknowledge it openly, but deep down, it felt like something small that belonged only to her.
Newt, too, had become more of a confidant than he'd ever been before. They were both on the same tightrope, both watched more closely now by the other Gladers. There was a quiet solidarity between them, an unspoken understanding that allowed Perry to let her guard down in ways she didn't even realize she needed. They didn't have to speak to know what the other felt, the weight of expectations, the isolation that came with their roles in the Glade. Newt just understood.
Meanwhile, Minho's world felt off-balance. Running alone now, he found himself with too much time and too many thoughts. His steps had once been a mindless rhythm, a constant he could rely on, but now every stride felt like it pulled him deeper into his thoughts.
Perry was everywhere in his mind, her image like a steady echo that wouldn't leave him alone. He couldn't figure out why it mattered so much, why he couldn't shake the feeling gnawing at him every time he thought of her.
Sure, he cared about all of them, sarcastic quips aside. He'd give his life for any one of his friends. But the way he thought about Perry—how could he even begin to explain that?
She was more than a friend, more than someone he wanted to protect. She was everything in the Glade that felt good, everything that kept him going when the days felt endless and bleak.
Saying he loved her didn't seem right; it felt too small, too simple for what she meant to him. She was an anchor, a presence that drove him forward every day, even if he knew he'd have to go back and face the ache of seeing her hurt. It was stupid and it hurt, but his heart was all tangled up with her in ways he couldn't untangle.
Why would she want him, though? He'd messed up time and time again—by the stream, with Leo, with Newt. He wasn't the person she needed; he wasn't even close.
In the blood house, Perry scrubbed at the stones, her hands moving in automatic motions as she tried to clear her head. The smell of iron hung heavy in the air. Winston worked nearby, pausing occasionally to glance at her with the kind of curiosity he usually hid well. Finally, he spoke up, leaning against the table
"You look like your head's about to burst," he remarked, eyeing her with a mixture of amusement and concern. "Got something eating at you?"
Perry sighed, pressing her rag harder against the stone. She could feel the words piling up inside her, words she hadn't said to anyone, not even Newt.
"It's nothing," she muttered, but Winston didn't look away, and something in his steady gaze made her feel like she didn't have to keep it all locked up. "It's... complicated. Have you ever felt like... you're just not enough for someone? Like no matter what you do, you can't ever... be the person they need?"
Winston tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. "Minho, huh?"
She stilled, her hand clenched around the rag as she bit back the flood of emotions. "It's not like that. He's just... he's out there every day, risking his life while I'm in here barely managing. He's... everything that this place needs, and me? I don't even know if I'm doing anything right."
"Don't sell yourself short," Winston replied, his voice softer than she expected. "Minho might be running out there, but we all know you're doing just as much in here. And for what it's worth, I think he sees it. Probably more than you realize."
Perry felt a flicker of something she couldn't quite name. "Maybe. But he deserves better."
Winston's chuckle echoed in the quiet blood house. "You think he's out there for anyone else but you? Perry, you're all he thinks about. We all see it. Even if he's too stubborn to say it, even if you're too stubborn to believe it."
"What am I supposed to do with that?" she whispered, finally looking up at Winston, her eyes betraying a mix of confusion and vulnerability she rarely showed.
Winston's mouth curved into a small smile. "Maybe just... let yourself feel it, for once. Stop overthinking everything, Perry. You can't control how Minho feels any more than you can control how you feel about him."
Perry let out a shaky breath, her voice quiet. "You're saying I should just... let myself care about him? Without questioning it?"
Winston nodded, his expression softening. "Yeah. Maybe it's about time you stopped running from how you feel. Give yourself permission to care. I think you'd be surprised how good it feels to stop fighting it."
Perry's gaze drifted away, her fingers still gripping the rag, her shoulders tense. "But Winston... look at where we are. This place isn't normal. Nothing here is. People die every week. Every day feels like a battle just to survive. I mean, who knows if we'll even make it to next week, much less tomorrow."
Winston nodded slowly, though he didn't interrupt her.
"How am I supposed to let myself care about him—" she hesitated, searching for the right words, "in that way, when there's so much at stake? It just... doesn't feel right to want anything close to happiness in a place like this. It feels selfish, like I'm ignoring everything going on around us."
Winston leaned back against the wall, folding his arms across his chest. "I get it. Believe me, I do. None of us came here thinking we'd have time for... whatever it is you've got with Minho." He gave her a small, knowing grin, but it softened quickly. "But here's the thing, Perry. This isn't just about 'dating' or anything simple like that. It's about surviving. And sometimes, the only way to survive in a place like this is to let yourself feel something good. Even if it's messy, even if it scares the hell out of you."
She swallowed, his words digging at the wall she'd built around herself. "But what if it ends up hurting more? What if... what if caring about him just makes all of this harder?"
Winston's eyes were steady, filled with a kind of empathy that caught her off guard. "Then it hurts, and it's hard. But the way I see it? It's better to feel something—even if it's complicated, even if it's painful—than to shut yourself off and feel nothing at all. Because in the end, that's what makes us human. That's what keeps us going, Perry."
She sighed, the weight of his words settling over her like a blanket that was both comforting and stifling. "I'm just... scared. Scared that letting myself care like that will make me weak, make me lose focus."
Winston reached out, putting a hand on her shoulder, his touch grounding. "Perry, caring doesn't make you weak. It makes you stronger, because it gives you something worth fighting for. And if Minho's that person for you, then maybe, just maybe, he's worth the risk."
