His Teddy-Bear 🥾Minho TMR💨 (Pre Thomas)

Prying Eyes

~~~~💨🥾~~~~

The heat of the afternoon sun beat down on Delilah's back as she hoisted a crate of supplies, her muscles aching from another morning spent hauling and sorting whatever scraps the creators had sent up for the week. She gritted her teeth, focusing on the steady rhythm of her breaths. Her small plush-bear key chain dangling from her belt; she had been sent up in the box with it. Just another day in the Glade, just another list of tasks to keep her mind from straying too close to the walls of the Maze, the ever-present shadow that loomed in the background of their lives.

"Hey, Greenie, you missed a crate." A voice-smooth but laced with a hint of condescension-cut through the air. She didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

"Thanks, Runner," Delilah replied, her tone as sharp as a blade. She straightened, brushing the dirt off her hands before turning to meet Minho's gaze. He stood a few feet away, arms crossed, his dark eyes flicking over her with the same assessing look he seemed to give everyone-like he was sizing her up, testing her limits. He was the Keeper of the Runners, after all, practically the Glade's golden boy. He seemed to think he could talk down to anyone, new or not.

"Easy, Greenie," Minho said, raising an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You keep glaring at me like that, and I might start thinking you don't like me."

"I don't," Delilah replied flatly. "And my name's not Greenie."

"Oh, I'm sorry," he shot back, mocking sincerity in his voice. "Delilah." He said her name slowly, as if he were tasting each syllable, drawing it out just to annoy her. "Guess you really are a shank, huh?"

She clenched her jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. He was relentless, always finding a way to remind her she was new, that she didn't belong here-being the only girl of 40ish boys, at least. She had barely been in the Glade for two weeks, and while she was trying to find her place, Minho seemed dead set on getting under her skin.

"Well, maybe if you spent less time watching me and more time doing your job, you'd find a way to get us all out of here," she snapped, crossing her arms.

His smirk faded, replaced by a hard edge in his gaze. "You think it's that easy, huh?" he said, his voice low, almost a growl. "Spend a few days here, throw a few boxes around, and suddenly you're the shucking expert on how we should survive this place?"

"Better than standing around making fun of people who actually want to help," she countered, lifting her chin defiantly and flipping her long ginger hair away from her freckles cheek.

Minho let out a short, humorless laugh. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. But guts don't mean klunk in the Maze." He took a step closer, his voice dropping as he added, "You won't make it a day out there, Greenie. Not without us having to drag you back."

Delilah's pulse quickened, her anger flaring. "You don't know anything about me."

His eyes narrowed, and for a split second, she thought she saw something flicker there-a challenge, maybe, or a hint of respect. But as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, replaced by his usual unbothered smirk.

"Maybe," he replied, shrugging, "but I do know this: if you keep mouthing off to the wrong people, you'll be more trouble than you're worth." With that, he turned on his heel, strolling away as if their conversation hadn't even registered on his radar.

Delilah felt her hands clench into fists, her nails digging into her palms. She watched him disappear into the group of Runners gathered near the entrance to the Maze, laughing and talking like they didn't have a care in the world.