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

Maze Tensions

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The next day dawned with the dull ache of sore muscles, a reminder of the brutal training she'd endured with Minho. Delilah's whole body protested as she dragged herself out of bed, each step sending little jolts of pain through her legs. She didn't mind, though; the ache was proof that she'd survived her first day. Proof that she'd kept up.

Today would be harder. Minho had promised as much. But she was ready.

By the time she reached the Maze's entrance, Minho was already there, waiting with his arms crossed, showing off his built biceps that protrude from his rolled shirt sleeves, and a knowing smirk on his face. "Thought you might be too tired to show up, Greenie," he said, raising an eyebrow.

"Thought wrong," she shot back, rolling her shoulders in an attempt to ease the tension.

"Alright, then." He started stretching, and she mirrored his movements, trying to ignore the sharp pull in her muscles. "Today we're going deeper. You need to learn how the Maze changes from section to section, and you need to memorize it faster. Think you can handle that shank?"

"Yes," she replied, though her stomach twisted with nerves. Each section of the Maze brought new dangers, more complicated paths, and more opportunities to get lost.

Minho watched her for a moment, a flicker of something serious in his expression. "Alright. Let's get moving."

As they jogged into the Maze, the familiar sounds of the Glade faded behind them, replaced by the ominous silence of the towering walls. Delilah kept her focus on Minho's back, tracking his movements, noting every turn and every subtle change in the walls. Today, Minho wasn't going easy on her; his pace was faster, his turns sharper, and she had to push herself to the limit to keep up.

After a while, he glanced over his shoulder, catching her struggling but still right behind him. "This is where most Greenies would start crying for mercy," he said, a hint of amusement in his tone. "But you're keeping up. Good."

Delilah grit her teeth, trying to keep her breathing steady. "I'm not like most Greenies."

"I'm starting to see that," he replied, an almost grudging respect in his voice.

They pushed deeper into the Maze, reaching an area Delilah hadn't seen before. The walls here were narrower, almost claustrophobic, and the air seemed to thicken as they ventured further in. She could feel the weight of the Maze around her, the eerie silence pressing down, making every footstep seem louder, every breath sharper.

"Stay close," Minho muttered, his voice low as they continued through a series of twists and dead-ends. "This section shifts more than the others. If you get lost, I might not be able to find you before the doors close."

She swallowed hard, nodding. Despite her determination, the reality of the Maze-its endless, shifting paths, its looming threat-was starting to sink in. She knew that one wrong move could leave her stranded here overnight, left to face whatever horrors lurked within the walls after dark. It was a fear she had to bury deep down, but it was there, clawing at the edges of her resolve.

After what felt like hours of running, Minho slowed, finally allowing her a moment to catch her breath. "Alright, Greenie," he said, his tone softer than usual. "You're not half-bad. But I still need to know you can handle yourself under pressure."

Delilah met his gaze, wiping sweat from her brow. "What do you mean?"

He crossed his arms, studying her with that same unreadable expression. "You've been following me around like a shadow. That's good for a start, but it's not enough. You need to learn to trust yourself, to read the Maze like I do."

Her brow furrowed. "And how do I do that?"

He stepped back, gesturing toward the twisting corridors around them. "Take the lead. Find our way back to the Glade."

Her eyes widened, and her heart skipped a beat. "You want me to...?"

"Lead us back, Greenie," he said, his voice firm. "Think you're up for it?"

She hesitated, scanning the maze of paths in front of her. Each corridor looked the same, every wall as tall and foreboding as the last. She felt a flicker of panic, her instincts telling her to turn back, to ask him for help. But Minho's gaze was steady, challenging, and she knew this was a test. If she backed down now, he'd never trust her out here.

So she took a deep breath, steeling herself, and nodded. "Alright," she said, forcing confidence into her voice. "I'll get us back."

With that, she stepped forward, focusing on the details Minho had taught her-the faint markings they'd left on the walls, the subtle shifts in the stone that hinted at the changing paths. She moved slowly at first, her heart pounding with every turn, every choice, but soon, the pattern of the Maze began to emerge, like pieces of a puzzle she was slowly putting together.

She could feel Minho's presence behind her, his silent watchfulness somehow both reassuring and nerve-wracking. She wanted to prove herself, wanted to show him that she was more than just another Greenie. But as the paths twisted and turned, her confidence wavered, a small voice in her mind whispering that she was in over her head.

They hit a dead end, and she cursed under her breath, turning back. Minho didn't say a word, simply following her, his silence a reminder that every decision was on her. The pressure was intense, every wrong turn feeling like a personal failure, but she forced herself to keep going, trusting her instincts, pushing through the uncertainty.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they rounded a corner, and the familiar sight of the Glade's walls came into view. Relief flooded through her, mingling with a fierce pride as they stepped out of the Maze and into the open air. She'd done it. She'd led them back.

Minho stopped beside her, crossing his arms as he regarded her with an approving nod. "Not bad, Greenie," he said, his voice low. "You've got a good sense of direction. Better than I expected."

She met his gaze, feeling a rush of satisfaction at the hint of respect in his tone. "Guess I'm not so useless after all."

He smirked, but there was a softness in his eyes that hadn't been there before, a twinkle you could say. "Don't get cocky. You made a few mistakes back there. But... you kept your head. That's what matters."

They stood there for a moment, the tension between them shifting, the edge of animosity fading just a little. Delilah could feel something unspoken passing between them-a grudging respect, maybe, or the beginning of something that felt suspiciously like trust.

"Same time tomorrow?" she asked, her voice steady.

Minho nodded. "Same time. But don't expect it to get easier."

She rolled her eyes, unable to help the small smile tugging at her lips. "I'd be disappointed if it did."

As she turned to walk away, she felt his gaze linger on her, a weight that was both comforting and unnerving. She knew they weren't friends-not yet. But for the first time, she felt like she was truly part of the Glade, like she was carving out her own place here, step by step. And maybe, Minho was starting to see her as more than just a liability.

It was a small victory, but in the Glade, every victory mattered.