𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ༒ minho, tmr

thirty-seven ~ through the crossfire

✵

Minho felt utterly sick.

The rhythmic hum of Bertha's engine as they barreled toward the mountains did little to settle the storm brewing inside him. Londyn was asleep next to him, her head nestled against his shoulder, her face calm and undisturbed by the chaos she'd unleashed earlier.

Minho shifted, his arm draped loosely around her to keep her steady as the truck jostled over the uneven road. It wasn't the bouncing that made his stomach churn, it was everything else.

He glanced down sideways at her, her features soft in the dim glow of the truck's dashboard. She looked peaceful, which felt almost cruel considering how his mind was spinning.

What did she remember? And why hadn't she told him?

Her outburst with Marcus haunted him. The crack in her voice when she yelled about being sold back to WCKD. The raw anger that surged in her eyes. He'd seen her mad before but this wasn't just anger. It was desperation. Pain.

He tightened his grip on her shoulder as if that might ground his spiraling thoughts. They'd all been through hell, but Londyn was carrying something she hadn't shared. Something she refused to share, and he couldn't figure out why.

Minho wasn't sure what stung more. Not knowing what she remembered, or starting to suspect she didn't trust him enough to tell him.

A bump in the road jolted them, and Londyn stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent before settling back against him.

"Careful back there," Jorge called from the driver's seat, his tone light but gruff. "Don't want her waking up and decking someone by mistake."

Minho shot him a glare. "Can't you just focus on driving?"

Jorge smirked but didn't respond, his eyes fixed on the winding road ahead.

In the passenger seat, Newt twisted around to look at them, his gaze flicking between Londyn and Minho. "She all right?"

"She's fine," Minho said sharply, then immediately regretted the edge in his voice. "Just tired, I think."

After a few minutes, Londyn shifted again, her hand brushing against Minho's chest as she blinked her eyes open. For a moment, she looked disoriented, her gaze darting around the cramped interior before landing on him.

"Hey," she murmured, her voice scratchy with sleep.

"Hey," Minho replied, keeping his tone casual despite the questions clawing at his mind. Something he was always very good at doing since early days in the Maze.

"You okay?"

She nodded, sitting up slightly and rubbing at her eyes. "Yeah. Just... tired."

"Understandable," Newt chimed in. "You've had quite the day."

Londyn shot him a look, but her usual fire was dulled, replaced by something quieter. She leaned back against Minho, her head tilting toward him again.

"Don't push yourself too hard, Lon," Thomas said softly, surprising everyone by breaking his silence. "Take it easy."

Minho glanced at him, slightly caught off guard by the moment of empathy. Londyn didn't respond, but the tension in her shoulders eased just a bit.

His thoughts were still swirling, but the quiet hum of Bertha and the weight of Londyn's head against his shoulder was oddly grounding. He glanced at her again, the tension in his chest not quite breaking.

From the front seat, Jorge cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "All right, kids. Hang on. We're coming up to a rough stretch."

Minho gave a half-hearted nod, his hand still resting on Londyn's shoulder. She was settled now, breathing evenly as she slept again, but he couldn't shake the unease eating at him.