❝The Maze Runner❞ || Thomas

The Bonfire

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By nightfall, the Glade had transformed.

The massive firepit at its center roared high into the dark, flames licking toward the stars as sparks spiraled upward. The steady beat of handmade drums echoed against the towering stone walls, accompanied by bursts of laughter and shouted conversations that carried across the clearing. The scent of roasted meat, smoke, and stale ale thickened the air.

Gladers crowded around the bonfire in loose circles—some dancing half-drunkenly near the flames, others sprawled across logs with glass jars. For the first time in what felt like forever, the place felt almost... alive.

I sat on one of the rough-hewn logs, my right hand cupping the jar that was filled with a bitter ale. I drank it quicker than usual, hoping the warmth it brought would sit faster this time around.

Because across the fire, was Thomas.

Even surrounded by familiar faces, he stood out. Maybe it was because I already knew his face. Or maybe because some stubborn, aching part of me refused to believe he was truly here.

He sat beside Newt, still looking vaguely overwhelmed, his eyes constantly moving as though trying to absorb every inch of the Glade at once. Every so often, someone clapped him on the shoulder or shoved another drink into his hand, but his expression remained caught somewhere between cautious curiosity and disbelief.

My eyes never left him. My vision slowly coming in and out of the memories that tormented these past three years. There was a part of me that felt like he was the missing piece, the answers to everything I couldn't understand completely—maybe even the answer to the Maze.

Minho plopped down next to me, interrupting my train of thought. I broke my gaze from Thomas, meeting my friend's curious expression.

"Someone's obsessed," he jested, clinking his glass with mine as we both took a gulp of our booze.

I let out a snicker, looking down for a moment as I felt warmth rising to my cheeks. "It's not like that."

"Then, what is it?"

I took a sip from my drink, looking back over to the greenie, watching as Newt continued on his conversation with Thomas.

"I knew him," I finally admitted.

Minho's interest peaked, his brows raised with curiosity. He swirled his mug, now examining the newcomer.

"He's the only thing—the only person I remember." I let out a sigh of frustration, now pushing myself up from the log. I looked down at the substance in my hand. My gaze met Minho, a mischievous grin being sent his way. "Bottoms up."

And with that, I chugged the ale. It was too bitter, sour, and burned the back of my throat. But it felt good, warm, and wiped away the obsessing thoughts I couldn't let go of.

I walked over towards Logan, Zart, Frypan, and a few of the other boys who were playing one of their favorite games. They had a table set up with ale-filled jars and marbles in their hands.

"I'm in, boys!" I called out, receiving multiple shouts of praise as fists were raised up.

"Lynn!" Frypan yelled, his grin wide and inviting.

"You're up next, Lynn!" Logan ordered as I found my way standing behind the line Zart drew in the dirt with his boot.

Ben placed three marbles in my palm, giving me a pat on the shoulder. He leaned in towards my ear, his breath rushing against my hair. "Don't embarrass yourself."