Minho [Maze Runner] [One-shots]

#16 Comfort [Death Cure] (movie)

Silence enveloped his still figure, sitting on a rock far away from camp, in complete solitude.

His brown eyes were fixated on the horizon; the vast extension of dark blue that went on for miles and miles, and seemed to have no end. From his spot he could see the ocean in its entirety, all part of that Paradise they now lived in; a sight so different from the Scorch and the Maze, yet still so similar. All three places were like giant cages for him—large prisons that had no bars, but still trapped him within their immensity, making him feel small, insignificant.

It all did nothing but make him feel even worse.

He buried his face in his hands, as he leaned his elbows on his knees. To his mind came back what happened that shucking night back at the Last City, and with it came the feelings of guilt and remorse and emptiness—yet again it dawned on him that Newt was not there with him, with the Gladers; he'd never come back. That thought alone made Minho's blood boil inside his veins.

He wasn't sure of how he should feel; if angry, or disappointed... Maybe guilty. Knowing that he could've done something, he could've chosen another path—not staying with Newt and Thomas that night before escaping would be a constant weight on his shoulders. 

Nobody could make him think otherwise: he was the only one to blame. The only one to blame for making his best friends risk their lives to rescue him.

"Minho?" a soft voice called, pulling him out of his thoughts.

He dropped his hands from his face and sat up, slightly turning to acknowledge the new presence: (y/n). The female stood there, leaning against a tree as a frown formed on her face. In her (e/c) eyes he saw clearly that she knew what he was doing. He knew that she was aware of how he thought he was responsible for Newt's death, in a way. With just one stern look that she sent his way he knew she did not agree with him, at all.

"You've got to stop blaming yourself, Minho..." She mumbled as she finally approached his sitting figure, slowly. "It's not your fault."

Minho shook his head and went back to stare at the horizon in front of him. "That's not true."

"Then, I am also to blame."

His brown eyes widened at her sudden statement. He looked at her as she sat down next to him, leaving barely an inch of space between them. She was now gazing at the horizon as well, as the subtle breeze moved her (h/c) hair softly. "NO." He immediately retorted, earning a slight glare from her.

"I was taken too, Minho." She replied quickly, turning fully to face him. "And I was there, with you, when Newt turned. When he couldn't go on anymore. I was there too, when you followed Thomas's order to go with Gally to the Berg. And I went with you. If we really are going to put the blame on somebody, it's gonna be the two of us, not just you." She paused, and sighed softly. "I miss him too, okay? You have no idea how angry I felt when—" she cut herself off as she looked down at her hands, and bit her lip. "When it all happened. When it was already too late."

Minho stayed quiet, had closed his eyes as he allowed her voice and words to enter his mind. He understood how she felt, as he had felt that way too. He still felt that way; and he doubted the feeling would go away anytime soon.

"I don't know what's going to happen next. I have no idea. But I know something for sure: Newt would not want us to dwell on the bad things. He would not want us to blame ourselves for something that was not in our control in the first place." The dark-haired boy opened his eyes and glanced briefly at her as she paused and took a deep breath. "We tried our best; and that is what matters. It's not your fault. It's no one's fault."

Minho stared at her, looking into her beautiful (e/c) eyes; and, for a moment, he felt at peace. Having her there next to him, reassuring him that he was not to blame... It only occurred to him then that her words—her presence—was all he needed to feel better. Even if it was just for a moment, he felt better: his mind wasn't racing, and his heart wasn't aching.

All he could do was focus on her and her comforting words.

"You are not alone, Min." She murmured, gingerly grabbing his hands as she proceeded to softly rub his knuckles. "And you are definitely not the only one that feels this way. Thomas, Frypan, Brenda, Gally... All of us miss our favorite accented boy."

Minho couldn't help but chuckle, action that made (y/n) grin. He slowly wrapped his hands around hers, and moved closer to her so he could press his forehead against hers. He closed his eyes and let out a small sigh, finally allowing her words to sink in.

Comfort and peace washed over him as she felt her retrieve her hands from his grasp, only to feel them cupping his face gently. She placed a small, loving kiss on the bridge of his nose, then moved upwards to kiss his forehead.

"I'm here, Minho." She murmured, making him smile. "And whatever you do, I'll be there with you."