The Maze Runner Imagines

Minho [12]

It had been another long, seemingly unproductive and futile day in the maze for Minho. Of all things, he was actually looking forward to getting back to the Glade, eating some of Frypans food and heading off to bed. Frypans food, really? He thought to himself. I've reached such a low point I'm actually excited about Fry's food.

However, the moment he stepped foot into the Glade, he knew his evening was going to be nothing like he'd originally hoped. It was going to be miserable, full of putting the boys back in their place. Because, currently, the Glade was in shambles with boys running around carelessly, hollering like wild hyenas. Someone or something had caused an outbreak of insanity while he was responsibly mapping the maze and now he'd have to restore order.

Speaking of which, where was Newt?

After jogging around the Glade past screaming and laughing boys, Minho finally found Newt sneakily peering out from behind the northern corner of the homestead, his back rising and falling quickly as he huffed and puffed violently. The runner reached out and grabbed the blondes shoulder, turning him around.

"The shuck is going on here? And why you got that stupid piece of fabric hanging out of your back pocket?" He demanded an answer.

At first, Newt was startled, probably more than he should have been, by Minho. But, that shock was still no match against the bright, wide smile on his face and the laughter leaving his lungs.

In that moment, Minho's heart melted. Literally dropped out of his chest and right down in the grass. The air left his lungs and his eyes watered.

Never, ever before, in all of the time that Minho had known Newt had he seen him so happy. So genuinely excited to be alive, enjoying what life was currently offering him. The boy thought the Glade was a mess and that something had gone wrong, but he was beginning to think something else was at work here.

"The new Greenie's got us playing capture the flag!" Newt explained breathlessly, the smile on his face still baffling Minho. "You know what that is?"

"Of course I know what that is," Minho rolled his eyes. "How long has this been going on?"

Newt took a second to try and slow his thoughts so he could remember. "Since a couple hours after the box showed up. Pretty much all day!"

"What the—"

"C'mon!" Newt patted Minho's shoulder, still careful to be on the lookout for the opposing team. "Go find Alby! He's in charge of the other team!" He shoved Minho off before making a break towards the deadheads. Minho could obviously still see Newt's limp, but it hardly seemed to be hindering his run now. It was like all of this excitement got his mind off of the pain.

Begrudgingly, Minho set off to find Alby. Of course, just like Newt, it didn't take long to find Alby. He was over by the slaughter house, a group of boys moping around in one of the pig pens behind him. A smug smile was plastered on Alby's face as he paced around the pen, keeping a firm watch out for intruders.

"Alby!" Minho shouted as he jogged over. "You lost your shuck mind? These are boys, not pigs!"

Alby let out a low, loud laugh. One of the loudest, most sincere ones Minho had ever heard from him. "Nah! These are our prisoners! Someone's gotta keep watch!"

Minho scanned over the boys in the pen, and he noticed they all had the same kind of fabric sticking out of their back pockets, while Alby didn't. In the very least, he now knew the distinction between the two teams.

Suddenly, a ruckus broke out behind Alby. At the other side of the pen, someone was dragging Winston out of the pen, trying to help him stay up on his feet as they ran away like fleeing criminals.