tough love ✔️ | pre-the maze runner minho

05

DAYS WENT BY quickly for him.

The finality in Frankie's words rendered him powerless. Strapped in bed, fed three times a day, nap. He spent most of his time half-asleep, wishing that he would finally sleep forever if he didn't open his eyes.

Had it been three days? Or five? Or a week? A few days at least, when he realized that somebody, other than the bloody Med-jacks, was sitting by his deathbed. Finally.

When he first open his eyes, the figure was a blur. Then the visitor's Asian features sharpened over time and Newt recognized him as Minho.

"Aren't you supposed to be in the Maze?"

His voice cracked.

"Frankie cried."

Newt stayed silent, afraid that his ears were tricking him after days unused.

"This is supposed to be a secret, but, what the klunk. You know as well as I do that she never cried. Remember our First Day? Wakin' up in a shucking jungle with few supplies, stony field, and nine others. If you don't, remind you that we wept together like bunch of grown babies."

The tip of Newt's lips were lifted a bit. He did remember, actually. Wasn't a pretty sight.

"And what did she do?"

"She slapped us and told us to get over ourselves."

"Exactly," Minho leaned back onto his chair, "I don't need to list whatever heroic thing she's done, you were there. She never cried. Or she never cried in front of any of us. Whatever.

The most we heard from her were some sniffs when anyone dies, but when you decide that killing yourself's the greatest buggin' gift you could give to us, I found her bawling with real, actual tears."

He raked his fingers through his hair.

"Man, I was so lost at what to do. It's Frankie, you know?"

Newt stayed silent again. This time, letting the warmth of the news soak through his bones.

"I know you're in deep klunk, but running away is what cowards do. And you're not a shucking coward. We're all chasing after tails right now, but we can't give up. We can't. Give. Up. And if you can't do it for yourself, do it for the Greenies. For Alby, Nick, Frypan, Clint, Jeff, Adam, Ben, Gally, Stephen, Stan, Doug, Zart, Leo, Jack, Frankie, shuck, for me. We can't do it without you.

"I took a day off, since you stayed asleep so long like the Sleepin' shucking Beauty. Eat your food and take a shower for shuck's sake, you smell. Gah."

Minho stood up theatrically and exited the room, leaving Newt alone with the loud roar of his thoughts and involuntary tears.

〰️

FRANKIE KNEW SOMETHING was wrong the moment the Glade came into view.

Minho was standing right at the Door's opening with a grin so huge, she had to look over her shoulder to check if he was actually grinning at her or Ben, who was running behind her (After that one time she ran off alone, Minho made sure that she always had a partner).

She pointed to herself, asking for confirmation. He nodded.

"Anything new?"

"No," she replied in a confused tone, "Did someone crack the Maze?"

"No," it was his turn to be confused, "Why?"

"You look like an idiot."

"Well, now we look alike."

"Shuckface."

"Slinthead."

Frankie rolled her eyes and began to a jog towards the Map Room but Minho yanked her aside.

"You gotta see this first."

"And the map?"

"M' more important." He took her hand in his and pulled her Northeast, towards Zart's tree grove.

"This better be shucking good," she huffed, feeling annoyed of being dragged around against her will.

But then she noticed that people were smiling joyously. There were excessive laughters and conversations going around, too much for a band of teenagers being locked inside a Maze with dangerous creatures roaming around in a regular day.

And then, there. Right there.

Feet firmly planted on the lumpy soil, body bent over, fingers plucking weeds.

His shirt was drenched in sweat, his skin burnt red, and his previously soulless eyes were full of color. He threw the wild plantation into a designated bucket. Then he straightened his back, stretching with a loud groan, earning a hearty laugh from his comrades.

"Never knew this is so bloody tiring!"

The British accent.

Newt. In person.

Frankie broke out to a full grin, matching Minho's. The two shared a meaningful look.

"How's your head?" Minho asked.

Frankie's hand reflexively stood up and touch the bluish bump on her forehead (courtesy of Newt's drinking glass) and on her temple (courtesy of Newt's fist). "Brilliant."

Newt's eyes caught the two Runners just standing a few feet away, watching him with smiles full of relief, and he waved them over.

"Ran into any Grievers?" he said when they were close enough.

Frankie missed this. This small talk she had to live without for more than a week now. "No."

Newt chuckled. It wasn't his usual cheerful laugh, but he was certainly trying.

"After a long talk with Nick, he recommended me to help here. Can't run anymore with a shucked up ankle, and this doesn't require much feet movement. Zart the Fart accepts almost immediately. Think he bloody loves bossing me around."

Frankie lifted her arm and Newt thought she was giving him a hug, but she planted her palm on his shoulder instead. With her usual thin smile, she asked, "You good?"

Good wasn't a good enough answer. He grabbed her arm, shrugged it off, and took the initiative to embrace her first.

"I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about."

"I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

"Good that."

"Aw!" Minho had his one arm over Newt's shoulder and one over Frankie's, breaking the melancholic vibe at once. "I want a hug, too!"

Frankie used her free hand to seize a handful of hair above his nape and pulled it hard.

"No! Not the hair!"

She pulled harder. His cry was so shrill, Gally said Hank thought it was a Griever.