tough love ✔️ | pre-the maze runner minho

21

"YOU CAN STOP doing this, Minho."

"Doing what?"

"This," Frankie gestured to his lightspeed note making and the arrow-shaped vines on the Maze floor, "I can do this, too."

"But since I'm here—"

"I don't like it," Frankie said with a tone of desiciveness, crossing her arms.

"Fine," Minho gave in, "Do you want to cut the vines or take the notes?"

"Whichever one you don't choose."

"Fine. Take notes, slinthead."

"Shuckface."

The time of mourning had passed. Or, at least, had been forced to pass. Alby didn't give anyone any space to slack off, even if their reason was Nick. In fact, working was actually the best way to not think of Nick.

Missing one day in the Maze was a big setback for the Runners —that was an undeniable statement that even Minho, who asked for another day-off, could not argue. A change or a hint could went by unaccounted for. So, here they were, running through familiar passageways silently, side by side, except for the short exchange as previously written.

Nothing changed, though.

They found themselves facing the same shucking dead-end wall and then the same blank view of the Cliff, where they munched on today's beef burritos.

"What's your favorite color?"

Frankie looked at Minho as if he had just grown two heads.

Minho chuckled, "This is what people who like each other do. Find out about the other's preferences. You do like me, don't you?"

Frankie looked at him, still loss at words. Could he be anymore straightforward?

"Well? Do you?"

Yes. Yes, he could.

"Yes," Frankie admitted under her breath. She knew her cheeks must be raging with fiery blush right now.

"I thought so, too," Minho smiled triumphantly, "So, what's your favorite color?"

"I don't know," Frankie looked at the scenery around them, trying to find some references, "Yellow, I think."

"Why?"

"It's bright."

Minho eyed her, "That's a weird reason."

Frankie pointed her finger towards the bright haze over their heads, "It's like the sun. It brings another day, another hope."

"Mine's navy. Dark blue, like the night sky when there are a lot of stars. It seems soothing and elegant at the same time. Makes me wonder how I'd look wearing a tux of that color."

Frankie laughed, "You? In a tux?"

"You can wear a yellow dress and we can tango or waltz."

They burst out laughing (yes, Frankie too, though not as barbaric as Minho's was).

"I'm sure a lot of people would love to see the sight," Frankie gasped out between her giggles.

"I think if Alby wears your dress and dances with Gally in a tux— Or Alby in the tux and Gally— I can't—"

They burst out into another fit of laughter at the image of Alby having a ballroom dance with Gally in the Glade.

"I noticed that you don't really enjoy Frypan's assortment of porks."

Minho cheered, "Hey! Are you trying to meet me halfway? To get to know me, too? I'm shucking honored."

"I can stop."

"No! You're right, I don't really like porks. They're too... fatty," Minho made a face, "What about you?"

"I don't like... nuts," Frankie said thoughtfully, "Any kind of nuts."

"That's odd. You like me and I'm nuts."

She slapped his bicep with a dry chuckle escaping her lips, "I guess I don't like you, too."

"That's too harsh, Frank."

The game continued.

"Ah," Frankie glanced at her watch after his fourth question. They were having too much fun to realize that they were already a few minutes behind their usual schedule. "We should probably head back."

Minho took a look at his own timepiece. "Right, we should."

Frankie started their journey back with Minho's small push on her back. The same feeling of rushing air and pumping blood surged throughout her vein, down to both of her trained legs and up to her rhythmically swinging arms. However, Minho decided to spice up today's return by asking questions every time they kicked over the vines they had cut as breadcrumbs earlier.

"Have you ever had a crush on anyone else in the Glade? Like Newt, maybe?"

"No," Frankie frowned, "You?"

"Only you."

And then, a few hundred feet later: "How does it feel to share a room with Newt?"

Minho hummed first before answering, "He's not a bad company. He snores, but I can still handle it. How about you, having a private room by yourself?"

"Gets a bit lonely sometimes."

"I can sneak in anytime."

"What the klunk, Minho. Shuck off."

And then, right before they exited Section Six: "Do you think I'm older than you, or not?"

"I don't know. We look like we're the same age, everybody says so, too."

"Frypan looks the oldest, right?"

"Alby does, I think. Or is it because of his complexion?"

"What do you mean complexion? He has soft baby skin."

"That's creepy observation," Frankie shuddered and ran a bit faster so she was a couple steps in front of Minho.

"Hey!"

Then, again, after a few hundred feet: "If you have to choose between kissing a Griever right at its disgusting, bulbous flesh and dancing shamelessly around the Glade for a day, which one would you choose?"

"The shuck kind of question is that, Minho?"

"I'm out. I'm out."

When there were no more vines and they could hear the clang clang clang of Gally's minions working in the Glade, signalling that they were very close to home, Frankie interrupted the steady breaths and silence.

"Can I ask one last question?"

Minho's eyes darted towards her, "Sure."

"What do you think of me?"

"This is tricky," He grinned playfully.

Frankie replied casually, "There's no right or wrong answer. I just want to know the truth."

"You're smart, wise and dependable. You're not too whiny or emotional. You did make some pretty stupid decisions, but overall you're someone who can take care of yourself. You don't need a man to complete you. You are already whole —we just keep tabs on each other and enjoy our time together," Minho shrugged, "I'd say, in conclusion, you're perfect to me. And for me."