The Maze Runner Imagines

The Hunger Games Imagine//Minho

Boom. One down. I grip the bag tighter to my chest. Running. Farther away. Faster. I sprint towards my shelter, a small shelf of rock on a hill, concealed by shrubs and grass. I dive into the opening and rip the bag open. Inside is a bandage roll, a small silver container, and a small eye dropper filled with clear liquid. I tear off the part of the bag that has the number 14 on it. 14 for District 14. I remember yesterday's message. "Contestants of the 2nd Annual Hunger Games, there will be a feast tomorrow, right as the sun comes up, it will be ready. May the odds be ever in your favor." I pull up my pants leg to reveal the hideous stab wound. Running from my ankle to my knee, about a foot of a bloody gash. It has swelled a bit around the openings and it hurts like hell. I take the eye dropper and squeeze a bit of liquid onto the top part of the wound. It stings so much. But I know that it will help. I swallow bile and bite my lip, I empty the dropper onto the wound. I nearly cry out from agony. Several moments pass. I open the silver container and bring it to my nose. A type of salve or something. I take some and spread it over my leg. I don't instantly feel the difference and decide that it's like Neosporin. After applying the thing, I unroll the bandage. I wrap it up and cut the remaining part off. I have enough left to change the bandage about 1 to 2 more times. Suddenly, there is someone diving into my hiding place. A boy. I grab my knife, waiting. He gets up and sees me. He looks shocked, then, slowly raises his hands over his head. I recognize him as the other tribute for District 14, Minho. I lower my knife a bit. He squints at me. "Allies?" I ask. He looks at me suspiciously, then nods. I put down my knife and look at him. "What're you doing here? I thought you were with the Careers," I say, as casually as I can. I knew Minho from around the District, we talked a few times, but everyone shipped us. For no reason. Even the teachers. It was humiliating. So yeah. "They broke the alliance and they attacked me. Gave me this baby," he lifts the hem of his shirt a bit, revealing a gash so bad, I gasp. The word infection popped into my head. He smiles a bit at my gasp, "Nasty, huh? There's more. It goes down to about mid-thigh. Fortunately, they missed the, you know, the cut goes right past it." You smirk, "It's a shame, really." He looks confused. "They would've saved the world from a bunch of little Minho's." He raises an eyebrow at me, "How do you know I'll even survive the night? I could die because of this," he gestures at the cut. The humorous mood disappears. "Did you take anything from the Careers before leaving them?" I ask him. He nods, and struggles to sit up a bit. I push him back and grab the things he hands me from who-knows-where. A strip of dry jerky, a small canteen of water, an apple, an assortment of small knives, and an eyed dropper filled with the same clear liquid. I wince, remembering how much it hurt. Then imagining that pain multiplied by ten. That was roughly how Minho would feel. I sigh, "Minho, this is going to hurt. A lot. But I need to clean the cut." He nods, and lifts his shirt, looking away. "Ready?" I ask. He bites his lip, "Just get on with it." I gingerly pull the shirt back a bit more and squeeze the dropper. He cries out quietly and I reach up and squeeze his hand. He holds onto me, squeezing the life out of my fingers. One minute. Two minutes. After roughly three minutes, his grip loosens and he breathes a sigh of relief. "Ummm, Minho, maybe you should do the rest," you say, biting your lip. He laughs. "I'd rather you did it, (Y/N)." "B-bbut, it's...Its like, how?" I sputter. He smiles at me. I close my eyes. "Fine. For you." He smirks and pulls his pants down. Then, removes his underwear. Or at least makes a valiant try. It's plastered to his skin with dried blood. I exhale softly, then grab a small knife and cut away the parts of the underwear that need to be removed. Thankfully, I don't see anything. Another three minutes of agony. I put some of the slave from my container and wrap the remaining bandage around it. "Thank you," he mumbles and pulls me into a hug. I lean into him and close my eyes, "Anything for you." And it's true. I would do anything for him. He kisses my forehead softly and closes his eyes. "Good night, (Y/N)."