The Maze Runner Oneshots & Imagines

Minho - Fever

Last night you had gone to sleep worried about Minho. He had been looking a little pale but he brushed off your concern with a smirk and his usual wit. It wasn’t just you though, others had noticed that he seemed a bit off. However, this was Minho we were talking about; one of the most stubborn people in the Glade, so there was no winning.

Your fears were confirmed early the next morning. Minho was brought into the homestead after passing out before he was even able to get past the Maze doors. Thank god, you thought. There was no telling what would happen if he fainted out there; you may very well have never seen him again.

You strode into his room, ready to give him the ‘I told you so’ spiel, but he was still out cold. With a sigh, you slumped into a nearby chair and decided to wait. It was too early in the morning for the other boys to be in need of your assistance, so you were safe to hang around.

*

Minho woke up to an empty and eerily quiet room. He felt terrible, to say the least. He was drenched in sweat (more-so) than usual, and kind of nauseous. He kicked off his blankets but remained lying down, hoping someone would visit him soon.

His prayers were answered when you walked through the door, carrying a tray of food. He smiled eagerly, promptly jumping up. You set the food on the table and moved to the foot of his bed. Arms crossed, you stared down at Minho with a frown. There was a staring contest going on between you, until he was forced to give up. His complaints turned to coughing, which eventually dissolved to more groans.

“Told ya, shank.” He just moaned, shaking a hand in your direction dismissively. You smiled to yourself as Minho crawled underneath the covers and hid his top half with a pillow.

“It’s lunch time,” you announced, coming to sit on the bed beside him. You only heard him grumble from his cocoon. You tugged at the pillow, eventually wrestling it from his grasp. This didn’t stop him from making noises the whole time he rolled over to face you.

“I got jelly,” you told him. This seemed to catch his attention.

“Jelly? How?” Minho questioned suspiciously, sitting up. His skin was sallow and clammy.

“I dunno,” you shrugged. “Frypan gave it to me to give to you.” He eyed you shortly, then reached over to the table and scooped up the jelly cup. He began eating, zoning out as his eyes rested elsewhere.

At some point, Clint came into the room. He shuffled around for a bit. Finally, he came to Minho’s other side. Clint grabbed his arm, not waiting before sticking a needle into it.

“Hey! What are you doing?!” Minho cried, trying to rip his arm back but Clint was quicker, and ready. You put a hand on his shoulder to calm him.

“My job,” Clint said with a roll of his eyes. “It’s just some stuff to make you better, Minho,” he sighed. Boy, was this kid more paranoid and stubborn when he was sick. Once he was satisfied with what he’d done, he left the room to tend to his other patients.

You looked at Minho, who was already droopy lidded. “Hey, lie down,” you said softly, pushing him back onto the pillow. You pulled up the covers somewhat, resting your hands on it. He found your hands and his fingers fumbled with your own, dragging them closer to his chest.

“’m’sleepy,” he mumbled, looking up at you.

“Sleep then,” you smiled, pressing the palm of your hand to his forehead. Damn, he was hot. In all senses of the word.

“Stay,” he pleaded, trying to pull you closer.

“You know I can’t.”

“Please?”

You tried to take your hand back. “Alby’ll kick my ass.”

He gave an awkward half-shrug. “Good.”

You let out a laugh. “No, not good. Minho, I gotta go.”

He didn’t let go but his grip loosened as he heaved a sigh. “Fine. Leave me to die alone.”

“You’re not going to die, Minho,” you groaned.

“Feels like it,” he complained. Finally, your hand was free. He turned on his side, away from you. This caused your heart to ache.

“I’ll come back tonight,” you promised. You saw him twitch before lifting himself onto his elbows.

“You better,” he threatened. Minho lay back down, staring up at the ceiling. You turned to walk away but he interrupted your exit. It was slurred, but you caught it. “Love you. Bye.”

Your eyes widened significantly and you froze. Had he just? Oh god. You were not going to get any work done this afternoon.

After mumbling a meek “bye” you left in an addled hurry.

*

“How is he?” you asked Jeff when you reentered the homestead.

“In and out of consciousness. Kind of messed up,” Jeff answered. “He’ll be fine, though. It’s just a fever.” You nodded and then moved past him to go to Minho’s room.

“Hey, baby,” Minho cooed as soon as you stepped in, “gimme a smooch.” You laughed.

“No way in hell, baby,” you retorted. “You been having fun?” you asked as you sat down.

“I should be out in the maze,” he claimed.

“You’re sick. So shut up, sleep, and enjoy the days off.”

“Mmm,” he hummed. “I like it when you’re mean.”

You turned away, hiding your smile. When you looked back, Minho had dozed off. You ran a hand through his abnormally unruly hair, thinking back to earlier. That is, until another hand snatched at your wrist.

“Got you,” Minho beamed.

“Got me,” you repeated quietly, lowering your hand into his control. Trying to mute your obvious affection wasn’t going to plan.

His other hand began tugging at your shirt. “Get in here,” he whispered. With an inward sigh, you climbed into the bed without pulling the covers up. You lay facing the ceiling, Minho looking over you. “Have I ever told you you’re beautiful? I should.”

You peeked at him, biting the inside of your cheek. You measured his loopy smile with vigilant eyes. “Yeah, you’re definitely delusional.”

More silence passed but you didn’t mind. Surprisingly, you hadn’t heard the light snores of Minho yet. But you yourself were beginning to tire. You turned on your side, eyes fluttering shut. You were almost asleep when an arm encircled your waist. He pulled you flush against his chest, resting his chin in the crook of your neck.

“You’re gonna get me sick,” you argued half-heartedly. Your heart was convulsing, in all honesty.

“Good,” he mumbled into your hair. “Then you can’t leave.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you snorted.

His muscly arms gave you a squeeze. And as if that wasn’t enough to drive you mad, he followed up with a husky reply that made you crush him right back: “Ridiculous enough to miss you.”