Disclaimer: I don't own The Maze Runner or it's characters.

Soulmates. A petty thing, really. A small insignificant part of a persons life.

Or at least, Minho's life.

Around the ages of four to six, Minho was fascinated with the idea that some force, somewhere, had picked a girl out just for him. The idea made little Minho smile with joy. A girl somewhere, right now, could be eating PB and J, just as he was.

Around fourteen years old, Minho realised that that force hadn't chosen a girl, and had most likely chosen a boy for him. He didn't care. There was a boy out there, somewhere, who could be running laps just as he was.

Around sixteen years old, as everyone had coupled up, he sat, alone, telling himself his soulmate didn't exist. He looked it up online, and most sites said if you don't have a soulmate by sixteen, you might not have one. Or you're dysfunctional and should seek medical help. Minho had slammed the laptop shut.

Around eighteen years old, he fell in love. Neither had found their soulmate, and both agreed they never would.

Around nineteen years old, they found there Soulmate.

Around twenty years old, he met him.

The whole world had collapsed around him. He suddenly had the taste of stew in his mouth, even though he had never eaten it in his life. He had the urge to open up a book and read, when all he had ever had the urge to do was run. He suddenly felt as though the whole world was against him, when before he felt like he was beating it at it's own game.

He scanned the crowd of any signs of someone stopped, just as he had. But there was no-one.

That night, Minho looked up "My soulmate ran away." And cropped up with results such as;

"Dysfunctional Soulmates: A first hand account."

"My soulmate isn't my soulmate?"

And the final:

"I found my soulmate, but he might not actually be my soulmate, because I already have a soulmate."

Minho had clicked on that one, frowning as he read. The guy had been in a relationship with his soulmate, the soulmate he'd known for three years, when he bumped into someone and had the exact same feelings as he had the day he met his current soulmate, and had ran away, scared. Minho scrolled down for comments, seeing that most were

"Hey! You don't just run away like that, you slinthead!"

And "How the hell do you think the guy feels?!"

Minho scoffed, about to close the tab when the final comment caught his eye.

"It was probably platonic. I wouldn't beat yourself up over what you did, it's perfectly normal, don't listen to the others. I had been in the same position with my Soulmates. What I'd do is go to the location again, see if they wondered there. Most cases of unmet Soulmates have been seen to do that. Good luck.
-Teresa."

Minho had shut the laptop, sliding it under his bed, and cried himself to sleep.

Thomas.

The name swam around his mind as he woke, and wouldn't leave him all day.

Making his coffee.

Thomas.

Morning run.

Thomas.

When he almost got ran over by a bus, but instead was tackled. However, the name stopped. And his mind exploded.

He could taste strawberries, even though he was allergic.

He had a searing pain in his leg, although he didn't remember hurting it.

He felt like he wanted to shout at someone, anyone, although he had no rage.

It stopped as suddenly as it started, and when it had, there was a face, who looked just as dumbfounded as Minho assumed he looked.

"Sorry." The person mumbled, and Minho felt like he wanted to have babies with the voice.

"Don't sweat it." Minho mumbled, sliding to a seating position, but not pushing the person off. "I should-"

"Newt."

Minho's eyes widened, and the person laughed.

"Just the bloody name, Minho."

Minho frowned.

"Guess you haven't gone through it?" Newt, Minho presumed, asked. When Minho shook his head, Newt continued, shuffling to stand, holding a hand out. "You're my soulmate. I'm yours."

Minho took the hand. "Right."

"I already have a romantic soulmate."

Minho's heart crushed a little.

"But I knew I had two. I just didn't bloody think they'd be each others Soulmates either."

Minho elated a little at that. "Gonna need to explain that better, Newt." The name rolled off his tongue.

Newt took his hand. "I'll show you."

And he did.

At twenty seven years old, Minho had his arms draped around Newt, while Thomas rested his head on Newts thigh, all panting.

"Can't believe I ran away from this. " Thomas breathed, laughing.

Reviews would be fantastic! ^_^