Hello!

This is just a one-shot that I wrote in my spare time, because Minewt is my OTP and I figured I should write about them. :D

Enjoy!

- Plerfstacks :)

P.S. If you're currently reading my other story (Subject A6, the Variable), then I thought I should let you know that I'm working on the next chapter. I'll hopefully get it posted by Wednesday or Thursday.

If you aren't reading my other stories, feel free to check them out. I really appreciate the support!

Newt sat alone in his room, his fingers tracing over the strange black, rectangular box that he'd smuggled from the supplies that had come earlier that day. He'd told nobody about it, not even Alby, and he had no idea as to why he hadn't. It seemed harmless enough, with its polished black surface and strange circular glass window in the front. Newt figured that if it were going to explode or something, it would have done so already, as he'd pocketed it a few hours ago. He sighed and looked around for a place to hide his new find. Newt's eyes landed on his destroyed running shoes sitting in the corner, which they'd had to cut off of his foot when he'd wrecked his leg about a month earlier.

Somehow, he'd never been able to throw those shoes away, even with all of the painful memories associated with them. Newt smiled as he thought about the chain reaction that that particular event had set off. One second, Minho had been yelling at him for jumping off the wall, with Newt cringing under his death stare and whimpering apologies, and the next second he'd grabbed Newt and kissed him. From that day on, Newt and Minho had maintained their somewhat long-distance relationship (with Minho in the Maze all day), and Newt always looked forward to when the Runners came back to the Glade each night.

Newt blinked himself back into reality as he shoved the mysterious thing into his dilapidated shoes and walked outside. The sun looked like it would set soon, and Newt decided that when Minho got home, he'd ask him about it. Newt felt like Minho was the only one he could fully trust with whatever the shuck it was that he was hiding. He went about his duties as second-in-command to Alby in a somewhat detached manner, periodically glancing at his watch, counting down the seconds till Minho would arrive at the Glade.

Finally, the loud thumping of the Runners' shoes against the hard stone floor of the Maze reached Newt's ears, and he rushed over to the East Door to meet them.

"Minho," he said, completely ignoring the other Runners as he embraced him, sweaty as he was. Minho grinned.

"You're awful happy to see me," he panted, his fingers twirling Newt's blond hair absently.

"I found something," Newt said breathlessly. "I dunno what it is, but I was hoping you'd help me."

"Alright," Minho replied. "Just let me take a shower or something. I'll be back in a sec."

Newt fiddled impatiently with the new mysterious box of his, and when Minho finally returned with his hair and his t-shirt sopping wet, Newt practically dragged Minho to the Homestead with him.

"What the shuck did you want to show me so bad?" Minho laughed as Newt shut the door behind them.

Newt held up the strange object.

"I found this in the supplies this morning," he told Minho. "I need you to help figure out what it does."

Minho took the thing from Newt and peered at it, poking the glass window with his finger. Newt grabbed it back.

"Don't," he said. "You'll break it."

Minho grinned and kissed Newt lightly on the nose.

"If I don't mess with it, how will I figure out what it does?"

Newt shrugged, hating the blush that had crept onto his cheeks when Minho had kissed him. Minho cocked an eyebrow and held his hand out. Newt shoved the thing back into Minho's hand.

"Newt, be careful; you'll break it," Minho teased.

"Shut up," Newt replied, laughing softly. He leaned closer to Minho, who had turned it so the window was facing him.

"Hey, there's a button right here," Minho said suddenly. "Wonder what'll happen if I push it…"

"Wait!" Newt cried, but before he could do anything, Minho's finger had pressed the button and a strange clicking noise had come from the box. Neither boy said anything as a small slip of paper emerged from the bottom and fluttered to the floor. Newt caught it before it could land, and held it up for Minho to see.

"It's blank," Minho said in an unimpressed voice. "Shuck it, I thought it was gonna have some sort of deep dark secret on it, like a way out of the Maze."

Newt was disappointed as well, but he tried not to show it.

"Well, now we know what it does," he said optimistically.

"Yeah, it spits out pieces of paper," Minho replied dryly. "How enthralling."

Newt was about to retort when he noticed something happening to the paper in his hand.

"Whoa, look," he said, waving it in Minho's face.

"What is it?" Minho asked. "I can't see it when you're flinging it all over the place, Newt." He reached out and caught Newt's wrist, sending a warm burst of sparks down his arm. Newt didn't let go of the paper, but instead let Minho continue holding his arm in the air while he looked at it.

"It's like it's slowly… doing something. Making… words?" Minho squinted at it. "Wait, no. A picture?"

In about a minute's time, it was clear that a picture was being created on their strange slip of paper. In fact, it was a picture of the two of them mid-sentence, with Newt panicky and Minho with a slightly confused look, but the same cocky smirk as usual.

"It's a camera," Newt realized. "Shuck it, that thing must be at least two hundred years old. It actually prints the pictures."

Minho nodded in agreement.

"This thing belongs in a museum. We should build one of those. Put the Builders to work on that for me, will you?" Newt grinned.

"Whatever you say," he replied.

"Good," Minho said, turning to leave. "See ya later, shank."

Eight months later

Minho sat on a log on the outskirts of their new 'paradise'. He rested his head in his hands miserably, finding it hard not to notice Thomas and Brenda making out about twenty feet away from him. Those shanks, he thought spitefully. Rubbing my own shucking misery in my face.

He knew that Thomas and Brenda didn't mean to upset him, but Minho thought that he was being fair. Thomas had killed Newt. If he expected to be forgiven any time soon, he was wrong.

Minho sighed, letting a single tear trace its way down his face and splash onto his leg. He blinked the rest of them away, sucking in a shaky breath. He wasn't gonna cry any more. He'd done enough of that on the first few days of living in paradise. Not that it was a shucking paradise to Minho. Nowhere in the world would be paradise to him without the familiar feeling of Newt's hand in his own; without the soft blond hair that slid through Minho's fingers like silk. Another tear slid down his face as he thought about what he'd lost in the past few days. He'd lost Newt, yes, but with him went a part of Minho that he'd never get back.

Minho slipped his hand into his pocket without really thinking, his fingers closing around a worn-out piece of glossy paper. He pulled it out, his hand shaking slightly with the effort of trying not to break down sobbing, and stared down at the picture of him and Newt before everything had gone wrong. Minho's tears splashed down onto the paper in his hand as he looked at Newt's face, forever immortalized in the photograph. He'd never forget Newt. Not his face, not his bright blue eyes, not his silky blond hair. Not the way he'd jump in surprise when Minho walked into his room at the end of the day, only to stand up and rush into Minho's arms. Not his laugh.

Minho stood up and raised his arm to the wind, letting the picture slip through his fingers and float away on the breeze. He watched it go, his face wet with the tears he'd never intended to let fall.

"Good-bye, Newt," Minho whispered. "I love you."