They rounded corner after corner, trying to run but their aching bodies wouldn't let them, instead they went slower, a sort of fast walk. They went at the same pace, neither faster than the other, although Minho was obviously the better runner but he was too tired to care.

They turned another corner, Thomas had no idea that would be it, Minho new but he didn't think about it at the time, his brain was wasted and he'd been letting his feet do all the thinking for the whole journey. At the other end of the passage was the open doors and beyond it the grassy Glade. Thomas had never seen anything so perfect. Minho thought the same, but he didn't mean the Glade. A group of boys were there. In the center was Newt.

One second before Minho was feeling like he'd never run again but now he broke into a sprint. Newt did the same, moving as fast as he could with his bad leg. The other gladers followed after him at a jog.

"How in the bloody-?" Newt started to question as he drew closer.

Minho spreaded his arms out, looking very pleased with himself, but also absolutely exhausted. When Newt met them he did something no one there was expecting. He reached out and slapped Minho round the face. Minho collapsed against the stone wall on the maze, holding one hand out for support, the other instantly going to his burning face.

"Don't you ever, ever do that to me again!" Newt cried, shrieking at the top of his lungs, his voice becoming croaky and tears were prickling his eyes. "I bloody hate you, you shuck-faced idiot."

In the next instant he had run over to the wall were Minho stood, cowering, if only slightly. He grabbed the runner by the hand that still held his cheek and placed his other hand over the boy's neck, yanking him closer to him and forcing their lips together.

The other gladers cheered and hollered, some of them started applauding and some of them sniggered and giggled, no one looked angry. All of them had know, but most of them had thought Newt and Minho would take their supposed secret to the grave, the other few had made bets for years on what it would take for the two of them to break. They had just got their answer.

For Newt and Minho though they were in their own world, the loud cries of the other boys barely audible. The Asian's free hand flew from the wall to the back of Newt's neck, gently grazing across the bottom of the skinny boy's thick and curly hair. He nestled in between the cold stone on his back and Newt's body before him, the leader's face over his, the feel of his slightly dry lips, the short gasps of his breath. Just last night he'd given up hope, lost control over the crazy fear that he'd never know this again.

That same feeling had haunted Newt all night, alone in the Glade, surrounded by so many but feeling more completely and utterly alone than he ever had done in his whole life, he knew somehow that even before the memory wipe he had never felt so alone, until now when thankfully, by some utter miracle that he couldn't even think on right now, Minho had come back to him. He felt the warmth of the other boy's lips on his own, the strong smell of exhaustion and dirt after the night in the maze, the softness of his skin and the squeeze of his hand as he cupped the boy's face.

Thomas was the only one there who wasn't making a scene. He stood silently, too strained to move. But that didn't mean he didn't care, inside a smile was bursting within him as he watched the two boys crouched together against the wall.

When they finished Newt pulled Minho up the two exchanged a couple of words that no one heard. Thomas was standing nearest to them and he heard a weak "please" come out of Newt's mouth, but that was all. Then Newt slung the arm of the runner over his skinny neck and starting to pull him towards the doors to the Glade. All the other boys followed, including Thomas, helped along by some of the other gladers he didn't know yet. Minho looked at Newt, a smile spreading on his face, showing he felt relieved. Then he glanced back over his shoulder at Thomas, their eyes connected for a moment and a sense of achievement mirrored in them.