To Be Happy Again
Thomas wasn't sure when he decided to change his mind, but he did. He was going to tell Minho what exactly had happened to Newt. Not only was the knowledge eating at him every single day, but he also felt that Minho had a right to know. Anyone with eyes could see that the former Keeper had been close to Newt since they'd live in the Maze together. Thomas had always known the two were incredibly close friends, and it wasn't until after they'd escaped the Maze and entered the Scorch that he'd realized the two were much more than that. He remembered the time he'd woken up earlier than everyone else one night, and had spotted Minho and Newt sleeping side by side, fingers entwined on the ground between them. He was surprised, but not too surprised. It wasn't very hard to believe that Minho was in love with Newt.
Now, thinking back to every, awful moment, Thomas knew that he had to tell Minho the truth. The images rushing back only made him feel worse about it.
The look of blank shock on Minho's face when Newt hauled off and punched him after finding out he wasn't immune.
Minho, flashing a smirk that made Newt's smile go crooked.
The raw pain in Minho's face when Newt pointed a gun at his chest.
Minho giving up, becoming hollow and distant.
Newt, a shred of sanity in his eyes as he begged Thomas to kill him.
Thomas couldn't live with what he'd done anymore. It ripped at him day and night. Minho was his best friend, his only true friend. He had to tell him.
-o-o-o-
The sun was setting, throwing bloody streaks into the ocean, when Thomas came to the edge of the cliff outside of Haven and crossed his arms to wait. Haven was what the Immunes had begun calling their growing community, and the name fit perfectly. They were probably back there now, gathering around the log cabins on such a beautiful evening, laughing and talking. He wished he could join them, but he had something much worse to do. His stomach twisted and he felt sick. How could he do this? How could he break Minho's heart?
"You look like Rat Man just proposed to you," a sarcastic voice remarked from behind him. He jumped, then relaxed when he realized that it was Minho.
"Yeah, well," Thomas began nervously. "I was just thinking."
"About what, Brenda's funeral?" Minho joked. He sidled up next to Thomas, his usual cocky smirk in place. He wore jeans and a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The sunlight caught in his jet-black hair, turning a few spiked strands into cobalt-blue. He gave Thomas a sideways glance. "So what's up? Because you seriously look depressed."
Thomas's palms were sweating and he wiped them hastily on his jeans. "Actually, there is something I wanted to talk to you about," he said hesitantly. His heartbeat was racing. He was dreading this so much already.
"What is it?" Minho asked curiously.
Thomas swallowed. "It's about Newt," he blurted out.
Minho stiffened. His coal-dark eyes lit with pain for an instant, then clouded over. He looked away, out at the ocean, his jaw clenched. "What about him?" he asked, in a dull, flat voice.
Thomas wanted to take it back, but it was too late. He could see from Minho's face that this would not go well. Not at all. The last thing Thomas wanted was to argue, or even fight. Sure, he had fought Grievers before, but Minho had been Keeper of the Runners; he was freaking strong and anyway, he was Thomas's closest friend. He wouldn't fight him. But he'd already mentioned Newt, so now he had to confess the rest of it. He took a steadying breath. "I...I killed him, Minho," he whispered.
Minho's head snapped up and he stared at Thomas in astonishment. "What?" he demanded sharply.
"He asked me to," Thomas explained, desperate for Minho to understand. "He told me he'd rather die than become a Crank. He didn't want to lose himself like that. He made me kill him."
"He made you?" Minho echoed in disbelief. His eyes narrowed dangerously. "When did this happen? How did this happen?"
Thomas took a step back, raising his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "When I was going to WICKED's headquarters," he answered. "I saw him. I wanted to help him, Minho, but he was going crazy. He was suffering." Minho's face shifted to one much darker and Thomas hurried to go on. "He pinned me down, and he asked me kill him. I had a gun, and—"
"And being the saint you are, you put a bullet in his head," Minho snapped. His hands were fists now, agony and fury brimming in his gaze. He advanced on Thomas threateningly. "You shot him!"
"He begged me to!" Thomas cried. "I swear, it was what he wanted! He didn't want to become a monster!" He gazed at Minho pleadingly, willing his friend to understand. His voice softened. "I'm sorry. I know how close you were to him."
Minho froze. Something like a sob ripped itself from his chest. He shook his head, raking a hand through his hair, like he was frustrated, lost. Then he shot Thomas a burning glare. "You don't know anything," he growled. His voice sent a trickle of ice across the back of Thomas's neck. "You never knew."
"I did," Thomas replied, trying to speak softly, hoping to get through to Minho. "I—I know you...loved him."
Minho blanched. Then his face contorted with rage. "You shucking bastard!" he snarled, and he punched Thomas, hard.
Pain burst in Thomas's jaw and he staggered back. Holding his face, he reached one hand out toward Minho, as though to hold him back. "Minho, listen to me!"
"I'm done listening! You killed him!" Minho lashed out again, his fist connecting with the other side of Thomas's face.
Thomas gasped at the throbbing in his jaw. Breathing heavily, he shrank back. "He wanted me to!" he cried. "I'm sorry!"
Minho's expression hardened and he swung at Thomas again. Thomas couldn't think of anything else to do. Adrenaline rocketed into him and he ducked under the strike. Then he crushed a fist into Minho's ribs. Minho hissed and stumbled backwards, holding his side. Thomas hurriedly straightened up again, facing his friend. "I don't want to fight you," he pleaded. "Please. Stop."
Minho looked up at him then, and the agony in his expression broke Thomas's heart. "How...could you?" he asked, in a near-whisper. Thomas felt himself break even more. Minho still kept a hand to his side, refusing to brush away the single tear that escaped down his cheek. "You did this to me," he whispered. "You did this to me." He hung his head, as though it was too much. His shoulders trembled. Thomas edged forward tentatively. And then, Minho glanced up and Thomas saw the black anger there, and knew he was in big trouble.
"Minho," he warned, lifting his hands in surrender. "Don't—"
"Shut up!" Minho cut him off, and rushed him, slamming his shoulder into Thomas's stomach. They collided with a tree; Thomas's back rammed into the rough bark and he let out a cry of pain.
"Minho!" he yelled. Without thinking, he buried his fingers in Minho's hair and wrenched his head up.
"Agh!" Minho growled, seizing Thomas's wrist and ripping it away from his head. Thomas panicked and swung his other fist. Minho dodged, then caught Thomas's other wrist and pinned both of them on either side of Thomas's head. His chest heaved as the two of them glared at each other.
"Minho, you have to stop," Thomas begged between gasps for air. "I know it hurts. But this isn't what Newt would've wanted."
Minho leaned in close, inches from Thomas. "You don't have a damn clue what he would've wanted," he spat.
"I know he wouldn't have wanted his two best friends to kill each other!" Thomas shot back.
"Oh yeah? Well, good thing he isn't here to stop me then, thanks to you."
"Stop feeling sorry for yourself for one shucking minute and listen to me!" Thomas exploded. He met Minho's gaze. "Look at what you're doing! This isn't you. You're better than this."
Tears glistened in Minho's eyes, but he blinked them away. "No, I'm not," he bit out. "I'm...nothing without him. I'm a wreck without him." He glowered at Thomas with pure hatred. "So if this is who I am now, then fine. I don't want to be the way I was before. That person would forgive you, but I won't."
Thomas didn't know if Minho was actually going to literally kill him right now, but real fear was churning in his mind. "I want that person back!" he blurted out. Minho paused. A shred of hope lit up in Thomas and he went on. "I want Minho back, the real Minho, who fought a pack of Grievers in the Maze, and trained me to be a Runner, and is too damn sarcastic all the time, and never would've attacked his friends like this!" He searched his friend's gaze, but there was nothing there. "I want you back," he repeated, in a calmer voice. "I want you, Minho."
Minho stared at him. His grip on Thomas's wrists loosened. Thomas felt his hope grow. Then Minho's hands tightened again, and terror fired into Thomas's veins, but then Minho crushed his mouth to Thomas's.
Thomas went completely still in shock. His first thought was of Brenda, and what this would do to her, and then his second thought was of how surprisingly good Minho's mouth felt on his. The former Keeper was kissing him as though the world was ending, nipping his bottom lip, urging Thomas to kiss him back. A low sound came from Thomas's throat and he did kiss Minho back. His mind was reeling, but shutting down at the same time, as he became drunk with this wonderful taste. They kissed desperately, hungrily, growing intoxicated with each other.
"Oh shit," Minho gasped out, and he abruptly tore himself away from Thomas. He put three feet between them and gazed at Thomas with a terrified look on his face. "Shit," he repeated. "Jesus, Thomas, I'm sorry."
Thomas didn't move. "You kissed me," he said blankly.
Minho flinched. "I know. I don't know what I was... I didn't meant to do that. That was a mistake."
Thomas didn't push it any farther than that, even though tiny tingles of pleasure still danced through him from that kiss. His shoulders slumped as he dropped his hands to his sides. "I really am sorry," he murmured. "I never wanted this."
"I know you didn't." Minho looked away. He looked defeated, empty. Nothing like the old Minho, but not like the monster he'd been earlier either.
"He would've wanted you to move on," Thomas said softly. "To be happy again."
"I don't know if I can," Minho mumbled.
Thomas's heart ached and he crossed to Minho's side. He stopped, their shoulders brushing slightly. "Well, if you need someone to talk to, or anything," he began awkwardly, smiling, "I'll be here."
Impossibly, Minho smiled back. "Thanks."
They watched, standing side by side, as the sun drifted lower in the gold-painted sky.