Grievers. Screams. Blood.
These images made Thomas jolt into an upright position, gasping for air that he desperately needed in his chest. Hands grabbed at him from all around and various voices spoke in different pitches and tones his ear-all of them mixing together. Faces were every where, making him shudder and sweat in confusion. "Slim it!" A single, British voice called out over the others, making everything and everyone silent in the process. It was Newt, who was currently leaning in towards Thomas's face. Panting and slowly regaining his breathing, Thomas wet his lips, nodding to Newt as a silent thank you.
The blonde just coughed lightly to clear his throat and told everyone to get out, so he could talk to Thomas alone. When everyone was out except for Thomas and Newt, the older boy plopped down next to Thomas, taking the weight off his aching limp. "Scared the lot of us, didn't you, Thomas?" He shook his head and grinned. Newt was using his authoritative voice. One he uses to talk to the other gladers, not the one he usually uses with Thomas. He massaged his ankle for a second, then looked up at Thomas with soft eyes. "What happened back there, Tommy?" He asked in a concerned and soothing tone.
The brunette gulped suddenly remembering everything that had happened in the maze. How scared he was when he got separated from Minho. How afraid he was when the Griever lunged at him only to be pulled back by a couple of vines. Or how terrified he felt when he crossed the threshold of the Glade and not seeing Minho waiting there with open arms. All of the memories came back, tugging at his heart and filling him with sadness.
Minho. Thomas thought. The Asian was the only person he'd truly connected with in the Glade besides Newt or Chuck and now-was he-gone? Thomas sighed, realizing he was making the Brit wait. "I don't know." He shrugged, messing with the thin blanket over his legs. "Minho and me-" It even pained him to say the male's name. He shivered and continued, pushing his worries aside. "We stopped to eat lunch and a Griever...it sprung out of no where. It chased us. Somehow-we were separated. And-" Thomas was cut off by someone bursting into the room. A small round boy was panting and scrambling for words. It was Chuck. Boy, the kid could suck in some air. "Newt! They're back. The Runners. Oh, hey, Thomas!" Chuck smiles at the both of them.
Thomas wasn't listening though.
Runners.
Minho.
That was all Thomas needed to spring up from the bed and to his feet, wobbling a little as he frantically searched for his shoes. "Whoa-Tommy. Wait. Calm down. Don't strain yourself. I'd rather not have to get-" Newt's words didn't reach Thomas because he was already bolting past the blonde and Chuck, bounding down the stairs and out the door of the Homestead. His eyes focused on the doors of the Maze where he saw a massive crowd, lingering and laughing. Taking off in a fast sprint, Thomas steadied his breathing and clenched his fists. His body ached and begged him to stop moving and rest, but he didn't care. Minho could be over there. The crowd grew closer as his feet glided over the grass, his pace not letting up. Finally, he reached the group of Gladers and pushed them aside, weaving through the small group. Spotting five Runners, all whom of which weren't Minho, Thomas stood there, his heart sinking.
He shouldn't have left Minho. Another Griever must have gotten to him. Killed him. Drug him back to their Griever hole-where ever it was. Or worse. Left him for dead. To scream out endlessly for Thomas or someone-anyone. Fear crept inside Thomas. And then when all sense of hope that Minho would return-
"Thomas?" Someone said, causing the male in question to whip his head around. The pure form of perfection was standing there with his hair perfect and skin free from sweat. His eyes squinted against the sun, but were focused on solely Thomas. His buff arms hanged loosely at his sides. Minho was there, standing in the flesh. Breathing. Thomas sighed heavily. A sense of relief washed over him as he slowly walks over to the Keeper, sensing that the crowd was starting to disperse for dinner and leaving the two Runners to themselves.
"Minho." Thomas breathed, loving the way the male's name rolled off his tongue. Suddenly, Minho reached forward and yanked Thomas into a tight hug, squeezing the life and breath out of him, but he gladly returned it just as tight. "Hey, Shuck-face." Minho mummers with a lump in his throat. This made Thomas laugh and grin.
Minho pulled back slightly, hands still clenching Thomas's arms, but his face was stern and serious. "Don't you ever do that again, Greenie. You hear me? Ever. I don't care /what/ happens. Don't ever shuckin' do that again. Not without me." Minho ordered sternly, making Thomas nod. "Good that." Thomas says as the Asian softens his shoulders and sighs. Thomas grins, his stomach making itself noticeable with a loud rumble.
Minho laughs upon hearing it and clasps Thomas tightly on the shoulder. "Wanna get some food, shank?"