Do you notice it too? How the bonfires here feel different from the Glade?

Thomas had asked Gally that on another night like this one, during their Safe Haven parties that mirrored those they'd had in the Glade. Thomas had been drunk himself, a rare sight, and more willing to sit next to Gally instead of shy away from him.

Gally remembered thinking of course you're asking questions, but as Gally eventually accepted, usually Thomas' questions were worth asking.

Thomas then had spent the next hour piecing together the mystery out loud, too drunk to stop his mouth from moving as fast as his thoughts. Gally listened, because he was intoxicated enough to be interested - though if a knife at his throat made him tell the truth, Gally would have been interested regardless of sobriety.

Thomas explained in that looping way he always did, conclusion to question, question to conclusion. He said he had found it odd, back in the Glade, that the smoke smell stayed so congested in their camp. That the smell lingered throughout the week. Now that they know that the Maze was a facility, that makes a lot more sense. Heat can only rise so high in a building, and the smoke has nowhere to go. Thomas said that he hadn't dwelled on it back in the Glade, but he thinks it might have been a subtle nudge for him to know that something was very, very wrong there.

Gally didn't realize until much later that this was meant to be a comfort. That Thomas' question wasn't just base inquisitiveness like usual, this one had an intention. Telling anyone who listened reasons they could be sure that this Safe Haven had to be the real thing. Ways to believe that above them is truly the open sky, 'cause the heat is rising higher. The smoke from the bonfire doesn't linger because it's taken away by the sea breeze, because here there is a breeze, and everything tastes cleaner than it ever did in the Glade because it's true. Gally's not sure if Thomas has accepted that belief himself, but maybe if they say it enough times they'll eventually relax into the idea.

All Gally said at the time was that he'd never noticed those things. Because he hadn't. Or maybe he had, but he'd ignored it. Gally wasn't sure, anymore. He'd been wrong about the Glade, so it didn't matter what he thought, anyway.

Tonight, the air is warm, so they didn't actually need the bonfire, but they'd lit one anyway. Now it's hot, like another layer of clothes on Gally's sweat-slicked skin. He could take off his sweater but he doesn't want to, even though he feels like a human furnace.

He hasn't touched his own drink in an hour, but everyone else has gone through at least two more glasses. Everybody's all sharp elbows and alcohol breath, leaning in too close to one another. They have to use hands on each other's shoulders, waists, knees, as a crutch as they walk and talk because they've drank Gally's brews too fast and now they can't distinguish people from logs.

In Safe Haven everybody's family, so it shouldn't matter. At least, that's Minho's philosophy he parrots on nights like this.

Gally doesn't tell Minho this, doesn't tell anyone this, but sometimes Gally feels so much like a stranger that he's even estranged from himself.

The bonfire is loud, but Gally can hardly hear it. There's a ringing in his ears that he can't push through. The kind of ringing that makes your vision blurry, makes your neck stiff and shoulders balled up. Gally's aware that he's looking a bit too intense for the party, but he hopes it doesn't matter because everyone's already too drunk. Usually, Brenda hits him upside the head, or Frypan forces him to stuff some bread in his mouth, or Thomas gives him a frightened look and he snaps out of it. No one's done that yet.

Or maybe they have. This ringing in his ears is using up a lot of his attention. Maybe he hasn't noticed - save shoving bread in his mouth. Gally's pretty sure he'd notice if Frypan did that.

Peels of laughter shake the ground, and Gally watches Frypan and Minho chat excitedly, more like yelling. Typical. Minho's jumping a lot, and Brenda sits on the log behind the two raising her hands up as though she's going to chase them away.

Then Minho starts pushing Frypan away from Brenda, and each stumble footed step around the flames spikes up Gally's heart rate.

Chuck almost fell into the bonfire once. Back in the Glade.

It was the night he first tried Gally's brew, desperate to prove himself. Chuck also tried to wrestle Gally. Gally let him, because he wouldn't deny anyone who asked, and he was a proud asshole. But he went easy on Chuck, even though it didn't look it. Then Gally hit Chuck too hard, anyway.

Truth be told, Gally wasn't good at going easy on people. Though he might try, Gally usually failed.

Anyway, Gally had pushed too hard, and Chuck was on a roll. Chuck was all momentum, short and round body with little legs. He'd have toppled into the fire, everyone too stunned to catch him, because he shouldn't have hit Chuck like that and Gally knew it and had done it anyway. As though those kinds of hits were programmed into Gally, cruelty on autopilot.

Also on autopilot had him reaching forward and catching Chuck by the collar of his shirt, then whipping him hard in the opposite direction. Always too heavy handed.

Once righted by Alby, Gally remembered Chuck looking at him like he was a god, but not a very nice one. Gally didn't fight again that night.

Gally won't fight tonight, either, though Billy challenged him three times. Gally knows better than to fight someone who is more drunk than he is. Probably didn't know that in the Glade, especially when he first started making his brew. It hadn't occurred to him that other people's tolerances were not as high as his own. Now he knows better, and instead used Billy's fighting to push him to his hut, because Billy was so soaked with alcohol that if he got any closer to the fire he'd have become a human torch.

Gally raises his drink up to his lips. It's not one of his better batches, which is why it's being drank later into the night. He's a perfectionist, and this batch was too sweet, and now it smells sour. Gally hasn't gotten sick from alcohol in a long, long time, but this is making him queasy.

Minho's been round four times to try to refill it, only to be upset that it's not empty, but Gally can't bring himself to suffer through the swill tonight.

He sets it back down on the ground.

Gally tries to focus back on the festivities. Through the blurry lick of flames he can see Sonya on Harriet's lap, her head knocked back on Aris' shoulder. Sonya's angle is growing more obtuse by the minute, and soon she's just going to collapse in Aris' lap. Aris doesn't seem to mind. Looks like he's waiting for it, happy grin on his face. He never did get more meat to his bones, still scrawny as ever. He won't be able to carry Sonya, even though he looks at her like he really, really wishes he could.

There's an impulse thrumming in Gally's hands to get up and start directing them to bed like he usually ends up doing on these nights. Save Aris the embarrassment of trying, save Harriet from vomiting due to overexertion when she picks up Sonya for him.

Because it's habit at these things, Gally picks up his drink and almost takes a sip again. The smell still makes his stomach roil. Instead of drinking, he dumps the contents out on the ground and stands up. His mind is thinking go help Sonya get to her hut, but his feet go somewhere else.

He lets his cup drop to the floor, he'll pick it up later, and turns away from the bonfire. Makes way to Safe Haven's shore.

The crescent moon is scratched into the night sky like an afterthought. Vince likes to say "The moon's hiding her teeth tonight," but Gally doesn't like to think of the moon or the sun or anything as having teeth. He doesn't know why, but the moon having teeth makes him think that the moon will someday fall down from the sky and try to eat them, like the Grievers or the Cranks.

Gally prefers to just think of things as they are. Tangible reality, so long as he says it is. WICKED didn't get its hands on this sky, it's not going to fall down on them. The bonfire's smoke goes away too fast, the heat gets too high, this is all very, very real.

The waves make a constant crawl to Safe Haven's beach. The beach is more lit by the roaring fire than by the moon, the sand catching the oranges and reds like the dunes of the Scorch. It doesn't reach far enough to touch Thomas' silhouette. No, Gally only knows that Thomas is out there because he almost always is at this hour. A beacon or a bastion or a tombstone in the night.

Gally keeps walking. Drops off the grass and onto the sand, now away from the party.

The sand is cooler on his feet than their color had tricked him into believing, and he breathes out a sigh. His shoulders don't need to be pulled to his ears anymore, and the breeze is nice on his nape. It's so nice that Gally reaches around the hem of his sweater and rips it off so that he's only in a t-shirt, and though the cold is a shock, it's a good one.

For a moment, he stands still and breathes in the air. The ringing in his ears is still there, but it's quieting down. The dark waves of the ocean meet the dark sky in one big blend, and it's easier to look at the path of moonlight on the rippling water than the fire. His brain feels like it's unspooling, and for the first time in what feels like weeks, Gally's not really thinking at all.

But he's still vigilant enough to know when Thomas' eyes are on him. He almost always knows when Thomas' eyes are on him. Thomas' stare feels different from the rest's. It's always curious, always prying, even when he doesn't mean it to be. Always careful, even when it doesn't need to be.

"Hey, Gally," Thomas says. His voice is soft, but it's not affronted by Gally's presence. Quiet because away from the fire, the night is quiet.

"Greenie."

Thomas huffs a laugh.

Gally doesn't know why he still calls him that. Thomas is probably the least green of them in this situation with Safe Haven. With building and strategizing a life for everyone. Being a leader, even though Minho is the official head of the camp. But Thomas doesn't seem to mind too much, and even if he did… Gally did always kind of like getting under his skin. Just as much as Thomas seemed to delight in getting under Gally's. It's familiar. This is real, but so was that back in the Glade. Not everything from the Glade has to be abandoned to make Safe Haven more real. At least, Gally hopes not. Even if most of it should be purged.

"What brings you out here?" Thomas asks.

Gally shrugs. Turns away from the horizon to look at Thomas.

And it's a welcome surprise, the way Thomas looks. Not so haunted. Eyes aren't sunken in, mouth not pressed into a tight line, and he's not thumbing at Chuck's carving or Newt's necklace. Tonight, he's simply curled up in his plot of sand, knees to his chin, arms looped around his legs. He's got a small smile on his face, which, for Thomas, is a small victory.

"You okay?" Thomas asks.

Gally shrugs again as he makes his way over. When Thomas doesn't start pulling himself upright or looking like he wants Gally to back off, Gally sits down next to him. Pulls himself into a similar position at Thomas, hooking his chin over his knees.

When Thomas is still staring at him, expecting more than a shrug, Gally sighs. "Got a little loud, is all."

Thomas chuckles, halfhearted. "Thought I heard Frypan screaming. Did Brenda pilfer from his stash of bakes again?"

Frypan had threatened to cut off Brenda's hands when she did that. When she told him that she'd grab them with her toes then, she was banned from the Mess for a week. It was meant to be for life, but Frypan has always been and hopefully will always be a bit of a softie.

"I don't know, maybe. I didn't really hear it."

It isn't until the words are out of his mouth does Gally realize how contradictory it sounds. And he worries for a minute that Thomas will think that he's being a dick when he's not meaning to, but Thomas doesn't immediately recoil.

No, he only twitches a little bit, rolls out his shoulders; Thomas always did have jitters like he was too much for his own skin. All bone and wiry muscles, strung together as though made of copper wire. It was always easy to see exactly the way Thomas' body moved, how his muscles shifted and spasmed, how his breaths pushed his ribs against his skin.

In Gally's periphery he can see Thomas is still smiling, but it's drooped. His eyebrows are turned up with that lilt of concern.

"Sure you're alright?"

Part of Gally wants to tell him to slim it and leave him alone. Just to prove he can. Just to prove that not everything has changed since the Glade and Thomas' prying is as annoying now as it was then.

Except things have changed. Thomas' prying really doesn't bother Gally anymore; it's no longer about tearing apart everything that Gally built, and Gally finds he's a bit more curious about things these days, too. Not being curious had almost gotten him killed. They have more time now. Thinking and being curious about things doesn't seem like such a waste of precious daylight anymore.

Honestly, Gally isn't sure if he's alright, but he doesn't say that. There are some things that haven't changed. Gally looks at him and says, "yeah. Why?"

"You look kinda tired. And I don't know if I've ever seen you come out here."

That is true, Gally does not go to the beach often. In fact, Gally can only think of one time while in Safe Haven that he had before, beyond their first night.

It was when they were building the docks on the opposite end of the island. What was supposed to be a simple job became a complete bitch and a half. The wind was whipping the day they decided to do it, the waves crashing, so hard that Gally and Jorge were the only two who could withstand them. Or at least, the only two who didn't complain nonstop about having to withstand them. Gally didn't know why they'd been so stubborn, but he and Jorge picked a fight with the ocean that day and refused to lose. So, Gally spent hours with the water raging at his back, saltwater filling his mouth and plugging his nose and making his eyes scratchy while he dug posts into the seabed and Jorge tied dock panels together. Brenda mocked Jorge relentlessly after that because he walked like an old man, and Gally slept for about three days straight.

"I remember that," Thomas says with a laugh. Gally didn't realize he'd said it out loud. "You sneezed salt water for, like, three days. Jorge looked horrible. Also, I know you two washed your clothes, but you guys smelled like the ocean for like a week." Thomas rapped his knuckles against his calf as he snorted. "But shuck, those docks were gonna go up on your word, I guess."

"I don't know why we did that. It was a long day."

"It was fun to watch," Thomas says, and it's teasing in a way that Gally has never heard from Thomas before. "Thought you were dead the first night. I've never seen you sleep in so late." Then, Thomas scoots a little closer to nudge him with his shoulder. It's brief, but Gally stiffens anyway, and Thomas darts back to where he was sitting. "Try not to scare us like that again, alright?"

It's kind of odd, to hear Thomas express worry, even now. Like at the end of the Maze they both weren't trying to kill each other. Things are forgiven and forgotten, but Thomas is more Gally's friend than he ever expected him to be.

But Gally doesn't want to think about that now. "Don't plan to. Like you said, I don't come out here much."

Thomas, on the other hand, is always out here. It's a bit like Thomas owns the shoreline and Gally's trespassing. Thomas walks it up and down, visiting it usually first thing in the morning and going again at least once more before he goes to bed. Which Gally only knows this because he's one of the first awake and the last one to sleep himself, because he has projects to work on about camp, but Thomas takes to the beach like it's his job.

After a moment, Thomas looks up at the night sky. Watches. Gally follows suit. The crescent moon has a faded halo of light around it, which paints the sky in a bunch of violet and navy hues. With each passing glance, the pathway of stars in the west seems to be getting brighter, and the whole sky kind of swirls if Gally stares at it too long. Gally regrets battling the ocean with Jorge a little, because the shoreline does remind him of the feeling of burning salt in his nose, and so for the most part he avoids the beach. And because of that he misses out on nights like this: Where the ocean's push and pull is lulling, and the breeze is warm, and Gally actually finds the muted movements of the world to be comforting.

Suddenly, Gally's got a pretty good idea of why Thomas is out here all the time, but he still has to ask, "Why do you come out here so often?"

At first, Thomas seems thrown by the question. His jaw ticks, and he closes his eyes like if he can't see the world then he doesn't have to respond to it.

His shoulders droop as he sighs. "Honestly?"

"Nah, I'm asking you to lie to me."

Thomas snorts, but opens his eyes to glare at Gally. Then his gaze softens, and he looks away. "Promise me you won't… I don't know. Laugh? Or like. Get mad or something."

"What the shuck are you going to tell me that will either make me laugh or get mad?"

Thomas pushes him, light, because Thomas is never too heavy handed in anything. "I'm serious, Gally. I don't know, it's just. It's weird."

"You're always weird."

That didn't come out right, and it's the wrong thing to say, because Thomas starts to scramble. "Never mind —"

"No, Greenie — Thomas — " Gally places a hand on his shoulder, and Thomas stutters out a breath like Gally knocked it out of him and Gally immediately pulls away. He raises his hand up, placating. "I just mean, I've come to expect weird from you. It's fine."

Thomas still looks sheepish and squirmy, kicking his legs out a little before bringing them back to his chest and tightening his grip on his legs. Gally tries to seem sincere, tries to seem open, but he's not sure he's being all that convincing.

"Seriously, I won't laugh. Or get mad. Or whatever."

Thomas looks him up and down, cocks his head to the side. Analyzing. Gally furrows his eyebrows, about to say to forget it, because Thomas doesn't trust him, when he realizes that that doesn't seem to be the problem. 'Cause Thomas keeps letting out these sharp breaths and opening his mouth like he wants to speak, but then he doesn't, and he shifts his position again. Then he looks down, begins tracing idle patterns in the sand.

It's not Gally's fault he's not talking. This is Thomas being Thomas.

A key difference that has remained between Thomas and Gally is that Gally is patient. More patient than he gets credit for, he likes to think. If this isn't a trust issue, that means Thomas is thinking too much again, and Gally can wait out Thomas' thoughts. Gally can wait for Thomas to figure it out. He can sit there all night, if need be.

While Thomas works himself up to rocking where he sits, Gally slows down. Starts breathing in time with the waves and remains still, not watching the patterns Thomas draws but keeps watch of Thomas' expression. It's like a cycle from anxious to fearful to plain sad. Gally isn't sure if the kind thing to do would be to look away from Thomas or if staring at Thomas is what's going to will him to talk. It doesn't matter what would be better, though, because Gally can't help but watch him.

Thomas brings a hand to his mouth, rubs it hard, like he's trying to pull the words out. Pushes his nose into the crook of his arm before pulling away again. He brushes out his doodle in the sand and then looks back up at Gally. When they make eye-contact, Thomas startles a bit, which makes Gally startle a little. Thomas still looks at Gally like he can see through him. It used to piss him off. Now, Gally finds that it's nice to think that someone can cut through all the bullshit with just a look.

Thomas stops rocking in place. Brings his arm back around his knees and situates himself back into the little curled up ball.

With a laugh that's more a dressed-up sob, he finally says, "I'm lonely."

Gally looks him over. Thomas starts ducking his face into his arms again, and scrunching himself up, all of his nervous energy returned. Like he's embarrassed.

It's a little heartbreaking. More than a little, maybe. The air's been knocked out of Gally's lungs. Gally forces himself to not flinch, but he can feel his hair stand on end as his body rebels against his clutching of his knees.

He's probably the last person Thomas should be talking to about this, the last one Thomas probably wants to talk about this to, but, Gally's the one who's sitting there. And they both seem to know that once those words are out there, there's no simple solution of just burying it into the sand.

Gally gestures to the beach and asks, "Being out here helps?"

"Sort of. Um." Thomas glances behind them, where the sound of Minho and Frypan yelling is prominent. "It's just, it's easier. It's easier to feel… y'know, like this, when I'm actually by myself. It's easier to admit to being lonely when I'm, when I'm actually alone. Because, it just, it feels like real crap when I feel lonely and I'm surrounded by, well..." Thomas trails off, and even in the dark Gally can see the heat rise up his neck and paint over his gaunt cheeks. He's not going to finish his sentence.

So, Gally does. "Literally everyone?"

Thomas brightens at that, looking at Gally with big, wet eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, exactly. It's nicer to confront out here."

"I get that," Gally says. And this time it's Gally to look away from Thomas first, partly to let Thomas cry in peace if he's going to cry, but also because he's very aware of the fact that he has caught Thomas' whole attention.

It's one of those rare times when Thomas is hanging on someone's every word. Like he used to with Teresa, or Newt. Thomas hasn't done it to Gally before, but he can see it now, and Gally's voice feels caught in a net because he doesn't know what else to say. The pressure of saying not just something but the right thing is so forceful it hurts.

Gally swallows, the air humid-thick and dense with salt, and tries to sound out any words at all.

"Okay," Gally says, because he needs a stall. Thomas is sitting still as stone, and though he's not protesting, Gally does know that Thomas isn't going to wait forever. Gally's fuse might be shorter, but Thomas' internal timer goes two seconds to Gally's every one. Gally needs to say something. "I think…" His breath is shaky, and his voice is too quiet.

He swallows the lump in his throat and tries again.

"I think, Minho would say that nobody should be lonely in Safe Haven."

Minho had said something like that once, Gally was pretty sure. Gally didn't remember the context of it, he wasn't part of that conversation, but Minho was into the rallying speeches. There were a dozen different quotes of varying inspiring and comforting natures that Gally could be pulling from. This might not be a direct quote, but it feels close, even if Thomas is probably the better judge of that kind of thing.

All told, Gally's actually pretty okay with that response. He's terrible at conversations like this, so he'll have to remember think of what other people say during klunk like this, it's far better than what you come up with.

Thomas nods. "You're right," he mumbles. Gally looks back over at him and watches him curl over himself, pressing his cheek to his knee. He looks at Gally, and it's the same expression he gave when Gally explained that no one goes into the Maze — the rule alone isn't good enough. Neither is Minho's words of wisdom. It's not as harsh and reckless this time, though. It is, however, just as curious.

"What do you say?" Thomas asks.

Now Gally's the one who's jittery. Crosses his legs underneath himself and props himself up against his knees by his elbows, movement just to stall, because he's coming up with nothing but things that won't make this any better. But Thomas is clearly waiting, because though his eyes are half-lidded, his gaze is sharp and critical.

Gally keeps circling the same thought over and over, and Gally figures there's not a whole lot he could say that would make this better. So he doesn't try to go for making things better. With a deep, bone-creaking exhale, he says:

"That I am too. Lonely, I mean."

Gally expected those words to come out of him like vomit, but they don't. Actually, it's a bit a knot coming loose after having held up a hut for forever. All the nerves that if they ever untied the loop the whole thing would collapse, but then, the knot does get plucked apart somehow, and nothing happens. Turns out that the tie wasn't doing much of anything anymore. Everything's all settled now. This is a truth unfurled that will not have Gally falling apart.

When Gally finally gets brave enough to look back at Thomas, he finds Thomas gaping at him. Looking a bit like Chuck did by the bonfire the night Gally shoved him too hard. But also, opposite that. Like a god but a nice one.

Then, Thomas presses his hands into the sand and scoots closer to Gally, until he's pressed right up against Gally's side, most of his weight against Gally's ribs and hip. Gally sits up ramrod straight at the contact, which almost bucks Thomas off. Thomas is undeterred though, he readjusts to Gally's position as if he knew Gally would stiffen.

His head his heavy against Gally's arm, his leg pressed against Gally's. Once Gally gets over the initial alarms, it actually feels… nice.

"We're really bad at taking our friends' advice."

"You were always bad at taking advice," Gally protests, but it's weak. It still earns him an jab in the side, which, Gally will admit is deserved.

"So were you, shank."

"Gettin' bold with the names, Greenie."

"How come I'm still a Greenie?" Thomas whines. It's a bit less petulant than the last time he'd asked. Maybe because the sound of his voice is muffled by his mouth on Gally's t-shirt.

"We all have our burdens," Gally says jokingly.

He's not expecting Thomas to laugh, but he does, and it's richer than it has been all night. Thomas continues to press his forehead into Gally's arm as he laughs, and then he's got Gally laughing too. It gets to the point where Gally decides to wrap an arm around Thomas and let him lay against his chest.

The laughter startles but doesn't fully stop. Just slows, until it's shaky breathing, and Gally has to shift his posture a little to accommodate Thomas.

Then, he feels Thomas snaking his arms around Gally's waist. It looks kind of awkward for Thomas: his face is pressed into Gally's chest and his torso is twisted, but he seems content squeezing around Gally's ribs and breathing deep into his shirt. Like this was exactly what Thomas needed.

Gally would be lying, too, if he said that he didn't like the feeling of it. That holding onto someone else and having their assuring weight wasn't soothing in a way that Gally didn't know he needed. That he didn't know he missed this, but now that he has it, he feels like he's been deprived.

They sit like that for a long time. Gally waits for the buzzing in his head to return, but then Thomas is shifting against him like Gally's got a tell, so Gally relaxes again. Instead Gally focuses on the sound of the waves and the feeling of the night growing cooler and cooler, chilling the sweat on his skin. Lets himself enjoy the feeling of having someone curled up against him.

Eventually his focus drifts to Thomas' breathing, each exhale fluttering his shirt, the breaths deep and slow. Everything's calm, calm, and Thomas is a warm and heavy like a blanket.

Gally hopes that Thomas is feeling less alone. Gally knows he's feeling less alone.

After a while, he's vaguely aware of the party dying down, not even Frypan shouting anymore. Gally almost turns to check, but Thomas might actually be asleep by this point, and he doesn't want to risk it. Instead, he pulls Thomas up so he's more tucked against his throat, Gally's chin atop Thomas' head. Thomas must not be totally asleep, because he takes the opportunity to tangle his legs with Gally's. Gally starts rubbing his back, because if he doesn't, he's definitely going to fall asleep out here. And maybe he also does it because Thomas elicits this soft little sigh at the touch, and Gally's heart does something weird at that, so he doesn't really feel compelled to stop.

And Gally must fall asleep all the same, because the next thing he knows, something is wrapping around his neck.

Gally's hypervigilant, focus going from zero to max. The buzzing in his ears is back and roaring. Gally throws his free arm back, trying to hit whatever's got a hold of him. With the arm still wrapped around Thomas, he pulls Thomas up hard, about to roll them out of the way.

Then he hears laughing, and he realizes the grip on his shirt isn't so much one trying to kill him, but a heavy-handed imbecile's.

"Friends!" Minho shouts in his ear.

Minho's arm is wrapped around Gally's neck, Minho jostling Gally by his head. Thomas is gripping Minho's arm, trying to pry him off, all the while cooing at Gally far too amusedly, "it's just Minho, it's just Minho, don't kill him."

This time, when Gally launches his elbow back, he knows exactly who he's hitting.

Minho lets out a sharp yelp, and claps back by whopping Gally in the shoulder. Thankfully, he does take it as a criticism and this time when he goes to hug Gally he does not hook his arm around Gally's throat.

"Yeesh, I was just trying to hug my friends," Minho says.

"Thought you were choking me, dumbass," Gally croaks.

"Y'know, I'll have to remember that when we wrestle."

Minho shifts behind them, pressing up against Gally's back. His face against Gally's neck and though his arms are strangely positioned Gally realizes he's trying for a big hug. Thomas pats his knee affectionately, but he and Gally share a look: Minho's not gonna remember any of this.

"Was wonderin' where you two went off to," Minho says, his alcohol breath sharp and awful. "We missed you!"

"We?" Gally asks.

Thomas shifts so he's sitting more upright. "Think Fry's makin' his way," Thomas slurs, his voice drowsy. Thomas was definitely asleep.

Gally checks back, and, yes, Frypan is trotting down the grass, watching each of his footfalls like he's chasing his own steps. Gally snorts and looks back at Thomas.

Thomas is beaming, looking genuinely pleased. Gally smiles back.

"Friends," Thomas drones, mocking Minho. Thomas laughs again, and it feels weird against Gally's chest, and it forces a laugh out of him too.

Then Gally realizes he's probably overstaying his welcome a bit. It's late, later than he usually stays up. Despite the comfort of it all, Gally is also keenly aware that there are now people who are far more qualified than he is to help Thomas feel less shitty.

Gally begins extracting himself, trying to be gentle and not throw Thomas off of him, or Minho for that matter. He doesn't get too far, though, only pulling his leg out from underneath Thomas' when Minho starts squeezing his shoulders like his hands are claws, and Thomas' grip around his middle goes tight like a vice.

"You can stay. You should stay," Thomas says. Quiet enough that easily distracted Minho doesn't hear him, but all of Gally's reawakened alertness is focused on Thomas who is still clinging to him like a bear. He can't say no to that.

When it becomes clear to Thomas that Gally isn't leaving, Thomas goes even further and repositions himself so he's in Gally's lap. Not that Gally minds. He slings his arm around Thomas' waist and holds him there.

"The girls make it to bed okay?" Gally asks Minho.

"And Aris?" Thomas adds.

Minho goes into another fit of giggles. Gally grimaces. That can't be good.

"Yeah, they're back at their cabins," Minho says, his laughter puffs of air against Gally's neck. "You should've seen it. Aris pulled Sonya up the hill by her arms. Harriet was supposed to help with the legs, but she dragged for at least half of it."

Gally winces. He really should have helped them before he went out here. Then again, what was their bonfire nights without someone getting a stupid injury somehow? Nothing like rash from the grass to remind everyone to drink in moderation.

"That'll feel good tomorrow," Thomas says, his head thudding against Gally's collarbone so he can look up at Minho. "And Brenda?"

"Brenda's good. We asked her to come with us out here, but she said that we were so drunk it'd be like cranks leading cranks — she didn't even think we'd make it to the beach. We proved her wrong," Minho says, far too pleased with himself, a cocksure grin on his face.

Gally looks over his shoulder to find Frypan, now firmly on the beach, but heading the wrong direction. "Wouldn't call victory yet."

There's a beat, and Minho is shifting behind him, shoving his foot into Gally's lower back. Gally grunts and reaches back to grab Minho's foot and move it to the side.

"Frypan!" Minho yells directly into Gally's ear. "Frypan! Follow my voice!" Minho shouts.

Gally jerks his head away from Minho's mouth, raising his hand to his ear. Man, Minho can be loud when he wants to be.

Thomas pats Gally's knee. "You were saying it was a little loud?"

"No kidding." When Minho starts calling after Frypan again, Gally ducks his head out of the way. "Minho, would you slim it?" Gally asks. He even debates elbowing him again just for good measure.

Then Minho pulls his arms back and crosses them against Gally's back, using him as a support. Thomas snickers.

"He's still going the wrong way," Minho pouts.

Gally looks back out at to where Frypan is walking. He's shouting something about looking for them, and he's laughing and having a real jolly time about it, but Minho is right — he is going the wrong direction. He's also getting very close to the water.

"Hey Fry!" Gally shouts after him. "Turn around!"

Next Thomas sits completely up and off of Gally's chest, leaning forward and staring after Frypan too. "Frypan!"

Finally, Frypan spins around. He jumps at the sight of them, and starts charging now in the right direction, but he's in the wet sand along the surf. The waves aren't crashing, but Frypan is far enough that when the next tide rolls in, it splashes against his legs.

"Shuck! Shucking shuck! That's freezing!" Frypan screams.

The sound makes Minho and Thomas laugh, and Gally's grinning at him. Frypan is never going to live this down.

"Hey, Frypan! Get away from the shucking water you idiot!" Gally yells.

"I'm working on it!"

It is the worst job of 'working on it' that Gally has ever seen. The very next wave to come in startles Frypan to the point of jumping in the air, and then in his drunken brilliance, he goes toppling into the water.

"Shuck," Gally says, pushing Thomas off of him and pulling himself to his feet.

"Shit!" Thomas starts scrambling as well, getting to a run faster than Gally does. Gally can feel Minho at his heels, not so drunk that he's actually slower than Gally, but he's so clumsy that he can't figure out a way around him.

"Minho, stay back —"

"No, I wanna —"

"Minho!" Thomas yells at him.

Gally rolls his eyes. Grinds to a halt, forcing Minho to ram straight into his back and fall to the ground. Gally spares a glance behind him to make sure that Minho only dropped and didn't actually hurt himself, and finds Minho flipping the bird at him.

"You want to get thrown in the ocean along with him, Minho?"

Minho raises his other hand and flips him off with both hands.

Gally laughs. They're all such shucking idiots. Himself included. This is going to be really fun when he remembers all of this and Minho's left with the headache.

"Gally! I could use your help over here!" Thomas calls. "Shuck, it really is cold," he wheezes.

Turning around, he sees Thomas darting in and out of the water, trying best to figure out how to help the flailing Frypan. Not that Frypan's drowning. No, he's on his ass, and the waves do keep pulling him further in but not by much. The tide isn't even strong, but Frypan's too busy complaining about how cold it is and how salty it tastes that he doesn't help himself at all.

Seeing that Frypan is not in any immediate danger, Gally doesn't bother running. Instead walks, making sure that Minho stays on the ground behind him.

When he gets to the shoreline before Frypan, Thomas grabs Gally's shoulder and pulls him back. Looks Gally straight, his brown eyes bright in the dark. Gally swallows.

"They are never allowed to drink again."

The nervous pit drops away and Gally smiles. Nods. "Deal."

Thomas grins back.

That night, Gally enters the ocean for the second time since he's entered Safe Haven: it's him and Thomas, hoisting a wasted Frypan up. Frypan kicking and screaming the entire time, and Minho captain of the one-man cheerleader squad. When Frypan is just barely out of the water, Minho runs up and jumps on all of them in an attempt at a group hug, and instead sends them all careening back into the ocean.

And Gally's not sure he's ever had so much fun in his life.