Disclaimer: The Maze Runner trilogy (c) James Dashner

Excuse the errors ;w;

Part V

After they sorted out their books and groceries, and Minho wrapped his head around the possibilities that Thomas could be allergic to a large assortment of things—

("Maybe that's why you couldn't get it up last night, you're probably allergic to that brand."

"Minho!"

"That's not how allergies work, Min.")

—they spent the rest of the day in the company of friends. The boys met up with Alby, Aris and Teresa, who had brought along Rachel, Harriet and Sonya, for one last round of fun before the hustle and bustle of Monday started.

They went out for drinks; ordered food at a restaurant they could all afford—most definitely the last time they would be able to—and laughed their day away. They barely made it back in time for curfew, before the gates closed off for the night and the only way in was by waking up the head security guard or the Dean. Both options were unpleasant, really.

Thomas claimed the bottom bunk as his bed that night. Minho climbed the top while Newt re-claimed the single twin bed he had sat in the day previously. Minho had tried to tempt both boys on another amorous adventure, but the slight buzz of alcohol and their full, content stomachs made both him and Newt far too sleepy for anything strenuous.

They were all asleep before they knew it.

He woke with a start that following morning, his body sore from a bad sleeping position and his stomach growling for food. He stretched the full length of his bed, catching the sweet melody of the morning birds just outside their window and the eerie silence of an empty dorm hallway. Thomas stilled mid-stretch.

He jerked upright, whipped his head to the bed across from his; Newt's sheets were neatly made, pressed down to near perfection as Newt always did. He didn't hear Minho's snoring or see the muscular, tanned arm hanging down the side like he expected it would.

With trepidation, he turned to the clock Newt had hung up on the wall. It read 9:30 in the morning.

"SHIT!"

First day of school and he was already late for class.

Thomas sat sulkily in the lunch hall that afternoon, pushing around vanilla pudding with a plastic spoon. Across from him sat Newt, a half-eaten container of chocolate pudding in his hand.

The blond rolled his eyes. "I tried wakin' you, but you sleep like the bloody dead. What did you expect me to do? Drag you out?"

"You should have," he grumbled. "It was the first class of the semester, Newt. That's a bad first impression."

The blond shrugged nonchalantly. "At least it wasn't Professor Janson's class."

Thomas shuddered. He was lucky in that sense. Rat Man would never get off his case if Thomas missed his class. (Newt wouldn't either, but it was easier to keep him from knowing than Janson. Besides, he could bribe the blond.)

"I guess," he murmured, resigned. He dropped the spoon into his pudding and slid it away from them. "Where's Minho? We have class next."

"Right here!" He grinned. Minho plucked the pudding off the table and began devouring it, his cheeks flushed and his black hair still damp from a recent shower. He eyeballed Newt's unfinished pudding with interest, but the blond snatched the treat before Minho could reach for it.

He gave him a silent, challenging look. Minho stuck out his tongue.

"Fine, don't give me your pudding."

"Good that, because it's mine."

"How was morning practice?" Thomas smiled, amused.

Minho rolled his eyes, a scowl on his lips. "Could've been better. Too many shanks forgot to keep fit over the summer. Coach ragged on them hardcore as punishment. Not me though, I out ran those shanks three times over before Coach decided I could leave early."

"So what made you late?" Thomas asked. He stole a piece of bread from Newt's tray and examined it carefully. He ignored Newt's chuckle, but felt the heat of embarrassment crawl up his neck anyway.

Minho's spoon scraped the bottom of the pudding cup for the last bits of vanilla pudding. "I was showering." There was a hidden duh in his statement that Thomas refused to acknowledge.

"Well then," Newt began. He tossed Minho an apple then gathered his things. "We've got English next. Let's not be late for that, yeah?"

"Good that," the boys chimed.

Professor Janson was already seated in his desk by the time the boys arrived. They were some of the early few in the class since neither one of them wanted to ignite Rat Man's ire so early in the semester. They sat somewhere in the middle of the class, with Thomas by the window, Newt in between and Minho closer to the center of the room.

(Truthfully, Minho and Thomas would have preferred the back, but Newt didn't seem too keen on the idea even if it was Rat Man's class.)

Janson ignored them for the most part, but Thomas was not fooled. He didn't need to look up from his book to know he had fully acknowledge Thomas's presence in the classroom. Thomas may not have had class with the professor until now, but he did have him as a counselor, he recognized the subtle movements of his body language. Professor Janson was much more alert now than he was before, that was for sure.

Thomas glanced back to his companions carefully, not wanting Janson to know he associated with them, though he wasn't really sure why. He didn't like the idea of Rat Man knowing anything about his personal life, really. As he expected, however, Newt and Minho were oblivious to the professor's subtle changes.

He exhaled grimly.

English went off without a hitch. Once everyone was accounted for, Professor Janson started with the obligatory introductions and what he expected from everyone during the course of the semester.

Thomas felt that was a personal offense. The way Janson's eyes fell on him after every rule made him feel like the man was expecting miracles. Newt and Minho must have noticed it too, because they seemed a lot more agitated as the period went on. Gally had also noticed what with the way the boy's expression ranged from arrogance to resentment every time he looked Thomas's way.

(It was bad enough he was taking the class with Rat Man of all people, but did Gally really need to be in this class too?)

The rest of the session was filled with introductions from the students, a quick rundown of the syllabus and the soft scratching of pens against paper as Rat Man had unloaded their first assignment. The grumbles were silenced by the professor's steely glare.

Thomas was the first one done. He kept his pen held high, mimicking the movements of writing, as he discreetly examined the rest of the class for any more early birds. Newt sent him an inquisitive look but refocused on the assignment before Thomas could reply. Minho seemed stuck, his page only half full with scribbles Thomas hoped were coherent enough for Rat Man. Movement from the right caught his attention.

Gally stood, paper at hand—his writing astonishingly neat despite their crunch for time, from what Tomas could see. He carefully dropped his assignment into the empty basket on Janson's desk. He gave the professor a kind smile, one Janson returned with a curt nod, then returned to his desk to gather his things.

Thomas stood up then. He caught Gally's smug gaze on his way to the front, a part of him wanted to rub in the fact that he'd been finished with his paper five minutes before Gally did.

Professor Janson watched him upon his approach. He gave the brunet a smile, as though he were pleased to see Thomas, and plucked the paper right out of Thomas's hand.

"I heard you were late to your first class, Thomas." He tore his eyes away from the sheet to stare at Thomas. "Why is that?"

Annoyance burned his blood. He kept his face neutral despite his irritation.

"Woke up late," he murmured.

Jason's eyebrows rose slightly. "Ah, yes. You're living with others, is that right?"

"Yeah, but that's irrelevant. I went to bed late."

The man nodded. He dropped the paper into the basket then gave Thomas a pleasant smile.

"Good work Thomas. I expect great things from you."

"Right," He grumbled.

He gave his boyfriends' a pleading look before exiting the classroom.

"I hope that shank isn't bloody up to nothin'," Newt growled the moment they were together again. "What business does he have asking you about us?"

"Trouble is what," Minho said, a scowl on his face. "Probably thinks it's our fault Thomas was late."

"Exactly." Thomas frowned. "I told you guys, Rat Man's obsessed with me. He's worse than Gally!"

"Speaking of, did you see the look that shank gave you? I wanted to punch him in that ugly face of his."

"Minho," Newt chided.

The athlete rolled his eyes. "I wasn't going to of course. I'm not going to give Rat Man any reason to have me removed from the building."

"Good that," Newt gave each of them a kiss on the lips. "I'm going to class. See you two later. And stay out of trouble! The both of you!"

"We'll save you dinner." Thomas promised.

Newt gave them a wave before disappearing behind the classroom door.

Minho patted Thomas on the shoulder. "Come on. I'll walk you to your next class."

Thomas had Gally in two more classes after that. He seemed more genial until he spotted Thomas in the room, and although his earlier smugness had not been present, Thomas could still feel Gully's general dislike for him from across the room. They had no choice but to sit nearby in their last class together—an advance Mathematics class his advisor was adamant for Thomas to take—which only worsened the older boy's attitude against him.

It was a wonder how either of them survived. Thomas was sure he was going to punch the damn shank right in the face is Gally sighed insufferably one more time! (If looks could kill, Thomas felt he would have been gutted with the way Gally glared at him just for clicking his pen too much.)

Thomas's last class for the day went by uneventfully. They got out earlier than the rest, which left Thomas on his lonesome. He dropped his bag by the foot of his bed and sprawled against the mattress with a relieved sigh. Newt wouldn't be back until late afternoon and Minho had one more team meeting before his schedule was set for the fall. Thomas hadn't thought to ask Teresa for her schedule; he wouldn't know if she was done for the day or had more classes to go. Without any way of knowing, he resigned himself to lying on the bed until one of his boyfriends came to entertain him.

He fell asleep in the calm solace of the room.

"Hey."

Thomas moaned. Something brushed along the side of his face, rough skin contrasted with the smoothness of his cheek, but the movements were gentle, almost loving. He scrunched his nose in disturbance and lazily swatted the offending contact away. It returned swiftly, this time poking him hard in the ribs.

"Hey shuck face, wake up dude."

Somewhere in the farthest reaches of his mind, he heard movement. Something warm and heavy tilted the mattress, the shift pulling him closer to the weight.

"Tommy," a voice whispered, hot against his ear. "Wake up Tommy." Something soft pressed against his cheekbone.

Thomas twitched. His dreams were shifting, thanks to the disturbance, but the sweet embrace of sleep held onto his conscious mind firmly. He vaguely registered the mysterious weight double around him, his mattress seeming to dip somewhere in the middle. He heard the soft snickers of another before something grabbed his chin. Fingers softer than the ones previous, tilted his chin toward the right and something soft and warm—something familiar—pressed against his lips.

A memory formed in the darkness. A time where those lips were on his and something wet and just as warm invaded his mouth like the tides of the ocean. He recalled the familiar blond hair, the sensation of Newt's fingers running through his locks of hair; how aroused he'd been with Newt on top and Minho working his way down. And the humiliation that came after. The looks of disappointment on Minho's face when he realized nothing more would come out that night. Newt's concerned eyes watching as he gnawed his lower lip.

He wanted nothing more than to forget it had ever happened.

He deepened the kiss before Newt could pull way. He felt the older boy stiffen, most likely surprised with Thomas's eagerness, but it was short lived. He melted into the kiss, letting Thomas lead the way. He wrapped his arms around the blond, pulling Newt's firm body flush against his.

"Tommy," the voice murmured against his mouth. "Wake up. Dinner is ready."

"I don't want any," He breathed, holding the blond tight. "I want you and Minho."

Somewhere in the room, Thomas couldn't tell as his eyes were still closed, he heard the athlete choke. His eyes fluttered open then, catching sight of Newt lying on top of his frame while Minho, red faced and teary eyed, tried to regain air in his lungs. Once Newt was certain Minho wasn't going to die, he turned back to Thomas, his expression apprehensive.

"Tommy, think about what you're asking here."

"I know what I'm asking." He interjected. His hands slid down Newt's shoulders, the curve of his back and down to his hips until they landed on the curvature of Newt's ass. He squeezed the blond with promise, pushing their groins together. "Please. Please."

Newt bit his lip. He glanced back to Minho, who watched them with bated breath, dark eyes wide and hopeful.

"Minho?"

The track captain blinked in surprise. He snapped out his daze and frantically searched around the room for something. He ran toward the computer desk, nearly tripping over himself in the process and yanked open the drawer. He pulled out a bottle creamy white bottle and slammed it on the desk, his body buzzing with excitement.

"Tommy wants what Tommy wants. Let's do it. Let's. Do. It!"

Newt frowned at the boy's insistence but one last look on Thomas's face broke down his apprehension. He sighed then pressed his forehead against Thomas's.

"Okay," He breathed, eyes closed. He planted a kiss against Thomas's brow before he pulled away, straddling the younger male. "Okay, we'll do it. It's going to hurt and it'll be messy, but we'll do what we can to make it hurt less. Just relax your body and trust us."

Thomas took a deep breath. His heart beat a mile a minute in his chest and his mind ran circles in his head, but he refused to allow their failed Saturday night to plague him anymore than it already did. He exhaled and stared Newt in the eyes.

"I trust you both."

Newt smiled, the relief radiating off him in waves.

"Good that," He heard Minho say. "Let's get started."

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