Hi guys! Here's the next chapter! Hope you enjoy, because I had loads of fun writing it! ;)

Reviews:

NorangeKat722: Bromance indeed, I think you'll like this!

Sydney: Thanks! I'm glad you liked it! And I know what you mean, I'm constantly looking for SickFics. I'll definitely try to write that for either next chapter or the one after. Thanks for reviewing!

fadingshadowss: Thanks for the compliments! I'm super happy you like this! Also, for your idea, is it like a WICKED simulation? Or are they still in the Glade? Or somewhere else entirely? And what happens if they fail? Sorry I just wanted to understand it better! :D

The fire roared through the night, painting everyone in shades of red and orange. The boys cheered on the flaming wood with cups of "Gally's brew" held high. Some of them danced, some talked, and some of them simply sat and drank, swaying happily to the singing of their peers. The Gladers were celebrating Thomas becoming keeper of the Runners.

Thomas and Newt were sat near a log, away from the noise.

"Well Tommy, looks like you're a big boy now," Newt grinned. Thomas chuckled.

"Yeah."

"How ya feel?"

"Terrified," Thomas smiled.

"This'll help," Newt handed him a jar full of orange-tinted liquid, holding his own up to his lips. Thomas took it and raised it up.

"What do you shanks think you're doing?" Minho jumped over the log to land beside Thomas. He plucked the jar from his hands and held it out of reach.

"No drinking the night before a run," He chastised. Thomas rolled his eyes. Newt just laughed, chugging the liquid and wiping his mouth with the back of his arm.

"Those things taste like klunk anyway," Thomas sighed wistfully.

"You'll like 'em eventually," Minho smirked. "That is...if you ever get a taste," He tossed his head towards Newt, who was finishing his bottle. Newt scowled.

"Shuck off," He said, chucking his bottle at Minho. Minho caught it and tossed it over his shoulder casually.

"Honestly, I kind of want to see Newt drunk," Thomas grinned. Newt swatted at him.

"Gonna take a lot more than one bottle for that," Newt said proudly, patting his stomach.

"Yeah cause he's British," Minho sniggered. Newt tried to look angry, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward. Thomas snorted.

"Alright shanks, you wanna go?" Newt jumped on Thomas and wrestled him to the ground. Thomas laughed as Minho joined in. Thomas grabbed at his head and shoved his face into the dirt.

"Hey, hey, hey! Watch the hair!" He yelled. Newt twisted and writhed until he was straddling Thomas. He opened his mouth to say something only to be tackled by Minho, who pinned him. Thomas jumped up, half on top of Minho.

"Uh..." Chuck appeared near the log, carrying a few bottles that he had obviously wanted to offer.

"Hey buddy," Thomas said casually, suddenly very aware of what position they were in.

"I um...I didn't mean to interrupt anything...um...I didn't know..." Chuck rambled, blushing intensely.

"What Chuck?" Minho started, "You look like you just walked in on your parents having—" He stopped. "Oh."

"This is not what it looks like. We were just playing around," Thomas cringed at the sound of his words.

Chuck grew even redder and set down the drinks quickly, scurrying away. The silence went on for about a second, before a snorting sound broke it. Newt's face was screwed up in a smile and he was laughing madly. Slowly, Minho broke down too. Then Thomas. Until they were all laughing like lunatics.

"Poor Chuckie, did you see his face?" Newt gasped for air. He sat back up against the log and absentmindedly grabbed a bottle.

"That's gonna be real fun to explain tomorrow," Thomas smirked. Minho grinned, fussing with his hair and smoothing it up.

"Yeah well, luckily there's still a long way 'till tomorrow," Newt spoke as he downed his second bottle.

"I don't know how you trust those drinks," Minho said, "For all we know, Griever klunk is the main ingredient."

"Wait a second," Thomas interrupted, "Do they actually...you know...klunk?"

Newt and Minho just stared at him.

"Really though! Aren't they mostly made of metal?" Thomas asked frantically.

"You ask too many bloody questions," Newt said. Minho nodded.

"Wait! No! Do they?!"

"I don't know Thomas, we can go ask one tomorrow," Minho smiled. "Maybe that's what the Griever Hole is for."

"Hmm umm hmpf," Newt gurgled through his third drink. Minho nudged Thomas.

"Looks like you might get your wish shank," He chuckled. Newt wiped at his eyes, then stifled a belch.

"What're you lot staring at?" He demanded.

"Nothing," Minho said with a sly expression. "Just wanted to know if you wanted to go back to the homestead."

Minho stood up, along with Thomas. Newt stared dumbly at them for a second, before a hint of annoyance registered in his eyes.

"I can't," He mumbled.

"What was that?" Thomas teased.

"I said I bloody can't," He huffed. Minho and Thomas snorted. Newt held up his arms.

"Carry me!" He slurred. Still laughing, his friends hauled him up and supported him on either side.

"I love you shanks," He smirked. Minho and Thomas didn't hesitate.

"You too."

This was very fun to write! Please review and suggest! Happy Holidays!

Wolf Out...