•||Maze runner •||• Imagines & Preferences ||•

Words never spoken - Minho

Minho had thought you were dead.

After regrettably being forced to leave you behind back in the maze, which seemed like such a faraway dream now, Minho had just assumed that you were dead. In his mind, it was the logical explanation and he didn’t ask the others what they thought. Partly because he feared the answer, even if he’d already guessed the worst one himself.

And partly because the thought of you pained him so.

He doesn’t know how you got here. Where, since the last time he’d seen you, you managed to end up directly back to him, in the Safe Haven. Minho doesn’t bother to ask either.

The thought crosses his mind, and it’s not like he can’t ask; more like he doesn’t want to. That’s a question for later. Minho doesn’t need to know that, he realizes, at least not now; because nothing else really matters now that you’re here, you’re alive and Minho can grab you and pull you close and never let you go like he should’ve done back in the maze.

Because he never should left you. The minute Minho found himself in the middle of the desert without you by his side, it hit him what grave mistake he’d made. Damn if you were injured, he could’ve protected you. Protected you from that Griever that hurt you in the first place, and then protected you from everything else and gotten you out of there. He should’ve never listened to Thomas and Newt; she’ll be safer here.

How?

Part of Minho wants to cry, although he’ll never allow himself to, because his entire heart clenches with guilt at the sight of you – how could he have left you there?

To die?

“Minho…”

Your voice causes him to falter; it’s been so long. And he’d convinced himself so long ago he’d never hear your voice ever again, let alone see you. And you look good. Good considering he can imagine pretty well what kind of hell you must’ve had to go through given that he’s been out there and he knows what it’s like out in the Scorch. And if you’d been alone…

You look harden. Older. It hasn’t been that long since Minho’s last seen you (though, it’s felt like eternity) but Minho can tell you’re not the same innocent, cheery girl he’d come to know back in the maze. You’ve seen and gone through things both imaginable and unimaginable to Minho. Truth be told, he doesn’t know which is worst.

“I thought…” Minho hesitates a moment, as if unsure if he wants the words to be spoken on his own tongue. He’s thought them, he’s never said them though. “I thought you were dead.”

And you smile, though it’s faint. There’s a telling of a story in your eyes, but you choose not to speak on it. Minho doesn’t know why, he doesn’t ask either; because something tells him you will tell him. Tell him everything. You’ll both share stories of your journey and what you’ve both gone through but there’s a time a place for that, and now, when you’ve just seen each other for the first in a long time, isn’t here.

So, instead, you just shrug; “i’m still here.”

Minho takes a step forward, his hands itch to touch you but he hesitates, baffled on whether he should or shouldn’t. Luckily, you take the initiative for him and suddenly Minho finds your sliding around his shoulders and pulling him close until you’re able to bury your head into the crook of his neck. Almost instantly, instinctively, Minho eases at your touch; a touch he’s missed very much.

He returns your hug with one arm while the free hand moves to cradle the back of your head, sighing into you.