The Maze Runner Imagines

-hard to get

"Careful, it's hot—"

But as usual, Minho didn't listen. He wrapped his fingers around the edge of the iron skillet and recoiled just as fast, swearing loudly. You shook your head and sat down at the little plastic table in Frypan's kitchen, and watched as Minho urgently stuck his hand under a stream of cold water from the sink.

"You're so stupid," you said. "I can't believe these other shanks thought it'd be a good idea to make you Keeper of the Runners."

Minho sneered mockingly. "Listen, (Y/N). If I'll ever need your input, I'll tell you."

"You do know that I made that for me and Frypan, right?" you asked, leaning forward in your seat. "That's my food. Your dinner is outside."

"Yeah, too bad. I want some of this." He fished around the cabinets for a cast iron plate and scooped a healthy portion of food into it with a spoon. "What is this anyway?"

"Chicken and squash," you answered. Minho sat down in front of you and started eating. His eyes lit up like that of a child's. "Is it good?"

"Eh, it's decent," he said. You whacked his arm and got up; in an instant, Minho grabbed your arm and pulled you down onto his lap. "It's rude to leave in the middle of a meal, shank." His nonchalance surprised you; your cheeks reddened as if pinched.

Minho always pulled crap like that with you. You figured it was because you were the only girl around and he was trying to assert his dominance around you like the strong man he was, but really you hoped it meant more than that. But you didn't like to get your hopes up; Minho was very unpredictable and his sense of humour was very different from yours. The whole pull-you-in-his-lap thing could just be his latest idea of a joke and you couldn't let it show how much it affected you.

"Let go," you said, struggling to get up. His grip on your waist was very firm, however, and your efforts were useless.

Minho continued eating, undisturbed by you. Though he was slightly sweaty from having run all day, you liked the way he smelled. His clothes still had a citrusy scent from having been washed the night before, and you wanted nothing more than to bury your face in the crook of his neck and stay that way forever.

"Hey, (Y/N), d'you think you could—"

You saw the newest Greenie standing in the doorway — a little chubby boy named Chuck — staring at you and Minho with widened eyes. He began to stutter an apology, but Minho was quicker.

"Bug off, Chuck, can't you see the grown-ups are flirting?" he said.

You didn't know who blushed harder – you or Chuck. He ducked out of the kitchen as fast as his stubby legs could take him, making Minho laugh against your shoulder.

"You're such a dick," you scolded.

"Well, he interrupted!"

"What did he interrupt?"

"Us flirting? Didn't I just say that?" He shook his head. "Man, you're so dense sometimes. And you call me stupid."

It was like your lungs caved in for a few good seconds. You tried to wrap your head around what Minho was saying – the two of you had actually been flirting?

"So, this isn't just a joke to you?" you asked.

"Does it look like I'm shucking laughing?" Minho's fingers dug a little deeper into your hips, almost possessively like he was afraid you'd slip away. "Why do you think I hang around in here all the time? It sure ain't 'cause of Frypan."

A grin spread across your lips. You were sure as hell not going to tell him you liked him too. It would only go to his head, and you knew Minho could be arrogant enough on his own without any outside help. No, it was much better to keep him guessing.

You leaned in so close that your lips almost brushed against one another – and he edged forward instantly to close the distance between the two of you – but in that moment, he'd let his guard down, and you sprang off his lap.

"Don't forget to wash your plate before you leave," you said, disappearing out of the kitchen.