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.*･｡. FLARES! .*･｡.
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011.
WE GET UP AND WE
GET ON.

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If there was one thing that Kennedy knew about Minho, it was that he would always jog back into the glade when all the sun-rays stroked the top of walls. That was what he always did.

Okay— maybe she knew a lot of things about Minho.

Like, for instance, that his favourite colour was grey. It wasn't a colour that made him happy and it wasn't a colour that made him sad, either. Grey was just... grey. Neutral. Nothing else to it. Not an airy, light grey, and not a dark charcoal grey, but a deep stone grey, like the colour of the maze walls.

That's what it reminded him of: the maze. Kennedy thought that would be a morbid favourite colour, but Minho disagreed. He was a fan of it; not because it gave him particularly fond memories, but because it was his motivation. The maze kept him going. It was all the reasons he woke up in the morning, and why he went to bed at night. Everything Minho did revolved around the maze. That gave him purpose, running it everyday, and Kennedy had never thought about it that way, before. It made sense. So, when he had told her the lowdown on his favourite colour, she'd made good note of it; just in case she ever needed it for a moment like this one: where she stood waiting for her friend, recalling what she knew about him— things both big and little.

Minho liked singing in the morning when he thought nobody in the glade was awake to hear him. His hair was floppy when he was waking up. He didn't hate Frypan's cooking like he claimed to, and he had only been in the slammer once for secret reasons.

(It involved Newt.)

He was confident, and brave.

He showed true leadership qualities, especially in the maze, and he had held Kennedy out there while she cried more than a handful of times.

She knew that Zart really annoyed him, and that he counted up to ten in his head and then over again as he ran, because he had a superstition that it made the days go by faster. Kennedy knew he'd never spoken about whether her used to have a family, and she was quietly confident that he was scared to know in case he didn't; it got to his head, and that was why he was so independent. He found an awfully hard time in getting closer to people because he was scared they wouldn't want him. Kennedy knew that. Just like she knew his thumb had a little scar on it from when she tossed him a knife, and he caught it funny. Just like she knew he didn't wearing his runners undies one day of the week because, while it chafed, it was a weird and wonderfully exhilarating joke between him and Ben (he had to because he lost some sort of dare) that Kennedy didn't really know about, nor want to know about. But she did know that Minho loved the sounds of birds chirping, and he always tried to convince slicers not to kill the piglets because they were too cute for bacon.

Kennedy knew Minho had a heart of gold thrumming away in his chest, and he'd a slow temper ticking away in his brain, and an unmatched quip and wit slicing away at his tongue. She knew he'd never dream of leaving his friends, nor letting them down, and that was why he never gave up on running them maze. She also knew it had hit him hard when Ben had been banished.

But he kept it together.

Because he was one of their strongest, their bravest.

Because he was Minho.

But above all, if there was one thing that Kennedy knew about Minho, it was that he would always jog back into the glade when all the sun-rays stroked the top of walls. That was what he always did, everyday.

   And that was the only thing keeping Kennedy going as she stood outside the maze doors, peering through the stone structures, eyes focused on the middle of them. Minho was brilliant at his job, she knew that for a fact — she had seem him at work, in the flesh, and he always come back. He was the best runner they had, he was their keeper, and he had never let them down before. Minho was great at his job, and he was hard-working, and he was resilient.

If anyone was to survive that maze, it was Minho. He had proved that, everyday, without even trying to do so.

   Kennedy refused to lose hope.

   She felt oddly alone as she stood, nervously shuffling on her feet alongside the other gladers. All of them waiting. No one spoke up.

Newt was to her left, Thomas on her right, with Chuck right in front of her. She rested her hands upon his shoulders, acting as a sense of comfort for the both of them while they watched the big amount of emptiness between the walls. They waited, and waited, looking for something, anything — but nothing ever came.

   If Kennedy were to say she had expected this, that she knew the boys wouldn't make it back in time, it would have been a lie. One of the biggest lies she had ever told, at that. Of all gladers to have got lost within the maze, Minho and Alby were way down towards the bottom of the list. It felt as though it wasn't real, like she was in the middle of a terrible nightmare. Kennedy had already lost Ben, and they didn't needed to lose two more important people. Not the two people she cared about most, besides Newt and Chuck. Picking favourites wasn't fair, but they meant a lot to her — they went very far back, before half of the boys had even been there, and the duo were easily two of the most important people in that glade. Minho and Alby. Who would've thought? The two were smart, and they had never gotten lost in the maze before. But things were changing; she knew that. Ben had been stung in broad daylight, and that had never happened. The gladers hadn't spoken of it much but the feeling of it was still there, and present.

Fear.

Fear of the things that were changing.

It permeated their glade.

Lingering.

Maybe Alby and Minho had been caught up in that, everything that was changing, but Kennedy didn't want to believe it.

She couldn't bare to lose them, too. How could she lose them? It wouldn't be fair. Not to her, not anyone else. They were so important.

Alby was their leader; he kept the order, the peace, the structure to their weird little family. Without him, this place would fall apart. And Minho was the keeper of the runners, the best runner, the one who upheld the hope — as long as he was running, they held hope that they would find a way out of that maze one day. Minho didn't just give them hope, he was their hope.

For all of those kids who didn't know the truth, that there wasn't a way out and never would be, Minho and Alby were their hope. In this place, you had to cling into whatever hope you had left, or you would go crazy.

What happened if all hope was gone and never came back?

What happened, then?

   Feeling a larger hand squeeze her bicep gently, a friendly source of encouragement, Kennedy looked over her shoulder to see Gally right behind her. Although he didn't change the usual frown upon his lip, his eyes told a different story. He was worried, as worried as the rest of them, she could tell. After all, they all were.

How couldn't they be?

"Come on, guys! Can't we send someone after them?" Thomas addressed the elephant in the room, making sure to capture Newt by his eye. Alby said he was next in charge, after all.

"That's against the rules," it was Gally who had replied to him. Thomas still didn't understand how it worked. It wasn't that they hadn't wanted to send out a rescue team, but they truly couldn't risk it. "Either they make it back, or they don't."

Sounded harsh.

   Newt sighed through his nostrils, noticing Kennedy's lack of any sort of response. Usually she was the positive one around here, or at least she tried to be. Kennedy would be the one to cheer gladers up, to keep hopes high, but it seemed that her hope was dwindling by the second. Instead, she stood rather emotionlessly, eyes trained on the doors inches ahead of them. She looked nowhere else, said nothing, hardly moving an inch. It was as though she hoped all her staring would make their good friends suddenly appear if she tried it hard enough. Newt pursed his lips.

  "Sorry, Tommy." His voice was more comforting than Gally's, more sensitive. "We can't risk losing anyone else."

   Thomas understood where they were coming from— if he got into their mindsets then yes, it made sense, but he also didn't get it, at all. It was like some kind of strange, backwards logic, wasn't it?

They couldn't risk losing anybody else, but they could risk losing the two who were already within those walls? It didn't really make sense to him, and deep down in his heart, Thomas knew that they needed to do something. What they could do, however, was a very limited pool of choices.

At least, it was from the outside.

   He hadn't been there long. Merely days, two at a push, not even a week, and he still didn't know much about this place — the rules they had made and the society they had all built, but what he did know was that it felt wrong. The whole thing felt incredibly wrong. As in, it wasn't natural kinda wrong. Something about this place had him itching at his skin, feeling like eyes were on his back, pacing all over the joint. He was restless.

   Taking the silence as opportunity to steal a look at Kennedy by his side, Thomas' head tilted and his eyes took her in. It hurt him to see her look so lost. Kennedy had never looked so... empty, not in the time he had known her. Even though he had known her for mere days, Thomas knew that this wasn't what she was like. There was no inkling of her usual character; her happiness, her charm. He could see that Kennedy was hurting at the idea of losing those she cared about, at the idea of not being able to save them — that evoked a foreign emotion within him. One he didn't know. Not one of sympathy— but perhaps empathy, as though their feelings were connected. He wasn't quite sure who he could have lost in his past life to know how she felt, to feel the way she was feeling, but he was positive that he knew it from somewhere.

   The feeling of losing someone, and not being able to help them.

Who had he lost?

He wasn't sure, but he felt it.

   It was at that moment, Thomas decided if he were ever able to save someone this girl cared about, he would. No matter what the cost, it would be worth it. She didn't deserve to lose anyone else, to feel the way he felt when looking at her. Not in the slighest.

Kennedy didn't deserve to feel that kind of pain.

   But, as the mechanical churns of the walls began, cogs rotating like clockwork, it proved to be too late. Kennedy finally allowed her panic to surface.

She felt like she was going to be sick. No— she was going to be sick, she was sure if it. Kennedy could feel her stomach bubble in anxiety, and her eyes burned with unshed tears. That feeling was like no other. She had lost people before, innocent boys, but losing Alby and Minho was something else entirely. It was wrong to have favourites, but they were her best friends.

It was no longer internal fear but external as she ceased to hold Chuck's shoulder and instead pushed hands in front of their faces to block the dust, blowing from the maze. Ken could hardly stand.

"Wait—"

"What's that?"

"Look!"

"Over there! Is that—?"

Fighting against the dirt in her eyes, Kennedy forced herself to squint. It had been the greenie to point out what he had seen: two figures rounding the corner, one fallen and the other heroic. It was hard to believe that she wasn't imagining it. Maybe she was, but it felt too realistic. Maybe it was manifested, maybe it was luck. They had no way of knowing.

"Alby!" Chuck shouted, "Minho!"

It was real.

It was definitely real.

   Her shaking hand lowered to cover her mouth, and she sucked in a breath — Kennedy nearly choked on the air as the realisation struck. It was them, they were struggling; they were so close.

   But they weren't going to make it — not now.

"No—" she hitched, blinking in a feverish disbelief as the stone doors pulled towards each other in unison. "They're going way too slow!" Kennedy edged closer, "Something's wrong! Why's Alby on the ground?"

   No answer was granted as the group watched Minho drag the older boy by his ankles, stumbling and sweating, trying to make it back to safety. It was painful to watch: their injured friend unable to move and their fighting friend unable to keep going. He needed to keep running, but he couldn't. Minho was strong, he had once lifted Kennedy off the ground like she were a dumbbell, but she'd always been smaller than Alby and there was only so much weight that he could take — especially when the doors were closing, and he needed to keep running after running all day. Usually Minho was invincible, Kennedy had always thought so, but this was his finally breaking point. After all that time, Minho truly reached his limits.

He wasn't going to make it.

"C'mon, Minho!" Chuck yelled, again.

His voice bounced against the maze walls, and Minho looked at him with helpless eyes.

"You can do it!"

That seemed to spark something within the crowd and soon all of the boys were yelling. Each glader hollered loudly and called as many encouragements as they could think of, desperation lingering on each word. They prayed that desperation would bring mercy, it would allow the world to see how much they needed their friends to make it out alive. But praying didn't work, for them. It wasn't gods that ruled over them; it was someone in the realm of satan.

And whoever  it was, they were unforgiving and wicked.

They weren't going to make it.

"Minho—!"

   With no hesitation, Kennedy found herself squeezing through the boys and making for the doors. She threw her body forwards.

It was stupid. She knew it was. But, regardless, she was beyond ready to risk her own life to save theirs, to break the rules in hopes of a miracle — if she had been allowed that far. The girl still knew that maze as well as the back of her hand, so she could do it. That was no question in her mind. She could do it. Kennedy was able to save them; she knew she could.

She had to.

   All Kennedy had ever wanted to do was save people, but life was not allowing of that. Not as allowing as she'd wanted, anyway. She wondered if life would ever go her way, for once.

   The fantasy was short lived.

Before she knew it, Newt grabbed the back of her shirt, yanking her back and into his arms. If he was going to lose two friends that day, he certainly didn't need to lose a third. It was selfish of him, not wanting her to follow her moral compass and doing what she felt in her gut to be right, but Newt was positive that he wouldn't survive a day without her. Newt needed her, more than he needed anyone.

Newt simply couldn't let Kennedy go.

And maybe that was selfish. Maybe that was wrong of him, and maybe it was unfair, but he didn't care. Newt couldn't have cared less about anything, in that moment. All Newt cared about was an interesting, stubborn, glowing girl that he knew by Kennedy. Newt would never care about anything ever again if it'd mean caring for her, for the rest of his life. Gladly. Because he couldn't lose Ken. The boy was already losing two people he cared about; he couldn't lose Kennedy, too. He refused to. Newt wouldn't let that happen, and it was clear, deep within his gut, that Minho and Alby would feel very much the same.

Kennedy didn't.

She didn't feel that way, at all.

   In fact, she shrieked in outrage.

Loudly.

He had expected as much. It didn't throw him off. Newt wasn't remotely fazed by her fit, and he allowed her limbs to kick him as she thrashed in his grip. Kennedy knew she was supposed to remain calm and composed, as much as she could — being one respected figure in the glade involved that sometimes, even when it was hard.

But how could she? It felt impossible. There was nothing on the planet that could keep her calm, right now. Calm wasn't inherently in her nature, when life hit her heavy. The world was messing with Kennedy, like it was striking a match, and playing with the risks of getting burned; toying with gas and a naked flame. And so the spitfire had been exposed, her flare set alight. Her fire were ablaze, raging and hot, and there was no dulling it down.

Kennedy was alight.

   That light had ignited something within Thomas, too.

It were as though two souls were joined, tethered together by a string, for when she was in pain he had felt it deep within his own heart and when she was angry, he burned with rage and spite. Her love for those two boys had become his love for them, all in that one moment, and as the seconds ticked, nothing else mattered quite as much as they did.

   So, he ran.

And he didn't even think.

————

"I can't believe he did that."

   Newt let out a sigh, chewing on his lower lip in nervous habit, and pulled her body closer into his own.

"Me either."

   The evening had brought twice as much gloom upon the glade as the prior one had. She hadn't thought that was possible, but life had proven her wrong. Their week had taken a turn for the worst, and the teenagers had been presented with nothing but loss. In the measly two days that had passed them, they had lost four gladers: a leader, a keeper, a runner, and a greenie. A quartet of souls who'd deserved much better than the poor fates they had received.

No one survived a night in the maze, they all knew that.

It was inevitable.

They were gone, and gone for good.

   She missed them. Deeply.

   It had only been hours, and Kennedy already missed them. So much that her heart felt like it was breaking, over and over again.

   Kennedy missed Minho. She missed how sarcastic he was, and how he always had some smart quip for whatever was said to him, and how he managed to make her laugh so hard that she cried like a baby. She missed his smirk, the way his lips turned up at corners, the way his eyes twinkled with mischief and confidence.

   His walk — shoulders back, spine straight, chin up.

   He had a confident walk: one that oozed leadership and bravery, and each step sounded like they were walking amongst a god. The boy had a presence that no one could compare to.

   Kennedy missed that about him, as well as their midnight talks when everyone else was asleep, or when she would see him to the maze doors at the crack of dawn: don't die out there, she would smile as though she were joking, and he would smile as though he knew that she wasn't, don't miss me too much. And maybe he did know that she wasn't joking, maybe Minho knew fully well that she wouldn't be able to cope if he was gone, and maybe that was why he always made sure to give her a hug when he came back for dinner. Minho held her so fondly, affectionately, sincerely.

   She'd miss that.

   Kennedy already missed Alby, too.

   She missed Alby bossing her around, and disagreeing with her, and fighting him on every stupid decision he made. She missed it when he called her she-bean, and when he called her names that'd proven less affectionate, and even when he called her emotional— it was right, after all. She was emotional. And she knew that, right about now, he would be telling her to pull herself together. If he'd been with her, Alby would've told her to get up and get on.

   How?

   While mourning for the boys she had known for years — they were the only family she could remember — Kennedy was unable to stop mourning for the life that had only just begun. It wasn't at all fair; Thomas had been around for as little as three days, three. It was so very cruel.

He barely had a chance to make any memories for his new life, to substitute for those he couldn't remember of his past. Thomas had made his own decision that day, but she still didn't think it fair.

   Thomas turned out to be a riot.

   He was a good kid, but he wasn't half a liability.

   But that didn't matter.

   It was unexpected, just how much she found herself missing the boy now that he was gone. Of course she missed Minho and Alby too, her heart yearned for them, but that was different. She missed them because they were her brothers, her friends; they were whom she had known for almost three years, the constants in her life. But missing Thomas was like the desert missing the rain in a drought, like the sun missing the moon when they passed each other at every dusk and dawn— she had known him only three days, and yet she yearned to have him back. Her chest ached now that he was gone; it was an empty cavern. With Thomas, it felt like he was midnight and she was morning. It was a game of night versus day, and the other could not live when one was gone. Was that even a possible thing? To miss someone, you barely knew? Because it was how she felt, and she couldn't figured out why. Kennedy missed him, dearly.

   As soon as the three boys had been snatched by the walls, those tears had fallen.

   It was a surreal moment, for both Kennedy and every boy that she stood with; a helpless, terrifying moment. She was sure that she would never forget it, for as long as she lived.

   Living felt impossible, without them.

Kennedy had never cried in front of any glader before, not even Newt, for she was one of the strongest of them all. There had few been times where she had been very close, very often, but still not an ounce of silver has trickled down her cheeks, in front of them. It was only Minho who had seen her cry, and he had never dared mention it to any other soul, so even Newt had been at a loss with what to do when she burst into tears, hiccuping and choking on as many sobs that could crawl up her throat at once. Newt, the boy who had seen this girl at her worst, didn't know what to do; maybe Minho would've been able to help had he been there, but he wasn't — so, Newt just had held onto her. He held her really tight.

   He didn't let go.

"What are we gonna do, Newt?" She pushed her head into the crook of his neck, damp cheek brushing the old fabric of his shirt.

   Newt's embrace was comforting. It was warm and calming, the actions speaking louder than any word, providing her with vague reassurance and momentary bliss. His toned arms cradled her at that moment, telling her that it was all going to be okay in the end, even if neither of them really believed that it could ever be okay in a would without Minho, and Alby, and even Thomas. They were a duo, in this together, until the very end — they had to be okay. They just had to.

Hugs were best from Newt.

   She was positive that no hug would ever be as good, nor did she want one to be. He smelt like freshly cut grass with hints of smoke, and the scent was reminiscent of the recent bonfire that celebrated the newest greenie. The same greenie that they had just lost.

   Kennedy couldn't get the shank out of her mind.

"We do what we spoke about," Newt said, his fingers brushing through her hair. Kennedy wondered how he could make himself sound so confident, when he felt the very opposite. "We carry on."

"How?"

   He paused, briefly.

   Newt wished he had all the answers: what they would do now, how they would carry on, where they would go from there. But he didn't, and that was one of the worst things. The urge to tell her that it would be alright was tempting, but it was wrong. Newt had no idea if they would be alright. He wished that he did. Badly. He wished it would be. It was one thing that he wanted to tell her, the only thing that could be of genuine comfort, but it wasn't realistic. They would only be okay if they made it okay, and unfortunately, all of that was down to them. Scary as it was, they had no choice.

   He bit his lip harder.

    "I dunno... but, we will."

   It wasn't a good answer, and they both knew it. She shifted, her ear above his heart, listening to the steady thumping sounds. They comforted her.

"I don't think it's that easy," she said.

"Neither do I."

"If I get to meet whoever put us in here, I'll kill 'em."

"I don't doubt it," Newt felt the same as she did, "But we can't think of any of that, right now."

"How'd we not think about that?" Kennedy couldn't accept his words. It was killing her, inside. "It's all I can think about, Newt. It feels like it'll always be there, burning away at my brains, like— like it's eatin' me alive!"

   Pulling her into a sitting position, allowing her to cling onto his hand for dear life, Newt gave her fingers a squeeze. She looked so sensitive, so vulnerable, as if she would break.

"We have to get ourselves up, and going. Tomorrow morning, we're leaders." A sigh passed his lips, a heavy breath as he faced the music. The words weren't meant to scare her, but it was the truth. If she felt scared, then she should. It was scary. Everyday, Newt was scared. Scared of screwing up, scared of letting them down. But it was his job. "This is what Alby said he wanted."

   Brows cinched, Kennedy wondered if she was a leader.

It was an important role that she had never associated herself with. Newt and Alby had always been the leaders — not her. Not Kennedy. She was an authority figure, kids listened to her because they respected her, but she never thought she would be leadership material. Kennedy was always just Kennedy. The one who greeted the greenies, the medjack, the only girl. She was Kennedy, not Alby, or Newt, or Minho, or Gally, or anyone else who demonstrated all the right leadership qualities to be keepers. Kennedy was the glade mascot; the ex-runner who couldn't climb the tower on a bad day; the girl who hardly slept anymore.

   She was Kennedy.

   Not a leader.

"He may have wanted that, but he doesn't have to deal with a life without him." She nearly scowled, "Alby doesn't have to face a glade without him here, so that's not really his choice. Is it?"

"You're missing the point," Newt felt angry.

"Then, what is the point?"

"The point is all those boys are counting on us! They just lost a leader, and we are the next best thing, and you sitting here, cursing out Alby just because he had faith in you, isn't helping!" He hadn't meant to be so harsh, but this was the only way to get through to her. If Newt was to leave her, and if he didn't break her walls now, then they would grow up too high, and she would never be free of them. Newt needed her to stay level-headed. He needed her to try and see what he saw, what Alby saw. Even if her eyes widened, and her tear ducts brimmed with water because he had raised his voice at her. She had to hear him out now, because they didn't have time to waste. He couldn't do this alone. "Think about them," he turned to look at the window, "Think about Chuck." He watched the lump in her throat bob, "He needs you more than ever, right about now."

She was quiet, "I just miss 'em."

"Me too," Newt said.

"It feels so wrong to do this, without them." Her head hurt, "I didn't realise how much we relied on Alby..." she was shamed that she'd never appreciated him enough, before. "And what about our runners? What will they do with no Minho?"

"We can deal with that, tomorrow." He told her.

"Chuck'll be missing Thomas..." Kennedy's voice was hardly above a whisper, now. "He really grew attached to the guy, right?"

   So did she.

"We'll all miss the shank," a light chuckled passed his lips, one that was sad and filled with - bittersweet joy. He hadn't known the boy for very long, but he had certainly left his mark on the two of them. "Made a lasting impressing, that one, didn't he? Don't think we'll ever have another one like him,"

A tired giggle came from her.

    "Damn right."

   Silence.

"What if I can't do it?" She fiddled with his hand, "I—"

"Hey— none of that, alright? I believe in you. We all believe in you, Ken." Newt had never been so sure of something he'd said in his whole life.

    "But what if I can't?" Kennedy argued.

    "Ken—"

    "What if I let Alby down?"

    "You could never," he leaned in close, lips brushing against her temple. "Alby had faith in you. He knew you could do this," Newt promised. "Those boys would follow you anywhere. I would follow you anywhere," he hummed, "Alby called me the glue because I'm the one that kept us all together, but you save people, Kennedy. You want to save us all, and that's enough reason to follow you, as it is."

━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━

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