SEVEN
「you're the only good
thing in my life」
＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

BLOOD—STICKY, HOT, wet blood. The shock of a gunshot ripping through the air was what brought her back from floating in the clouds. It was loud and terrible and the sound that escaped Thomas when it found its home in the flesh of his shoulder made her want to hurl.

Sylvia's head whipped so fast to find who had shot Thomas she thought she might have gotten whiplash. It was the blond from the basement, with a sleek silver gun in his hands. She thought with a jarring clarity, I could use a punching bag.

So, when he fired again, attempting to hit another one of them with a bullet, Sylvia flinched out of the way and flung herself at him, knuckles first. The first contact of her knuckles cracking against his cheekbone was like music to her ears. The sweet symphony of violence she'd sung all her life. He fell to the ground, pulling her down with him. She tried to hit him a second time but must've been a little sloppy, because before her knuckles could find flesh once more, she was being kneed in the gut and flung to the side.

Sylvia rolled on the concrete of the narrow alleyway, her arms and elbows and knees scraping the rough ground. She must not have been the only one angered by Thomas being shot because in her hazy sight, she could see a dark figure tower over blondie and begin beating down on him.

The sky spun above her and she groaned, squeezing her eyes shut. She rolled over onto her hands and knees, swaying. Someone had come near her and laid a hand on her back. She shrugged them off, stumbling as she stood to her feet.

The cracks and groans of punches filled her ears. She was welcomed by the sight of a tousled Minho standing up from over blondie's unconscious body, his knuckles bloody, his expression angry. His hair was falling over his brows, disheveled. She found it oddly attractive, but thought that now wasn't exactly the right time for such thoughts.

Without thinking, she staggered over to where Thomas lay on the ground, Newt hovering over him, his blood seeping out a wound in his shoulder. His eyes were flitting across each of their faces dazedly. Newt had his hands pressed over the wound, trying to stop the blood.

"I can get that sucker out of him." Jorge said, of all people. "But I'll need a fire."

"We can't do this here." Newt protested as he pressed harder over the wound. Thomas yelped in pain.

"Let's get out of this shuck city." Minho's indignation was obvious.

"All right. Help me carry him."

Sylvia, Minho, Oscar, and even Hayden had bent down to haul Thomas up. Thomas blearily groaned out in pain and Sylvia felt sympathy wash through her. Thomas got shot. After a second or two, his cries of pain faded as he passed out.

Jorge and Neil led the group of them out of the alleyway and into the streets. She had no idea where they could possibly go.

THEY WALKED FOR a few hours. They took shifts carrying Thomas, avoiding main streets and sticking to discreet alleyways. They were spotted by a gang of Cranks but they were luckily able to lose them as the day went on.

Sylvia noticed that in the time between her being taken captive by that first pair of Cranks and her reuniting with the Gladers, Bark had taken a liking to Neil. The scruffy dog walked alongside him almost the whole time. She thought Nick might like him too. He was practical and a fast thinker, although a bit harsh, but so was she.

As daylight faded, they left the outskirts of the city and re-entered the desolate lands of the sand-filled Scorch on the other side, nearer to the mountains. They hardly spoke passing through the city, the risks of Cranks hearing too high. Now that they were out of the city, the distant cry of Cranks had faded into the background.

Minho and some of the others had started light conversation with her, careful to avoid the reveal of information that had just happened a couple of hours ago. He and the others questioned her about what had happened to her, where she'd been, who Neil and Hayden were, etc.

She told them everything.

From when she woke up that first day all the way up until being stuffed in the basement with Thomas, Brenda, and Hayden. Oscar had made a few rather sensual remarks about Hayden that made her scrunch her nose in contemptment, and then to her gratification, excused himself in order to go and introduce himself to this new 'hunk of a man.'

Finally, they settled down a few miles out from the city, laying Thomas on the ground. They stoked a small fire a couple feet away from the boy. Thomas had sweat creasing his brows and he was taking in shallow breaths. That gun had to have been rotting out here for at least a decade. The rust could be a problem.

Jorge had started heating a knife over the fire. Neil had spread out the few medical supplies he had. Sylvia watched anxiously a few feet away, pacing. Thomas's eyes cracked open and Sylvia wished he would've just stayed unconscious. Him being awake would make this a lot harder.

Neil said, talking to the general vicinity of Gladers, "You'd better hold him down. Legs and arms."

A few of them moved forward and started grabbing limbs, including Sylvia.

Jorge pulled the knife out of the fire, the metal glowing red. "This is gonna hurt somethin' awful."

Jorge pressed the knife to the wound in Thomas's shoulder and Sylvia felt his limbs jolt beneath her. The boy didn't have the chance to scream in pain before he passed out again. He was better for it anyway.

Once Neil and Jorge had wrapped up doing what they needed to do, everyone settled down quietly. She noticed that Brenda had gone over to Thomas, holding his hand in hers. She had furrowed her brows at them, thinking it was odd. When she shot a glance at Newt and Minho, they both simply shrugged.

Most of the Gladers drifted off within the next hour or so. Even Bark had retreated to the warmth of Thomas's side. Sylvia needed to talk to Neil.

She found him cleaning off a few of his things, organizing his supplies. They were far enough away from everyone to have the grave conversation Sylvia intended. He didn't turn as she approached, but she could tell he knew she was there.

"Niña," he sighed.

"What does this mean for me?" She asked lowly. Neil tensed before turning. He frowned, his expression close to pity. She hated it. She spat, "Look, I don't need pity, alright? Just tell me."

"It means...you have to be careful," he started. "Watch closely for the signs—needless aggression, agitation, twitchiness, unusual behavior. If you're observant enough, you can catch them and you'll know when you'll be close to turning."

Sylvia couldn't help how her expression cracked. "I shouldn't be here. I'm putting them all in danger."

Neil put his hands on her shoulders, leaning down. "Listen to me. Even with the bite, you'll be fine once you get this cure they're promising. All you have to do is fight it until we get there."

"What happens if I turn before we get there? You said it happens unexpectedly."

"You won't turn."

"How can you be so sure?" She snapped.

Something foreign flickered across his expression, gone in an instant. "I won't let it happen."

"Why are you so intent on helping me?" She questioned, brows creased.

Neil hesitated, something like familiarity clouding his eyes. He dropped his hands from her shoulders and turned back around to continue organizing his supplies. He was silent for several moments and she was sure he wasn't going to answer her. As she was about to turn to leave, she heard his voice, so low she almost missed it.

"I had a daughter. She was bitten, just like you. I wasn't able to save her." He paused and looked at her over his shoulder. "So if I can help you before this virus takes you, I'd be doing her a favor."

"Oh," Sylvia said quietly. "I didn't know you had a daughter."

"I had a lot of things, once."

Sylvia left it at that, figuring there wasn't much more to be said.

She made her way back over to where the Gladers had settled down, their soft snores filling the cool night air. The only one awake was Minho. He was sitting near the embers of the dying fire. She carefully sat down next to him.

She sat close to him, their feet nearing the embers the fire left smoldering. They couldn't risk sending a smoke signal in the air and had to snuff it out. Sylvia had pulled the jacket her and Hayden had traded on. His shoulder brushed her's lightly. A reassurance.

His voice lifted through the silence, tone low. "Syl, can I ask you something?"

It was dark out, and Sylvia could barely see the outline of his face. She answered, "No."

He subtly rolled his eyes at her and asked anyway, "Do you have a tattoo? On the back of your neck."

Sylvia hesitated, then said, "Yes. Do you?" Minho nodded, and she could just barely see it. She watched the embers from the snuffed-out fire flicker in his dark eyes. "What does it say?"

"Subject A7. The Leader." Minho scoffed, kicking up some sand with the toe of his boot. "What a joke."

"Why?" She asked genuinely. "You were a better leader than I was, to the Runners."

He turned his head to look at her and bumped her shoulder with his. "Sylvia? A compliment? What happened to you?"

"Shut up." She said in return, not unkindly. "I bumped my head one too many times."

"What does yours say?"

She hesitated once again. "You'll laugh at me."

"I won't laugh." He couldn't hide his smirk, the single dimple forming in his cheek penetrating the darkness. Somehow, it made her feel better.

"You will." She said, amused. "Subject A3. The Fuse."

"The Fuse?" Minho chuckled quietly. "Personally, I would've named you 'The Sweetheart,' because you're just so darn sweet."

Sylvia scoffed, elbowing him. "You're ridiculous." They were quiet for a few moments, the silence comfortable. Somehow, it always was with him.

Minho started again, more quietly this time, more serious. "Sylvia...I thought you were dead."

Her head turned to him swiftly. "What?"

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again. I thought..." he trailed off, not finishing the sentence. "I just want you to know, I'm glad you're not. Dead, I mean."

"Well, thanks." She drawled, trying, and failing, to lighten the mood. She admitted, "I'm glad you're not dead too."

Hesitantly, Sylvia leaned towards him a bit more, so that their legs were brushing. Minho sighed softly.

"Minho?" She spoke, almost too quietly to sound normal.

"Yeah?"

"When I—" she stopped and corrected herself before he could, "—If I turn—I need you to promise me something."

Minho turned away from her, indignant. "I don't want to talk about this."

"No, Minho." She pleaded, gripping his arm. He turned back to face her, his eyes murky. "When it happens, kill me."

"No!" He exclaimed, a bit too loud. A couple people stirred. Once everything was still again, his eyes found hers in the darkness. "Sylvia, I'm not killing you."

Sylvia shook her head, eyes glistening. It was so unlike her that it startled Minho. She begged him, "Minho, please. I don't want to hurt anyone when it happens. I need you to kill me. Promise me you'll do it."

"Syl, I can't..." He trailed off. The desperate look he gave her was killing her. His resolve seemed to harden, and he looked at her determinedly, putting his hand over hers. "We'll get to the Safe Haven before anything happens. You'll get the cure. You are not dying. Do you hear me?"

Sylvia bowed her head. It was the same thing Neil said, but they couldn't guarantee that. "Just...if it does happen...don't let me live. Please, don't let me live like that."

She looked back up to him, worried he might protest again. He looked at her, pained. There was something in his expression she couldn't identify. Slowly, he nodded his head.

It was a deal, then.

A DAY PASSED, and Thomas was still in and out of consciousness. When he did wake, it was only for a few hazy minutes before he slipped under the veil of darkness once again.

They had moved spots since the first night out of the city, stumbling upon a ramshackle shed-like structure to hide from the sun in. As usual, the sun was blisteringly hot and unbearable to be under for more than a minute or two. Sylvia was sure she'd be thoroughly cooked if not for the shelter.

Heedless of Jorge and Neil's mending, Thomas didn't seem to be getting better. His skin was pale with a thin sheen of sweat coating his face, his breaths quick and shallow. He jostled and muttered wordlessly in his almost restless sleep.

Despite Sylvia's best efforts, she had begun to worry about him. A sort of strange protectiveness for him had taken root beneath the bone of her sternum. She had dumbed it down to Thomas simply being too much of a reminder of Nick. It was almost like instinct.

So, she was restless. She paced, battering Jorge and Neil about Thomas's condition. She insisted to them that he wasn't getting better, that he needed more help. She had even called the two of them 'a poor excuse for Med-jacks' and they had both given her puzzled looks, not understanding. She didn't bother to explain the significance.

Neil must've been able to convince Jorge not to throw her out to be eaten by wolves, because she was still here, despite the bite mark throbbing on her arm. Though he didn't seem too happy about it, repeatedly shooting distrusting looks her way. She ignored it.

The information of what would happen to her festered inside her mind like a rotten apple. Since coming to know what she'd been told, it was almost like she could feel the infection beneath her skin. Crawling, moving, begging to be let out. She didn't know if it was the anxiety or if it was actually the virus.

Eventually, Newt suggested they go back into the outskirts of the city to look for supplies. Food, medicine for Thomas, clothes. Sylvia practically jumped at the opportunity. Neil and Jorge reluctantly agreed to let a small group of them go.

The group consisted of her, Newt, Minho, Oscar, Hayden, and a mousy haired boy she didn't know the name of. As they walked under the blazing sun back towards the city, Hayden had told her that the boy was from his group.

"Your group?" Sylvia questioned him, beneath the sheet they shared.

"Yeah," He said, throwing a small glance at the boy over his shoulder. "He was the last Blondie. He's the only other guy besides me."

Sylvia threw a look at the boy in succession. "You should talk to him. See if he knows anything about where your girls are."

"I did. Said he woke up in the boys' dorm and that he didn't know where they were." Hayden was quiet for a moment. Sylvia wished she could help him find his way back to his group. After all, he did that for her—even if it was unintentional. Hayden continued, "I'm glad you found your boys though."

Sylvia let something close to a smile brace her features. "It was thanks to you. I promise you, I'll help you find your group. I owe you." Hayden held her gaze for a moment, then nodded. She smirked inquiringly. "Anyway, what do you think of them?"

Hayden hummed, pretending to think about it. "Well, Oscar is certainly a character." Sylvia groaned. She could only imagine the embarrassing things he's said. "I don't think your boyfriend likes me very much, though."

Sylvia almost stumbled at his words, risking a glance at Minho and Newt in front of them to make sure they hadn't heard. She turned to glare at Hayden and sputtered, "Boyfriend?"

"You know, the one you look at like he's candy." Hayden laughed, fortunately keeping his voice quiet. When Sylvia just stared at him, he continued, "Minho?"

Sylvia blinked. Then blinked again. She spoke haltingly, "He's not my boyfriend."

"You sure about that?" He asked, a smirk adorning his features.

"Yes, I'm sure!" She hissed. "Don't mention it again."

Hayden gave her a disbelieving look before simply shaking his head. Sylvia couldn't decipher what that meant.

By midday, they reached the outline of the city. The sun was bright against the buildings, glaring off them harshly. They all entered the city warily. Sylvia had taken her prized bat with her and she gripped it like a vice between her hands.

They decided to split off in groups of two to search the buildings along the first block. Oscar, unsurprisingly, roped Hayden into going with him. Sylvia and Minho shared a unanimous look of agreement. Newt sighed, shooting them both a look of contempt before pairing off with the mousy-haired boy—Aris.

As Sylvia and Minho made their way to the building they'd been designated to search, Minho took the bat from her hands, inspecting it. He looked at her with amusement, eyes twinkling. She let him hold onto it—almost childlike wonder spilling through his features—as they picked their way to the building.

She couldn't help but feel guilt deep down for asking him to kill her if it came down to it. If it was the other way around, she didn't think she'd be able to end his life, even if it was what he wanted. She thought that maybe, staying the way they were, might do more harm than good. This unexplained peace and happiness he somehow managed to make her feel. She could tell just by his face that he felt something for her. She'd known him for all of her remembered life, of course she'd be able to read him like a book.

She didn't want the possibility of her death to screw him up, not like Nick's had screwed her up. As much as she despised it, she knew what she needed to do. She needed to break his attachment before it would get him hurt, as much as it would kill her. She needed him to be strong for the rest of the Gladers.

She stole the bat back as they came to the entrance. They searched the building carefully, wary around corners and dark hiding spaces. Luckily, they didn't run into any Cranks. They only came up with scraps though; one can of opened and eaten chili.

The next building they searched was more promising. In the cabinets of one of the pantries, they found a few cans of beans, chilis, and soups. They stuffed it all into the backpack Minho had brought. As they climbed up the next floor, there looked to be an untouched bedroom with clothes in good enough condition. Sylvia was itching to get out of the ragged top she'd been wearing since they entered the Scorch.

She picked up a maroon shirt off a chair in the corner of the room, figuring her pants were good enough to continue wearing. She glanced at Minho and it seemed that he had found a new shirt for wear too.

They stared at each other for a moment, almost dumbly, before Sylvia said, "Turn around. And don't look."

Minho quirked a brow, smirked, and slowly turned around. She watched him for a few suspicious seconds and quickly turned around once he grabbed the bottom of his shirt.

Sylvia began to pull her own dirtied shirt over her head, holding in a silent wince as she accidentally brushed her bruised ribs. They still ached from the beating she took from those Cranks. She threw the shirt carelessly to some other corner of the room.

Minho's voice startled her as he exclaimed, "Syl!" and she turned on instinct, momentarily forgetting her lack of clothes.

Minho was right behind her and she nearly bumped into him as she spun around. Sylvia covered herself quickly, despite the fact that she had a rather modest sports bra on, a deep blush creeping up her neck.

"What are you doing?" She asked panickedly.

Minho's eyes weren't on her face though. His eyes were on the ugly bruise marring the skin over her ribs. A swirl of hurtful purples and greens and yellows. Tenderly, he placed a hand over the bruise, murmuring, "What happened to you?"

"What did I tell you? Turn around!" She ignored his question, pushing his hand away and trying to get him to turn around again. Minho didn't let down though.

He grabbed her wrists to stop her pushing and asked more sternly, "Syl, who did this to you?"

"It's not a big deal." She brushed off, squirming in his grip.

In her haste to get out of his grip, her eyes found the scars marring his own body. She felt her heart skip a beat.

"Minho," she gasped, eyes trailing down the blooming pink scars on his skin. They were unusual, forming in fern-like patterns down his torso and arms. He loosened his grip on her and she slipped away. She walked around him, letting her fingers trail over the strange markings. He watched her carefully. She looked back up at him. "What happened to you?"

Minho smirked, as if this was somehow funny. "Got struck by lightning."

"You're kidding."

"Dead serious."

Sylvia smacked his arm and exclaimed, "How the hell do you manage that? You could've gotten killed!"

"Well, I'm fine. Thanks for asking." He rolled his eyes before his gaze trailed back down to her ribs. "Does it hurt?" He questioned, brows knitted.

"No," she lied.

Minho pressed a thumb against the bruise, only very lightly. She hissed sharply and pulled away, glaring at him.

His voice was taut as he mocked, "It doesn't hurt, huh?"

"Minho, stop. There's nothing you can do about it." She said, crossing her arms. "They're dead. I can take care of myself. You know that."

Minho nodded his head, slowly. "I know. I just..." He trailed off, seeming almost furious with himself. "I don't like the idea of you getting hurt."

This one sentence solidified her decision. A deep pain struck her heart thinking about what had to be done. It was for his own good.

"You were struck by lightning and you're worried about this one little bruise I have?" She said exasperatedly. "You're ridiculous."

"Yeah, well I care about what happens to you."

Sylvia's ears turned a bright shade of red, her eyes shadowed with dread. "You're infuriating."

Minho smiled, dimples cratering in his cheeks. "You like it."

She turned her back to him, going to grab the shirt she was going to put on. Minho grabbed her arm gently, "Wait."

She twisted back towards him slowly. He was looking at her differently now—softer, more fondly. He moved closer and she could feel her heart pound. He brushed a loose piece of hair away from her face, bent close and put his lips against her good ear.

"I like it when you're shirtless." He whispered, so softly she almost didn't hear it. Heat warmed her cheeks. Then he pressed a soft kiss beneath the lobe of her ear.

She gripped his arm, nearly toppingly over from the heat of him, the closeness. She couldn't let him do this. Sylvia felt as if she wasn't made for such softness, for such sweetness. He deserved more. Deserved better. He would only get hurt like this. She had to put an end to it now.

"Minho..." she whispered, and her voice cracked.

Immediately, he pulled away from her, worried he'd done something wrong. His eyes searched her face, saw the pain in her eyes, and he frowned. "Hey, what's wrong?"

She shook her head slowly, willing herself not to cry. She couldn't stay so close to him, no matter how badly she wanted to. She backed a few steps away from him and saw his face fall. "I can't keep doing this."

"Syl? What are you talking about?" He said in a whisper. They stared at each for a long moment before Minho took a step closer to her, and she took a step back. It set her skin on fire to see the pain on his face. "I thought you...I thought we were...?"

It was almost like Sylvia could feel his pain, doubling with hers. Her entire being hurt, every nerve in her body burning, her heart begging her to stop before it was too late. "What we have, its...its too much. I don't want to hurt you."

"You're not hurting me. You've never hurt me."

"All I do is hurt you." Her voice was strangled. "And I won't let it keep happening."

"Syl, don't do this," he begged, his eyes pleading. "Please, don't do this. You're the only good thing in my life."

Sylvia felt a tear trickle down her cheek. "I'm sorry. This is what's best for you. For the rest of the group."

"You don't get to decide what's best for me!" Minho exclaimed, stepping closer once again. "I want you, Syl. Despite everything. Despite all our fights, our flaws; despite everything we've been through and everything that might happen in the future, you're all I want."

There was nothing she could say to make this better. To stop this. Her lip quivered. The only way to convince him was to lie. "It's not what I want."

He looked like he'd just slapped her. Like she killed the only thing he held dear. She wished she couldn't feel anything at all, because this felt worse than dying.

Minho closed the distance between them, his hands cupping her face so gently, even after she'd just broken his heart. She could kill him for it. Damn him.

"Sylvia," he pleaded. His eyes were what killed her the most, those beautiful dark eyes filled with devastation. "I love you."

She pulled his hands from her face, the simple action taking every ounce of strength she's ever had. "I know."

That was when her heart crumbled.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

double apology: 6 month absence and this devastation