CH. THIRTY - TWO
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"Ah, come on, Joan! Gimme the details!" Minho begs, all the way from below the wooden, unstable tower they're lying on. "How come Camil gets the details and I don't?"

"Because you're not my best friend."

"Harsh! Gally, you'll give me something, right?"

"Didn't Fry and Camil tell you enough?"

It's been a week since Fry and Camil yelled like that, and everyone has been bugging the couple with questions. It's awful. And now Minho has found them, even though twilight has fallen a while ago, and it's almost completely dark outside.

And he's waking people up with his yells for sure.

"No. When I ask them, Camil says things that are unbelievable, so I need more truths!"

"Why?"

"I want gossip. You know how boring it's been lately?"

"Minho, leave before I toss this freaking wood down on your head."

"No need to get agressieve, ma— okay! I'm gone!"

Sighing, Gally lies back down next to her, both their eyes fixed on the sky above them. A few stars are dotted over the dark blue area, shining in a lovely way.

"Wish it was always this peaceful," she says quietly. "As the stars."

"Too much on your mind?"

She nods. "Yeah," and her voice breaks a bit. "I try not to think about it, but that only works during the day. At night, I'm left with my thoughts, and they repeat everything from the Changing. Or I wake up from more memories, or nightmares about the memories I already have."

He reaches for her hand. Squeezes it. "You know you can always show up at my hut when you can't sleep? Or when you're overthinking. Yeah?"

"Thank you." She scoots a bit closer to him. "What's it like for you?"

"I don't really have... clear memories. Besides the faces and flashes of other things I saw, I can't really get much answers. I just saw this boy and a girl. They worked for The Creators. And I know outside the Maze, it's no good."

"I saw that, too," she admits. "What did the boy look like?"

Gally describes him.

"His name is Thomas," she then says. "I don't know about the girl, but your description and my memories match."

"Untrustworthy," he decides. "But I also thought you were untrustworthy, and you turned out not to be."

"That was a misunderstanding. I broke a promise to save myself, thinking I lost everyone anyways, and you found it selfish, though you didn't know much about the bombing."

"I no longer think it was selfish. And I probably got that angry because of what happened after. With the Griever," he mutters. "I remember someone saying Minho wasn't the same for over a year."

"And you?" She wonders softly. "Do you think you changed much?"

"For sure. Also after the Changing." He nods. "How come you haven't? I don't mind at all, but the differences are so big."

"I try not to make myself change by all the memories. Just... live in the moment. And you're here, too. I know you understand it all. And that I can talk to you."

"Can. But you don't. Not really. Why?"

"Have you ever talked to someone about what you saw?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Exactly," she says.

"But I'm..." he starts, then frowns. "I don't know. You're open. Talk way more than me. Have more friends than me. Which makes it seem like you also talk about the deep stuff with people. And now you say so, I realize you indeed don't."

Her eyebrows furrow, too. She turns to look at him, not quite understanding. "So you can base how introverted or extroverted someone is on how much they talk about their feelings?"

"No. But with someone who talks less or is grumpier, you'd say they're struggling quite quickly. While it's harder to think that of someone who always has a smile on their face."

"Your point?"

"People assume the ones who often seem excited are always okay."

"Duh."

"No, but like—" he groans. "Man, I'm awful with explaining things."

"You were alright with explaining how to build," she assures. "So don't say you're bad at explaining."

"But I am at explaining this."

"Because you never talk about this. Now you do, so please continue. I'll understand!"

He nods. Swallows, then nods again. "Alright. Well... Joan?"

"Hm?"

"I forgot what I was explaining about."

She stares at him for a few seconds, then starts laughing, her head burying in his shoulder. "That's awful."

With a shrug, he also smiles, and his eyes light up. Or it's just the stars— whatever, she loves it, so smiles even harder. "What?"

"I love your smile."

"Yeah?" It fades a little. Not in a sad way, rather... surprised.

"Yeah."

"Never heard that before."

"Because boys barely ever complement each other."

"Maybe."

"But here. Your smile is awesome. Makes me happy. And your grumpiness is lovely, too."

"Do I take that as a compliment? You did just confirm I'm grumpy."

"I like any personality trait you have," she corrects.

"Well, I like yours. Wouldn't have fallen for you if I didn't."

"Good thing to agree on, then."

A chuckle. "Yeah. Good thing to agree on."

Their last laughs fade away with the slight breeze. Both of them turn back to the sky, their hands intertwining as they watch for a few seconds.

"We should probably head to bed before we wake up too late tomorrow," he then says.

Agreeing, she sits up. "Good idea."

"Wanna stay with me, though?"

"Not gonna say no to that."

Together, they walk down the tower, pick up the stuff Joan needs to get unready, brush their teeth, and then lock themselves up in his hut.

"How many things do you have to build?" She wonders, undressing. "I mean, we've got everything we need. What do you need to add all the time?"

"Mostly extra rooms to the Homestead, or expanding other klunk. The Med-Hut was way smaller before," he explains. "Here. Since you dyed it pink and I'm never ever wearing it."

A shirt gets tossed in her arms. Way too big, but comfortable. And smells like him, too.

Which makes her grin. "You did wear it."

"No, I didn't."

"You must have! It smells like you. It doesn't smell like you when it comes out of the laundry. You wore it!"

"Fine— once. To bed. Because I had nothing else."

A laugh leaves her mouth. "No need to go in denial. Nothing's wrong with wearing pink."

He hums. "Looks better on you, though."

She looks down at it. It's kind of a dress for her. Comes to her knees. "Thanks. You want my shirt now, too?"

"I'd totally fit it."

"One hundred percent." Joan smiles at the idea. "Alright. Let's—" she stops abruptly. Takes his shirtless torso in with her eyes.

Can it look even better than when they went swimming?

"You're staring."

"At least I don't pretend to look at a tree," she spits back. "Since when do you sleep without a shirt?"

"Always."

"That's not true."

"It is. Or do you stalk me every night?"

"No. But when I first kissed you, you were wearing a shirt," she tells him. "Wow! Are you trying to impress me?"

"No—"

"That's honestly adorable." She throws her head back, laughing. Grumpy, quite confident Gally doing his best for a ridiculous thing like this. "And it worked. You've impressed me."

"I was not trying—"

"Then why?"

"...well."

"Well?"

"Okay, maybe— but don't call me out like that," he grumbles while moving the sheets. "Come on, woman. See if it fits."

"Sorry?"

"Both of us in my bed. I barely fit in it."

"Right—" a cough. "You didn't think of that when you made your bed?"

"I was thirteen when I made it. I've grown," he announces.

She crawls under the sheets. "Perhaps make a new one, then. Lazy ass."

He scoffs before he lies down next to her. "Well, besides the wall and I squeezing you, it seems perfect."

"Mhm."

"Or we just..." his arms wrap around her, placing them in a spooning position. "That comfortable?"

"Very," she assures. "Good night."

He moves his hands over her waist. "Night."

❀

Another week later, in which she only fell in love with him more, she sits with Minho, Winston, and Zart for dinner.

She likes how they always switch. Though she's closer to some boys than others, she's friends with plenty of them.

"Question," Minho starts. "Zart, what happened to the tomatoes?"

"Fry baked them. So don't blame me for anything... like you always do, Minho."

"And Winston." He ignores Zart. "What's up with the chicken?"

"You can stick your criticisms up your ass, Minho," he snaps. "Had a bad day?"

"Hm. Maybe. On bad days, things always taste like shit." As he holds up his hands, he really seems to think it through. "Yeah, that's it. Sorry, guys. Joan, do a quick confirmation that it does taste good."

She looks up, unbothered. "It tastes good, guys."

"Ain't that dry."

Minho clears his throat. "Because Gally made—"

"Do not." Her eyes narrow. "I swear to god, Minho."

"Don't stop me from attempting to make my day better!" The Asian pulls a face before it disappears in his hands, shaking his head.

Her eyebrows raise. "Why you havin' such a bad day, then?"

"Can't tell ya. Alby's call."

"Alright, then." She shrugs. "But don't make me have a bad day because you're having a bad day."

"You seem like you're having a bad day. Did I make you have a bad day because I have a bad day?"

"No, I'm not having a bad day because you made my day bad because you had a bad day. Just a tad tired."

Because she woke up early to go swimming, except she got a bit angry because she never had a hallucination, so never got more information, and then worked quite hard. Ran around the Glade all day because Joe was making serums on one side while Alfred was trying to cut wood and she had to switch places every time.

"Okay. Good that your day hasn't turned bad because I'm having a bad day and might be affecting your days with this bad day," he replies, grinning at their word choices. "Winston, how was your day?"

"Fine. Not special."

"And Zart?"

"Alright."

"Awesome!" Yet his eyes still aren't the happiest.

She sighs. "Come on. Share what's got your day so bad."

He looks at the other two boys. They've already began talking to each other, not interested in Minho's strange mood and her laziness today. Then looks back at her, smile fading.

"Fine. Because you're not interested in the Maze anyways. Don't tell anyone. You hear me? No one."

"Okay." She nods, eyes big. "Promised."

Indeed, she's not interested in the Maze, but she'd like to know what's going on in there after all.

"We figured out that..." he swallows. Glares at the rest another time before he leans in, muttering, "We figured out that there's no way out of the Maze."

"So we really are stuck," she states, not much emotion in her voice.

"Yes. We really are," he says, his voice cracking and full of sadness. "But we'll keep running so the rest won't lose hope. That they'll continue working before hell breaks out."

"But then you're lying to them all."

"Alby's call, not mine. And maybe we have a chance. A tiny one."

Well, if the outside world is destroyed... maybe they were sent in here to get protected. And the Grievers are in the Maze to keep them away from it!

Perhaps there is no way out because that's how it's supposed to be. They're the youth that's still alive, all immune or healed to that weird thing, and they will have to expand it to keep living.

Maybe.

The realization hits her hard. Makes her eyes wide. "Damn."

"Yeah. Damn." He lowers his head, even though he's probably not thinking the same thing as her.

She remains quiet for a minute, her mind spinning.

Then, "Minho?"

"Yeah?"

"If you're only running in the Maze to keep each the hopes up, but Alfred quit and—"

"Jason and another boy also quit because of this."

"Yes." She nods. "Well, if it's only to run and kind of lie to make everyone feel better... then I wouldn't mind taking part in that."

"Are you saying—"

"Yes. Maybe. But neither do I want to give the Tool-Makers up."

The sadness gets replaced with a little bit more hope. "You're way smarter that me! Perhaps you can figure a way out."

"That wouldn't be the reason for me to become a Runner but—"

"I'm definitely gonna discuss this with Alby, Newt, and Camil."