#mtcforgottenwips

You walked on, wondering if the colder bite to the air was just your imagination. But as you carried on, you began to notice frost speckling the grass underfoot. Your breath turned to white clouds. You smiled. You hoped that meant snow.

When you reached the peak of the hill, you stilled. Beyond, the land fell into a shallow crater, sloped on every side. It was a natural phenomenon, though the people from town often said it had ties to the Fae. You usually scoffed at such stories, and had wandered here plenty to know that wasn’t true.

But this time the crater – and the crater, alone – was white. Not with snow. With frost. And there, in the saddle between the four hillsides stood the throne, its dark wood standing out against the icy ground.

You edged down the slope to get a closer look, watching your footing as the frost turned thicker. With every few steps, the air grew colder. Alarmingly so. You’d never felt it so clearly before. It was fresh and invigorating, and you were sure any other person would have turned back with frostbite by now.

You felt eyes on you as you descended into the crater. When you were almost close enough to touch the throne, you stopped. The hairs along your arms and neck were prickling. You scanned the hilltops for signs of a lurker, but no one was there. But there had to be. You could feel them.

After a moment, you turned your attention back to the throne. Now that you were close, you could see the intricate carvings in the wood. They looked old. You’d walked this part of the hills many times before. A tree-throne this worn, it should have been here for decades, but you had never seen it before.

Being a reluctant skeptic, you hoped this was proof enough of something more than human. You wanted to believe. Perhaps now you could.

Figuring you needed to give it a once over to make sure it wasn’t some artsy installation, you ran your hands along the bark, then froze as a humourless chuckle carried on the wind.

“Don’t you feel it?”

Someone was behind you. You turned to look, but found no one there. Yet the hairs on the back of your neck still prickled.

“You aren’t like the others.”

This time, the voice sounded more concrete. Not something you could so easily dismiss.

You turned to look at the throne once more, coming face to face with a being that was as ancient as time itself. Your breath caught. You were too surprised to move.

He looked thin, with skin as blue as frost, eyes as black and as bright as the night sky, and was wrapped in a shroud with the skull of some ancient horned being adorning his head. It was not in his face that you saw his age, for his façade looked no older than you, but as soon as you laid eyes upon him, you felt your own mortality, and how small it was in the presence of his eternity.

He smiled a wicked smile.

“At last, we meet in person.”

He sat in the throne, one knee hooking over its arm as he claimed it leisurely, exposing a portion of his bare leg as his shroud slipped down into his lap.

“Aren’t you… cold?” You asked. It was a strange thing to ask, out of every uncertainty running rampant in your mind, yet somehow felt the safest of many questions. Suddenly, here was a being confirming every wild story of the Fae you had ever heard. He was physical proof that there was more to the world than what it seemed. Yet you were too scared to ask about any of it.

His smile grew wider, his eyes unblinking.

“I fathom I am just as cold as you.”

You almost told him that you didn’t feel the cold, only you stopped yourself once you saw the blackened ends of his fingertips, plagued by frostbite.

He noticed what you had seen. Raising a hand to study himself, turning it this way and that, he spared it but a glance before returning attention to you in full.

“Haven’t you ever wondered why the cold doesn’t bother you? Why it is, that others must wrap themselves in layers when the temperatures plummet, and you do not?”

How did he know that?

In a blink, he was behind you. His hands found your bare arms and he trailed his fingers across your skin. They felt so incredibly, impossibly cold. But it was not uncomfortable. He mused, pressing his nose into the side of your hair, his breath against your ear.

“My touch can kill animals, and wither plants to nought. Yet, you do not flinch.”

He slipped in front of you, hovering off the ground, bringing his face close to yours. His white-blue irises were so bright they were frightening.

You felt a dread welling in your stomach, one that could not be abated as you took a step back. At last we meet in person, he had said. Who was he, this creature from whom you could feel not an ounce of kindness, yet spoke to you without malice? He was asking questions you had never pondered, making you wonder about impossibilities no human ever need wonder.

“I… like the cold.” You said after a moment, aware he was hinting at such a thing anyway. “But who are you? Why does it sound like you know me?”

You being here was coincidence, and nothing more. It was by chance you had stumbled onto him, by chance you had sought out the throne. He knew all about your preference for the cold, yet it could simply be his deduction. You had willingly wandered into the middle of a frost-patch in a dress, after all.

“I am Skrael of the North Wind,” he offered. But his next words sent a shiver down your spine. “And you are to be my bride.”

Without an ounce of humour, an ounce of leeway, his words settled over you like a chill you never thought you could experience.

“Wh-what’s that supposed to mean?” You asked, taking yet another step back. He had to be a trickster. He couldn’t really mean it. “I don’t know you.”

He glided towards you, following even as you continued to step back. You made it to the edge of the frost patch before he slipped behind you, grabbing your wrist. You span, hoping to dislodge his grip, but to your utmost horror, he was unfathomably stronger than his thin body looked.

“If you fight me, I shall make this difficult.” He warned, icy talons forming on the tips of his fingers. “You are my bride, ____, whether you like the fact, or not.”

“I can’t be.” You demanded, trying again to pull free. “You’ve got the wrong girl.”

He chuckled humourlessly.

“I would not stoop so low as to willingly put my hands on a mortal. I have studied you closely for weeks. There can be no other. You are my destined bride.”

He was insane. Bride was one thing. Destined bride was something else entirely.

“Let me go.” You demanded, using your other hand to try to pry him off. But his grip held fast. He watched your helpless struggle with clear amusement. He did not stop you. Your pathetic attempt was futile.

“Come.” He said, after tiring of your games. “I wasted enough time pursuing you. Now that I have you, the day of reckoning draws nearer.”

He floated back towards the centre of the frost patch, unfazed by your struggling. You tried to pull back, to kick your heels into the ground, but nothing stopped him. The agonisingly slow pace at which he moved only served to amp up your distress as he neared the blackened wood throne.

“Stop!” You wailed with a shriek, embedding your nails into the flesh of his hand. He stopped with a sudden jolt. You realised then that it was not the scratching, but the shriek that had faltered him. So with a deep breath, you shrieked again, hoping it would stun him.

But the only thing your cry served was to earn you a fierce slap across the cheek, and a glare that promised all hell should you do it again. The pain was excruciating. It burned and stung, and knocked your sight blind for a moment.

Skrael said nothing. With you knocked into a stupor, he pulled you to the throne and placed his hand upon the wood. In an instant, you, the throne, and even the frost vanished, leaving not a trace that they had ever existed.

------

Feeling dazed, concerned and very confused, Ojiro did what he thought was right and got her a drink of water. He couldn’t leave her sleeping, but depending on her reasons for being in his bed, a glass of water might make for a good peace offering.

Leaving it on the nightstand, he took a deep breath then crouched down beside her, then gently shook her to rouse her awake.

“Hey, hello?”

She stirred. With a soft groan, she crinkled her brows and tried to roll over but he kept her still. With another moan, unable to get comfortable, she woke.

Ojiro felt nervous as she blinked herself awake with slow, sleepy bats of her eyelashes. Then she seemed to realise something wasn’t right. Her brows crinkled further. Her gaze focused on him. Then all of a sudden she shot up like a bolt, yelping as she backed against the wall, like she expected danger.

Though Ojiro fell backwards in alarm, banging his tail bone as he hit the floor, he quickly raised his hands to try to defuse the situation.

“Please don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe."

Instead of looking relieved to hear it, the girl seemed to grow more distressed. Ojiro wasn’t sure why, until she spoke and he couldn’t understand her. Definitely foreign, then. This was making less and less sense, the more he learned.

Reaching into the depths of his Pro Hero Rescue training, Ojiro forced a smile to his face to show her she was okay. Only, when he began to get up from the floor, feeling a sting in his lower back from hitting the deck, she spoke again and he didn’t need to know what she was saying to hear the horror in her voice.

She started pointing like she was looking at a ghost, then tried to back up even further against the wall. At first, Ojiro thought she was pointing at him, then looked behind to see if anyone was there, because surely she couldn’t see him as a threat, but with no one else around, she had to be pointing at him.

“What?” He asked, confused. He didn’t dare move in case she could see something he couldn’t. He swished his tail across the floor, experimentally checking for something unseen, but she squeaked again, pointing at his tail.

“Wait, this?”

He pulled himself up then turned his back on her to give her a full view of his Quirk. He heard the way her words caught in her throat. She stuttered but didn’t say anything more. He glanced over his shoulder and saw her genuine terror.

“It’s just my tail,” he muttered. He swayed it back and forth, letting her get a closer look if she wanted to. But she stayed rigidly pinned to the wall. He turned to face her fully and she flinched. “Don’t you have a Quirk?”

She didn’t seem to. At the very least, she didn’t have a mutation Quirk. Ojiro wanted to ask her many things but the language barrier was proving to be problematic. He couldn’t figure out which language she spoke and it certainly didn’t help that she panicked and flailed as soon as he stepped half an inch towards her, grabbing his pillow like some kind of blockade.

“You really don’t know what’s going on, do you?” He asked. Despite not knowing the circumstances, he found himself feeling sorry for her. Sure, he was confused, but by her reaction, there was definitely something worse happening on her end. “I promise I’m not going to hurt you.”

He reached for the glass of water on the nightstand then crouched down and offered it to her, tucking in his tail to seem less of a threat. He wasn’t used to feeling like a threat, at all. People rarely paid him any attention. He spent a lot of time trying to seem bigger and better, so this approach was rather new to him. But he stayed small, and smiled, and held the drink out for her like an olive branch.

“If you’re thirsty, you can have it.”

She eyed the glass suspiciously. He chewed his lip, wondering how to go about this. He wasn’t going to get anywhere at this rate. Then, struck by inspiration, he lifted the glass to his lips then took a small sip.

“See?” He said afterwards, opening his mouth so she could see he had swallowed. “It’s just water.”

He held it out to her again. Seemingly, it was enough to convince her that she was in no immediate danger. She relaxed, her face softening as she unstuck from the wall and released his pillow from her panicking death-grip. She took the glass.

Ojiro smiled as she took a sip then ran his hand through his hair. At least she was down from the immediate shock but as far as answers went, he was no closer to solving the mystery of her appearance. If only he could talk to her. Even if she knew nothing, at least they would be on the same page about it.

Then he realised. There was someone in this very building who might be able to help.

“Stay here.” He said suddenly, turning on his heel to go. Then he caught his mistake and turned back to her, miming as best he could for her to wait where she was. “Stay there. I’m coming back.”

She nodded slowly, unsurely, but pulled his pillow back into her lap as if she intended to be there for a while. He took that to mean she understood, then headed out.

He took the elevator down to the second floor then dashed for Aoyama’s room. It was a slim chance that his foreign classmate would just so happen to speak the same foreign language as the mystery girl, but given that Aoyama was bilingual, he was possibly the best shot Ojiro had.

He knocked on the door then waited, then waited some more, knocked once more then decided Aoyama wasn’t in. Cursing his luck, he headed back to the elevator and decided to try the common room. Perhaps Aoyama was having breakfast. He wasn’t the type to do early morning training, and even though it was the weekend, the shops weren't open yet. So hopefully Aoyama was still here.

When he got downstairs, it seemed everyone else was already awake and up to their antics.

“Morning, Ojiro!” Called Ashido as she led Iida, Sero and Yaoyorozu in their daily stretches. Many sets of eyes fell on him, alerted by Ashido’s welcome. Drat. For once, he wanted to blend into the background. He gave an awkward wave in greeting then kept his head low as he made for the kitchen where Hagakure was waiting on a cup-o-noodle to brew.

“You okay, Ojiro? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

She bounded over to him and clicked her invisible fingers close to his face as if to snap him awake. He appreciated the gesture, well aware he was spacing out as a slow dread simmered inside him, but felt happier to offload his predicament onto her in the hopes of gaining some clarity.

“There’s a girl in my bed…” he muttered, only loud enough for her to hear. But had he wanted to keep it a secret, he should have thought to tell Hagakure in private. She tended to be overdramatic. Now was no exception.

“No way! You’re kidding! Ojiro, I didn’t think you had it in you!”

His eyes blew wide when he realised Hagakure thought she was there by his doing.

“It’s nothing like that.” He hissed, willing her to lower her voice as an embarrassed blush turned the tips of his ears red. But the damage was done. News travelled fast. Rumour travelled faster. And nothing was a secret when he shared a building with nineteen classmates, most of whom were currently in the common area, forever on high alert for juicy gossip.

“What’s this? Ooo, tell us. Tell us.” Ashido squeaked, abandoning her fitness session to eavesdrop. Hagakure pressed her hands to her mouth, realising she had made a scene. But it was too late to hide it now, and actually in a bizarre situation such as this, more heads could be better.

“Something strange has happened,” Ojiro began, noting that for once he had the attention of the room. “But I don’t know how it happened, and I did not have any part in it so please don’t ask the obvious question.” He pursed his lips, wondering if telling his classmates was worth the earache. But his aloofness had them on tender hooks. They might well tackle him if he kept his thoughts to himself now. “There’s a girl in my bed.”

As to be expected, the room split into distinct reactions. Shocked silence hit some, catcalls came from others, and many asked the question he had told them not to ask.

“Who is she?"

“I really don’t know.”

Ojiro was then hit by a barrage of questions that ended with the same answer: “I don’t know.”

Then, finally, when they seemed to have it all out of their systems, Ojiro decided to ask some questions instead.

“What should I do about her?”

He was surrounded by the girls in fearfully close proximity, as they had taken to his predicament like a fairy tale read at bedtime. He could see the nonsensical wonder in their eyes.

“Maybe she’s your soulmate.” Hagakure cooed, as she often let her imagination run away with her. Ochako and Ashido squealed at the idea, whereas Yaomomo – the girl with the most sensible head on her shoulders – pressed a finger to her lip in thought.

“Did you leave your balcony door unlocked? Perhaps she slipped in during the night.”

“Because she’s his soulmate.” Hagakure reiterated, hoping to have everyone accept her bizarre theory.

“Maybe she was running away from someone and just happened to pick Ojiro’s room to camp out for a bit?” Jirou wondered aloud, though she frowned as she said it like she didn’t quite believe her own idea.

“Why don’t you go and ask her?” Tsuyu croaked, never one to beat around the bush. Ojiro nodded, glad someone was talking rationally, only he had to confess he had already tried that approach.

“I did. But she doesn’t speak Japanese.”

“She’s awake right now?”

He could hear the excitement in Hagakure’s voice. He raised both hands to cut her off before she asked to see her.

“She seems on edge. My tail freaked her out. I don’t think seeing you will help.”

Or not seeing her, as the case was.

“Wait, what?” Ashido frowned. “Why did your tail freak her out? Did you do something weird?”

It was lucky for Ashido that she could not see Hagakure’s expression. She did not see the look of insult flash across her face.

“Ojiro would never! If you ask me, that girl lucked out. She’s in the safest place she could possibly be. Imagine if she’d wound up in Mineta’s bed!”

Although Ojiro appreciated Hagakure coming to his defence, he felt a sting of embarrassment. Perhaps it was because he had just been complimented for his kindness. Perhaps it was because Hagakure had just inadvertently called him a prude.

Either way, he hurried the conversation along, aware the girl might be back to panicking up in his room, or worse she might have fled. He didn’t know her, but it didn’t sit right if she was as disorientated as he believed her to be, running about in a place where she couldn’t speak the language.

“Has anyone seen Aoyama this morning?”

As if he had been waiting to hear his name, the blonde Frenchman pirouetted out of nowhere through the crowd, pushing aside the girls so he could make his grand entrance.

“Moi? How can I be of assistance, Monsieur Ojiro?” Sometimes it amazed Ojiro how much Aoyama enjoyed being the centre of attention. Actually, he liked it about him. They were like two sides of the same blonde coin – the dazzling and the dulled. If someone were to fuse them, they might end up as a person with a regular amount of attention.

“Do you think you can translate for me?”

Aoyama blew him a well-meant kiss.

“You say she is foreign? Then of course. I will do my best to interpret her every word.”

It took a while longer to leave the common room while Ojiro convinced the girls not to follow him upstairs, assuring them he would keep them up to date as long as they did not invade his room in a surprise attack, but when he was done, he and Aoyama ventured up to his room as he explained all that he knew. Even if that was very little.

------

Part 2: [Coming soon]

Teetering at the edge of the maze, you stuck to the wall like glue to keep hidden. It had been a few months since your last visit. There would be boys here now who did not know you. You didn’t want to startle anyone by wandering into the Glade like you owned the place, especially when the third and most important rule of the Glade was to never venture beyond the walls. If a Greenie saw you strutting in from the maze, they might even think you a Griever and try to gut you before anyone else could explain. It was an absurd worry, but as you were being hunted by villains in another reality, it was best to play it careful here.

You peered around the edge of the gate, keeping a sharp eye out for anyone close enough to see you. Some boys were working in the distance, too far away to distinguish, but for the time being the coast was clear.

You slipped into the Glade, heaving a great sigh of relief once you were inside the walls with no one calling out about your arrival.

Searching for something in particular, you traced the wall until you found the familiar patch engaved with the thirty names of the Glade's inhabitants. Some letterings were old, some fresh, and some had been chiselled through entirely to signify those who were dead. There were more names crossed-out since your last visit than you liked to notice.

Tracing your fingers over the stone, you lingered your gaze on each newly crossed-out name before daring to look for his. You knew exactly where on the memorial Gally’s name was, but the fear of seeing a strike through it caused you to falter.

You had promised Kai that Gally would not die so easily, but the maze was a cruel and unpredictable place.

After taking comfort from seeing some of your Glader friends’ names still intact, you dared look at Gally’s. And there it was; the five letters of his name boldly chiselled and untouched for three long years.

He was still alive.

You gave a little sigh of relief as you placed your hand to his name. You felt guilty for doubting him, but one of the worst things anyone could do in the Glade was hope for something good.

But now that you had that reassurance, a spring found its way into your step as you scurried along the perimeter towards the Gardens. Having come from the East Gate, and aiming for the Homestead in the North-West corner, your fastest path was straight across the Glade, but until you found Gally, or at least any of the prominent Gladers who knew about you, you didn’t want to stand out.

So you kept to the walls and headed north towards the Gardens, hoping to reach the Homestead without much hassle.

“____?”

But then again, some hassles were worth having.

You turned, hearing a familiar voice, then saw a mop of dirty-blonde hair as your second favourite Glader, Newt, appeared from amongst the Garden’s trellis. He grinned when he saw you.

“Long time no see, love.” He wiped the mud from his hands onto his pants then came straight over to hug you.

“I’m so glad you’re still here.” You said, only realising now how much you had missed your Glader friends. Newt embraced you, chuckling as you buried your face into his collar to say hello.

Newt was a tall, thin boy, who acted as the second-in-command amongst the Gladers. He radiated a natural friendliness and was often a source of companionship for you during your stays. Actually, if not for Newt, Gally himself would have banished you to the mercy of the maze on your first trip here. Your first encounter with the Tick had been completely accidental, and you had been just as afraid and upset by your arrival as the rest of the Gladers. It had only been Newt’s interference in a kind and calming manner that had settled everyone down, including you, and certainly including Gally.

“You’ve got impeccable timing as always, love.” Newt quipped, drawing back to get a better look at you like a mother hen checking over its chick for scuffs.

“Oh?” was all you could manage, pursing your lips to hold down a chuckle as he tilted your face to check you weren’t hurt. He was one of the only Gladers who knew that you entered the Glade through the maze, so he was always especially eager to check you over for stings.

“Aye,” he said with a playful grimace. “We’ve been having a bit of bother with wood-rot. Gal’s been especially grumpy from the extra work, and he’s been getting on everyone’s nerves. Think you can sort him out?”

“I’ll do my best.” You agreed, half-heartedly batting Newt’s hand away to tell him you were fine. “Do you know where I can find him?”

A boyish grin broke onto his face. He held an arm out towards the Homestead, enjoying the thought of someone putting the Keeper of the Builders in his place.

“He was working on the roof last I saw him. I can walk you over. Keep the greenies out your hair.”

You thanked him for the gesture as he dusted off his clothes, then he offered you his arm. You smiled, linking with him, then the two of you began a merry walk through the Glade like a couple of sweethearts in springtime. You kept the pace leisurely to accommodate Newt’s limp, and it gave you time to ask him about the changes since your last visit.

“What are the new recruits like? Any stand-outs?”

Newt chuckled, adopting a playfully serious tone.

“A bag of shanks if ever there was one.” He counted-off on his fingers. “Two new Builders, a Slopper and a Gardener.”

He gave you a pointed look, wondering if the news of a gardener would pique your interest when it was the role you usually adopted while you were here.

“Ooo, I guess I’ll have competition then.”

Newt pulled you closer into his side with a gentle squeeze at your waist.

“Don’t worry, love. He doesn’t wear a piny nearly as well as you.”

“Ha. I knew it.” You said, pumping your fist in mock victory, causing Newt to laugh.

“I’m glad you’ve not lost your sense of humour while you’ve been gone. How are things over there? Are they starting to settle down?”

It hurt only a little that Newt looked so hopeful, like he expected you to say that all your problems were gone and that life was perfect. Unable to grace him with such pleasant news, you shrugged and forced a smile.

“My life will never be settled, Newty. I like the chaos too much.”

“Good, that. At least it keeps you coming back.”

You opened your mouth to tell him that even if your real life was sunshine and rainbows, you would still visit, but the sound of fervent hammering caught your ear and stole your attention. Newt noticed and linked your arm tighter, like he expected you to go running off like a crazed toddler.

“Best not to charge in, love. You might give our new builders a heart-attack.”

You pouted playfully, but understood what he meant. The Gladers were made up entirely of amnesiac, disoriented boys. They arrived one per month via an elevator box in the centre of the Glade, completely memoryless, then struggled to make lives for themselves as one giant family.

The addition of a new Glader came like clockwork, so if you appeared all of a sudden, and being a girl no less, it was bound to cause an uproar. You knew that, and Newt knew that, because you'd managed to cause that same problem twice already.

Fortunately, as you approached the Homestead, you realised for the most part that it was empty. Everyone else was out doing their daily jobs, and only the builders were on sight to carry out maintenance.

Once you were stood outside the handmade home, engulfed by the sounds of hammering, Newt squeezed your hand with a gentle smile.

“Don’t tell him I said this, but he’s missed you.”

His words caught you off-guard. Before you could respond, Newt let go of your arm then cupped his hands around his mouth to shout at the top of his lungs,

“Gally, have you got a minute?”

The loud hammering noises ceased. Somewhere up on the roof, the timbers creaked as bodies shifted, then Gally called back,

“What’s wrong?”

Hearing his deep voice after so long sent a flutter of warmth through you, even if he did sound especially irked. Newt had not been exaggerating earlier.

“I’ve got something that might need your attention. Can you come down?”

You pressed a knuckle to your lips to hold down a smile as your anticipation built.

“Can’t it wait? We’re busy.”

Newt rolled his eyes.

“It’ll only take a minute. Come on.” He turned to you. “Bet he wouldn’t take this much convincing if he knew you were here.”

You liked to think he was right.

The wood groaned again as a certain someone found his way down from the roof on the far side of the Homestead. By now, Newt’s shouting had caught more than just Gally’s attention and others were making their way over from various areas of the Glade to investigate.

Gally came around the corner, wiping the sweat from his brow by lifting his shirt up to his face. The action gave you a very clear shot of his stomach and Newt could only chuckle as you squeaked in bashful surprise.

“What’s so important that I’ve gotta’ look at it now?” asked Gally, fixing his shirt back into place with a gruff tug. But the question was barely past his lips before he stopped dead, catching sight of you.

“Look who I found in the Gardens,” Newt announced with a cheery grin, taking full delight in Gally’s startled expression.

Seeing that neither you nor Gally planned to move, Newt put his hand into the small of your back then pushed you forwards, like a mother forcing their child into a playdate.

Unprepared for the shove, you stumbled but stopped before you could trip and make an embarrassment of yourself.

“H-hi, Gal.”

Gally didn’t speak. He didn’t move. The only reason you knew he hadn't died on the spot was the blink of his eyes and the ever-furrowing arch of his brows.

“Play nice,” Newt warned jokingly, as he knew what was going to happen next, especially with other Gladers closing in.

“Gal?”

The question was barely past your lips before Gally finally reacted.

You braced yourself, side-eyeing Newt to say goodbye as the builder stormed towards you, then his large hand clamped around your wrist.

“Inside. Now.”

Without breaking a sweat, Gally turned and marched you inside the Homestead, missing the arrival of the other Gladers by seconds, with Newt there to ward them off.

“Best give them some space, chaps.”

Inside, Gally kept hold of you as he pulled you straight through the council room and out to where the Medical and Keepers’ Rooms were. In this primitive Glade, they were the closest places to privacy anyone could wish for, aside from the washroom.

Minho, the Keeper of the Runners, was relaxing peacefully in his hammock when Gally stormed in. He barely had chance to spot you and wave before Gally shot him a look.

“Come back later.”

Minho clearly couldn't decide whether Gally was joking, but when he realised he wasn’t, Minho frowned but pulled himself out of his hammock, regardless.

“This is what I get for finishing my run early.” He pushed past Gally to get out, but flashed you a smile on his way past. “Welcome back, ____.”

“You look well, Minho.” You called after him, hoping to soften the impact of Gally’s mood.

Gally held onto your wrist until he knew the two of you were alone. He stayed still, listening out for anyone else. Even you strained an ear, wondering if perhaps the nosier Gladers would try to listen in, but after a moment, Gally released you. He stepped away and turned, sinking into his hammock with his feet over the side. His exuberant height meant they still planted firmly on the ground.

“Why are you here?”

He met your gaze and held it, his expression firm. Gally was never was one to beat about the bush.

“Hello to you, too.” You said, though your dry humour failed to break the tension. Gally raised his eyebrows, clearly waiting for you to drop the attitude and answer him. “Don’t be like that, Gal. You know I wouldn’t do this without good reason.”

He furrowed his brows further, but his expression slipped from impatience to something more like concern.

“What happened to Kai?”

“No, it’s not that. He’s alright.” You sucked in your breath. “I've finally got a target on my back, that’s all.”

Alarm flashed through Gally’s eyes. He went to stand up but you held up your arms to keep him still. “It’s okay. I’m fine. Kai's been keeping me safe.” You didn’t like how talking about the dangers in your other life made your breath shake. “But he’s gone off to fight. This is the only place I can hide. I’m sorry, Gal. I know we said I’d stay there this time. I know we did but—”

Gally was in front of you before you could stop him.

“Enough.”

One word was enough to silence you. He pulled you into him, wrapping his arms around you before the true extent of your worries could take hold. Gally wasn’t the kind of person to talk about sentimentalities, but his firm embrace was enough to shush the uneasiness in your heart. It told you: he was glad you were here, and here you were safe.

“Thanks, Gal,” you murmured, pressing your face into his chest as you wrapped your arms around his broad midsection, your fingers almost touching.

He grunted in response, keeping hold of you until he was sure you did not need him.

“How long are you here for?”

You rubbed your face against the scratchy material of his shirt, trying to tell him you did not want to talk about it. You had just got here, and you had missed Gally more than you cared to admit. The last thing you wanted to think about was leaving him, especially when it led you to worry about Kai's fate.

“A few days. Maybe. I need to recharge.”

Gally was quiet for a moment and you gave him time to think, enjoying the strength and the warmth in his embrace, particularly because you knew it was a softer side of him reserved entirely for you.

“Fine.” He said, finally, definitively. He rested his hand against the back of your head, keeping you held against him in a clumsy but affection hold. “I’ve still got jobs to do. Should be done in an hour, though. Stay here so you don’t bother anyone else.”

“Would I do that?”

You tried to pull back so he could see your feigned hurt expression, but he kept you pinned because he knew that was exactly what you were trying to do.

“Behave.”

He stroked your hair, dwindling your urge to rebel. “Might as well enjoy the quiet while you can. Shuck knows you won’t get any peace once everyone knows you’re here.”

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