#tmr fics

Lessons continued while the Builders worked on the space. Over the sound of hammers against wood and grumbling voices, you read the class, Frank Baum's The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. A beat up paperback someone had brought along on the journey to the Safe Haven had become a favorite of the Lost Children. Evidently, it was a favorite of one of the Builders. The tallest one. The one who was easily annoyed until story time started, then he was focused and quiet. Gally. You caught him leaning away from the beam he had his hand on, straining to hear, or laughing at the same part the kids did. When Dorothy angrily tossed a bucket of water at the Witch, the Builder hissed in pain. Accidentally, he had hit his index finger with his club hammer because he had been paying more attention to the story. 

“Would you like me to make you a copy of the book?” The kids were gone and the Builders were beginning to pack up for the day themselves. It was the perfect time to approach the guy who was still shaking his hand out in an effort to minimize the pain. “I am going to write copies for the class anyway.” What was one more?

“Why would you do that?” He was asking in a way that suggested you were crazy for asking. 

“It seemed like you were enjoying it. We're going to start The Secret Garden soon. It's too bad you guys are almost done.” 

Gally inhaled deeply, hastily trying to hide the flush of color growing across his face. A whistle sounded through his teeth as he inhaled. 

“I don't care about your kid stories, okay?” He huffed, arms crossed over his chest. He sounded defiant, but not at all convincing. Still, you had been spending most of your days surrounded by small children. You understood when not to push. 

“Understood.” A simple nod seemed to soften him.

A few mornings after your terse exchange with Gally, you were sitting at breakfast with your crew of kids. They had become something of an extra limb, but not an anchor. They couldn't wait to swallow their porridge before asking the new questions that had come to them in the morning. 

A rare second of silence granted you enough time to put a spoonful in your mouth, but a delicate barely-there tap on your shoulder interrupted as soon as the cutlery was between your lips. 

“Teacher.” The little boy, Malcolm, sputtered instead of calling you by your name like you had told them they could. With a full mouth, you simply gave him your full attention with an enthusiastic stare. “Gally has a question. He told me to ask you -” His arm outstretched, he pointed right at the Builder hunched over his own breakfast two tables away. Gally appeared mad, but you detected it was embarrassment tightening his jaw. “But I forgot.” It was Malcolm's turn to look embarrassed. 

“If the question is important enough to him, Gally will ask me himself.” Gally was no longer looking over at your table, but you were willing to bet he overheard. 

*****

As the kids in your class grew closer, it was easier for them to let their guards down even with only select people. Grown adults still struggled with night terrors whether they had survived a maze, a medical facility, or life through the Flare so it made sense that the kids were scared to fall asleep. You were sharing rancid moonshine around the fire with a friend when three of your students scampered over, taking turns jumping over sticks and small designs in the sand on their way to you. 

It was all they could think to do when one of them was crying from a nightmare: Go find teacher. 

Three hands pulled you along, back to their tent, as you swallowed over and over to try and replace the putrid flavor that had instantly dried out your mouth. If you hadn't seen the jar with your own eyes, you would have sworn your friend gave you something from the laundry to drink. 

Holding the sniffling little girl, Ada, up on your lap, running a hand down her long braid as she leaned into your cheat, you started to weave a story aloud for all the kids. It started with the Cowardly Lion, a character they particularly liked from The Wizard of Oz, and he had to go on a journey with his friends not unlike the one they went on down the yellow brick road, but despite all they had been through, the Lion was still afraid. 

As Ada began to drift off on your lap, you looked up to see how many others had been lulled to sleep. It was then you saw him. Gally. A jar of moonshine in hand, leaning against the beam he installed and listening intently. He didn't break your stare. He didn't pretend to be doing something else. This time, he stayed completely still and just listened. 

It took a couple minutes to tuck every kid in and you waited one more to be sure they were actually asleep. Stepping around their cots and hammocks carefully, you made your way to Gally with a playful insult about his moonshine on the tip of your tongue. 

“How does it end? You didn't say what happened to the Lion…”

“I thought you didn't care about my kid stories.” 

“I don't.” Instinctively, the answer popped out like a button leaving the pants of a man they no longer fit. “You know a lot. It's intimidating.” Reluctantly, he caved before taking a big sip. 

“I intimidate you?” It made you laugh. Gally was large and loud and seemed sure of himself.  

He wasn't laughing though. He was looking off over your head, drinking. Tilting your head to the side, you led him away from the kid's quarters. 

“I'm intimidating, you were saying…”

Maybe, that was the wrong word, Gally wasn't sure. He wrestled with his head before the liquid courage took control, “You’re smart.” People always said Builders were good with their hands, not their heads and that stuck with him now that he was out of the Glade. “You’re literally teaching those kids to read and write and count…”

“I wouldn’t know where to begin with building these structures. We all have our roles.” It was the truth, but you could tell that it did little to comfort him.

“I can read and write okay, like, I wrote Chuck’s name in the rock.” He explained as you two walked side by side towards the water, the sound of the waves softly meeting the shore calling to you. He offered you his jar, but you shook your head. A clear ‘no’. “I just…I was in the Glade a long time. I don’t know a lot that…other people do.” He was turning his throat into linen, taking a sip with every embarrassing piece of his confession. He noted your feet walking along where the water met the land like you were walking along a tightrope, moonlight dancing down the part of your arm exposed from your fallen sweater. He reached over and pulled it back up over your shoulder, nervous by how much he liked what he saw. It made you pause and stare back up at him. “I do like your stories and I like when the kids tell me stuff they’re learning from you. I guess I’m…I’m not jealous, but -”

“Gally?” It seemed like if you didn’t interrupt, he might talk himself into a circle. “Do you want private lessons?”

“What?”

“We could get together and we can read or you can help me make copies of stories for class. Nobody has to know.” The last part seemed vital to the Builder so you held up your hands as if you were being held at gunpoint, trying to mime that you had no malintention. 

Gally sat on the offer while you kept tip-toeing over the wet sand, arms out at either side for balance. He took a long sip of his drink before nodding.

“Okay!” He called to your back. “Yeah, I could do that.” He jogged to catch up to you again, once again lifting your sleeve over your shoulder. “When?”

The bonfire was still roaring in the distance, but there was no chance Gally would have his story time on full display like that. The key to successfully tutoring him was the privacy aspect. Checking your surroundings, it took a second before an invisible lightbulb flickered on above your head. As if Gally was one of your adorable students, you grabbed his hand and pulled him toward your classroom. 

It was pitch black, but Gally could hear you closing cupboards and shuffling around. Being there reminded him that you had asked for desks for the kids, but it had been waved away at the time. It crossed his hazy mind that he could do it himself after hours. 

“Aha!” Pulling him from his thoughts, you lit a white candle. Carrying the flame chin-level, Gally was mesmerized by your features. He supposed he might actually make a decent student considering how much studying he was doing at the moment: noting the three different shades he saw in your eyes and the fluttering of your lashes, taking a mental picture of mouth as it curved into a smile when you waved him over with your other hand. 

There was a comfortable corner with cushions and blankets, a place the kids liked to sit when they were having a tough time focusing. You rested the candle on a stool while Gally spread out his legs. He didn’t leave much room for personal space, so you folded your legs behind you and opened up the book to the first chapter. 

Your finger stroked the page, gliding beneath the first few words, “Can you read that?” Gally’s lids were heavy though. A hard day of work and a plethora of moonshine made it hard to resist the comfort of the pillows he was resting again.

"I was sort of hoping you could tell me what happens to the Lion in your story..." Gally admitted, putting his jar off to the side and leaning deeper into the soft nest. 

Curled up like an oversized child himself, blanketed by a small flame, it seemed Gally wasn’t so tough and you couldn’t help, but feel genuine care for him. The offer to tutor him came out naturally, but looking at him now, it didn’t feel like extra work. It was something you wanted to do.

“Minho, relax, he’s okay. Okay? Everything is okay.” Thomas placed his hands on Minho’s shoulders, squeezing when he didn’t relax. Minho turned his head to look back at Newt, curled into a little ball on the couch. What he didn’t tell Thomas was that Newt had had pneumonia once before, and it had almost killed him. Minho vividly remembered watching Newt through the hospital room window because they weren’t allowed in. He never wanted to see Newt so small and vulnerable like that again. “Minho?” “Yeah. I know.” Thomas frowned when Minho turned to the door and shoved his boots on and left. Newt woke up shortly after Minho had gone, turning over to look up at Thomas. “Tommy…?” His voice was rough and scratchy, and Thomas urged him to talk as little as possible until he was better. “Yeah, hey. How d’you feel? You up for some soup?” Newt nodded. He turned over while Thomas was gone, looking around the apartment. “Min?” “He went out for a little while, he’ll be back soon.”

           Minho’s outing turned into a trip to the bar, perched at the bar with his nose in a beer bottle. He ignored most of what went on behind him, catching snippets of conversations. “Please leave me alone.” He turned when he heard the plea in the voice, eyes finding a blond boy that reminded him of Newt by the door. “Come on, just let me walk you home.” Another guy, taller than Minho but not as broad or muscled, was steadily advancing on the blond. Minho sighed. He hated those guys. He set his beer back on the bar and stood up. “Hey, pal, he obviously doesn’t wanna go with you. Back off.” Minho crossed his arms when he stopped next to them. “What’s it to you? Fuck off, man.” Minho narrowed his eyes. “You’re a real piece of work, ya know that?” The guy abandoned the blond in favor of turning to Minho. “And just what does that mean?” “It means that your mother sure would be proud of the way you’re harassing this poor kid.” Minho took a step forward. “You apparently don’t know what the word ‘no’ means.” The guy’s face contorted in anger a second before he threw the first punch. It dissolved into a brawl after that, fighting dirty until they were pulled apart. The guy left before Minho, who only stayed so they wouldn’t get into another fight outside.

           It was late when Minho got home, opening the door quietly so he wouldn’t wake Newt. He sighed when both Newt and Thomas were waiting for him, the only light coming from the lap by the arm chair. “Where were you?” Thomas asked. “The bar.” He winced when Thomas turned all the lights on. Newt gasped, hands flying to his mouth. “Minho!” He looked up at Thomas. “What the hell happened to you!” “I got in a fight, but Thomas-“ He pointed at the brunet. “Don’t give me that look, this wasn’t a stupid reason. There was this guy bothering this blond kid, and he looked so much like Newt, and I- I couldn’t just let him stalk this kid, so I stepped in and we got in a fight. I’m sorry, okay? But at least it was a good reason this time.” “Good- Don’t be an idiot! You were supposed to be here, helping me take care of Newt! He wants you to be here just as much as I do.” “I can talk, ya know.” Newt rasped. “Don’t, you’ll hurt your voice.” Minho said, ignoring Newt’s glare. “Don’t give me that, Thomas, like you’ve never run out and gotten in a fight.” “Not when my boyfriend is sick at home!” Thomas’ hands curled into fists at his sides. “I can’t even believe you, Minho! If you were so worried, you would have stayed here!” Thomas stormed past him and out the door. “Minho…” Newt said softly.

           Minho waited up after Newt had fallen asleep, watching the door for Thomas. “Min…” Newt sat up and rubbed his eyes. “We should go look for him…” “I will, you stay here. You shouldn’t be out while you’re still sick.” Newt glared at him. “I care about Tommy too.” Minho sighed. “Newt, please. I know you do, but please just humor me.” “Fine.” Newt stayed put while Minho went out in search of Thomas.