[ That deadpan restored a little bit of normalcy. Minho huffed, shook his head, and had to admit to himself that there was no such thing as normal anymore anyway, except that him and Thomas had never really had any reservations about touching.
What Thomas found was that the outer edges of the pattern seemed more healed than the center, a variation of freshly forming scars and healing injuries still scabbed over. Of course, wearing a backpack hadn't helped, wearing some patches a raw in comparison and preventing them from healing quite as quickly.
It annoyed Minho a little that he didn't have a hand free to find out what it felt like for himself. On the other hand, this would not have been happening outside in better light. Too many angles, impossible for anything to be secure, no good reason to risk this kind of thing. He flashed Thomas a lopsided grin, looking him over. Look at what you're doing. ]
You sure? 'Cause you haven't really stopped.
[ Minho didn't care to tell him to either. If he actually minded, Thomas would know about it, and anyway, no reason to put it out there that he'd been scared for a second, and dealing with all the fallout from that. ]
Yeah, yeah, well-- [It's new, alright? And pretty. Like nothing he has ever seen. So sue him for being curious.
Moving one of his hands away, Thomas touched Minho's forehead with two of his fingers, pressing, softly, in an attempt to make him look away with that grin of his. Yet, as he did so, he smiled a little too, letting him know that that was his tease back, the sort that they knew, the sort that they were used to, between the both of them.
Once his eyes returned to the mark, so did his hand, fingers running over a fraction that seemed darker than the rest. For a moment, he wondered if he should believe Minho, when he said that it didn't hurt. As beautiful as the thing was, it also looked painful, like that, stretching underneath his skin.
Thomas frowned at the thought, mind setting on a decision: he'd be carrying Minho's backpack during the upcoming days.]
You'd tell if you weren't okay, right?
[He knew exactly what he was doing by making that question, too, to Minho, specifically-- Placing a weight on his conscience. At the very least, it would hopefully lower the chances of Minho lying about it (or hiding the fact, more like) in the future.]
[ He let Thomas push his head away, chuckling, and counted it as a win. All those worries and concerns passed him right by, of course, leaving Minho only with more time for the situation to really sink in. With anyone else, their hands under his shirt would have a different implication, for all that this seemed completely lost on Thomas.
He blinked at the question. It hadn't occured to him to be anything else but okay. They hadn't had the time for him to not be okay, and as surprised as he had been to find how few consequences being struck by lightning seemed to have, the discomfort he was feeling was never any more than that. ]
Yeah.
[ Hiding injuries was asking for trouble. It put the people who counted on him at risk. This, though? This hadn't seemed worth bringing up while under threat of death, but suddenly he felt self-conscious about his choice anyway.
[Thomas nodded as he answered, his eyes never really leaving Minho's back. He felt like they should put something on it, mainly the patches that seemed a bit rawer, but they didn't have any water or oil with them. Frowning at the thought, Thomas mentally added 'something oily' to the list of things he should keep an eye out for, during the rest of their search for supplements.
He was about to have one last look, when Minho's question made him tilt his head a little.]
It looks hurt. Some parts more so than others. [One of his thumbs moved, then, softly rubbing the skin underneath it, where one of the prettiest ramifications stretched.] I can't tell if it looks painful or not, though. For a wound, it's really very pretty. Visually.
[His eyes settled on it again, fully taking the shape of it in.]
[ That swipe of his thumb alone made Minho's breath catch in his throat again, more audibly this time, his back straightening a little on reflex alone. To credit what he'd said, though, he didn't look pained, not by his face or his posture. In fact, he huffed a laugh, lowering the flashlight and finally pulling away. ]
Well you're never gonna be a poet, but I guess at least you think I'm pretty.
[ He let his shirt drop down and made to shrug his jacket back on. Best to call this done now, before he did anything stupid. Wouldn't have been the first time, but really, nobody needed anything to be any more complicated than it already was. ]
[The catch of breath, and the way Minho suddenly straightened his back, didn't go unnoticed to Thomas. He frowned, eyes trying to see the other's face-- But he was surprised to not find any hint of discomfort or pain in there.
He wanted to ask, though. He wanted to ask what it was - It wasn't that cold in here, was it? - but before he could Minho was teasing again and, this time, Thomas just sighed, head shaking a little bit and lowering down, before he looked up at the other again, a small smile at the corner of his lips.]
Are you expecting a 'Yes, Minho, you're right'? Because you don't need me to help fill that ego meter of yours.
[He snorted at that, shaking his head again. He had been talking about the wound, but well. He hadn't exactly contradicted Minho's words either.
He helped the other boy move his shirt back down, then, as well as dress his jacket more properly. And then, he took a hold of the backpack that was resting on the ground, moving it over his own shoulder.]
I'm on backpack duty, now. You take the light.
[Some complications though, weren't really all that complicated, were they? Mainly not when they were like lifelines, keeping them above water in the middle of all of this mess.]
[ He accepted the retort as finally, something more than anything else. Minho had no need for anyone stroking his ego, that much was definitely true, but this was all just messing around, anyway. Neither did he really need help with his clothes, but it wasn't about that. As he accepted the help without comment or objection, Minho glanced down at Thomas' hands. For all the ease with which they shared space and physical contact, Minho still hadn't sorted it out for himself where he stood exactly-- didn't feel like he knew where to start, either. Maybe it wasn't important, but he'd had to stop himself from acting like an idiot more than once now.
But then the moment was over, and Thomas picked up the backpack. Perhaps he could've argued, but there was no point, no reason, nothing to gain. So he nodded instead. ]
Alright.
[ What he understood was that apparently his back looked bad enough to merit going a little easier. And when it was only a matter of shifting tasks around, that was as simply said as done. ]
And you know, I might've had enough compliments for one day.
[They wouldn't be shaking, when Minho looked at them. Thomas' hands, that is. They had been before; shaking, spasming, the nervous habits of opening and closing them, fingers curling, whenever an unsettling thought crossed his mind. He'd play with his fingers if he could, massage his wrists, but as it was (and in spite of the few moments that he had felt a bit anxious, lost in thought, and that half a second of uncertainty when he heard Minho catch his breath)... He actually seemed perfectly calm.
There was just something about Minho. He had this calmness emanating from him, making Thomas somehow feel calmer, too.
... Which was a remarkable thing to do, given the rush of thoughts (and feelings) running through Thomas' body as they spoke. A lot could go right over his head, but he wasn't stupid. That hitching in breath-- It brought back to mind a moment, a million years ago, it seemed, and yet, probably not even months old. They hadn't talked about it, they hadn't even mentioned it again, and well, as such, Thomas hadn't exactly tried to dig too deep into it, either.
He didn't know if he should. If he could, even. He was as lost as Minho was, in the whole thing.
He was looking at the floor, eyes narrowed, when Minho spoke again. He was glad that there were no complaints whatsoever.
Nodding, he just rolled his eyes again, at Minho's next comment, securing the backpack on his back and waiting for Minho to move.]
[ Minho watched as Thomas lost himself in thought for a moment, just staring at the floor, and couldn't help letting his mind backtrack to what little time they'd had in the Glade. It seemed like a completely different world. At the same time, what was true then was just as true now, the Gladers were family, were the only people they could trust and count on. Just that now, there were no walls and no maze, and no choice about dealing with the dangers of the world anymore.
Minho moved, glancing around the room once. They'd gone through it methodically as ever, picked it clean of anything they could use, time for the next one. He made for the stairs first, but found that part of what had supported them must have collapsed, bringing down debris from above. Going over the mess with his flashlight revealed there might've been a downstairs too. If they really wanted to clear this mess out, perhaps it might've been worth exploring, but there were people waiting for them to return. ]
Think we're done here.
[ It seemed there was something growing out from whatever was in the basement. Like vines, or roots, that had begun to overtake some of the larger chunks of concrete at the bottom of the heap. Minho couldn't have said if he'd seen a plant like that before, but he wasn't going to start questioning the vegetation now.
[It was daunting, in a way. How big the world was. How things were outside. The dangers that had been waiting for them. Yet, Thomas knew that this was a line of thought he couldn't dwell on for very long. He was feeling better than before, mainly so after having managed to escape the Scorch with his friends, finding them again after fearing the worst. But it was still a dangerous topic for him to think too deeply about. Once they made it to the Right Arm, the safe-haven, maybe then he could allow himself to relax enough in order to really put things in perspective.
Following Minho was easy. Thomas kept looking from one side to the other of the room they were leaving, making sure they hadn't overlooked any spots. Once they made it to the stairs, he sighed, seeing all the debris. He had been hoping that they could explore the building a bit more; though the lower levels were usually wiped clean, the higher floors tended to still have things for them to take.
Thomas didn't intend to go back right away, though. They should try to explore the buildings on the other side of the street. If for nothing else, they would hopefully be able to find some alcohol and sheets, perhaps some canned food and some sort of clean oil for Minho's back.
He nodded at his words.]
Yea-- [But then his eyes caught the vine-root like thing growing from the basement, taking over the debris, once Minho passed the flashlight there, and his heart almost stopped.
His eyes began to widen and he took a step back, out of instinct, before one of his hands went immediately to Minho's arm, pulling him back.]
Quiet. [He whispered, in a rushed tone, eyes never leaving the general direction where he knew the vines were coming from, though only seeing dark, now that the light wasn't on them.]
Come on, we need to go. [And he took another step back, tugging on Minho's arm again, for him to move as well.] Come on, Minho, we need to leave right now.
[ In the split second of Thomas stepping back, the whole air seemed to shift from ease to tension. Minho's attention snapped to him in an instant. It didn't take any tugging, even though he shone the flashlight over the debris again just to try and see what it was that brought this on. He narrowed his eyes, confused, but didn't stall any further, making quietly but quickly for the exit and back into daylight, checking every dark corner on the way out.
He slowed once they were out, clicking off the flashlight and glancing over at Thomas to see if he thought they should be running. Report back to camp, or full on sprint for a good distance?
As far as Minho could tell, there wasn't anything following them, be it human, Crank, animal, or otherwise, but that didn't mean he doubted his friend's judgement. ]
[It was a relief, once they finally set foot outside. Though Thomas made his way out behind Minho, he kept looking back, into the darkness, ears sharp for any sounds following. Thankfully, it didn't seem like they had woken up what was certainly asleep in that basement.
With his eyes at the entrance of the store still, Thomas walked back towards Minho, eyes adjusting to the light outside. The sun was setting, but it was still not down enough that they would run out of light for the next hour or so.]
Whenever you see those things, on the ground or ceiling, [Thomas started, once he was close enough for Minho to hear him.] You move slowly away. [He turned his head then, to look at Minho, meet his eyes, before looking back at the coffee shop's entrance.] And if you hear a sound, you run out of there as fast as you can. [As it was, though, it seemed that they were safe.
He let some time pass, to allow his heart to slow down, before looking at their surroundings again. He moved a hand up, to shield his eyes from the sun as he looked at it too and then bit his bottom lip.
He knew that they should probably go back to the others soon, but he really wanted to go explore the other building and try to find some food and something oily, at least.]
[ Minho nodded at the explanation and decided to keep walking. There were other buildings, other doors yawning open like caves. Possibilities. Chances. Even if they were out of the maze now, the drive to explore had never left him, so he merely cocked his head for Thomas to follow him. ]
What, the vines? What are they?
[ Another one of those things Thomas had seen and lived to talk about, apparently. It turned out, the Runners' code served him just as well out here, only there were more chances to stop once in a while. ]
[He couldn't help the small (relieved) smile as Minho made the decision for him, as to what to do next. He nodded as Minho beckoned him to follow him, and he did so, without further question.
Even though scavenging wasn't one of Minho's favorite things to do, when it came to these divided duties, it was one of Thomas'. He likes to explore, as well, get new things, see new things, find answers to questions he didn't even know he had. Of course, there was always the (more likely than not) possibility of running into trouble, too, but well. They were sort of used to that by now, weren't they?
He waited to catch up with Minho, before answering.]
Yeah. [A nod.] I don't know what they are, exactly. But, apparently, when the Cranks reach later stages of the disease, those things start to grow out of them, and stretch over the floor and the ceiling, keeping them in place. They seem to be asleep but they really aren't.
[At all.]
They will break those things easily and they will attack like the rest. [Maybe even more viciously so.]
[ Oh. ... wow. Did he want the story about how Thomas (and, probably, Brenda) found out about that? Maybe another time. Or never. He shook his head. ]
Here I thought those shuck things couldn't get much creepier.
[ Sure showed him, hadn't they? But then, he wasn't really afraid of Cranks. Only of numbers. Was it easier to forget that they had been human once, seeing the later stages? Not that it had stopped him from picking up a nearby object and bludgeoning one even without that, so he dismissed the thought as pointless.
It was difficult not to think of Winston, sickly pale and with his lips stained black with vomit. Difficult, but they needed to focus on the task at hand. ]
Should we tell the others?
[ How sure could they be that the things would stay put unless disturbed? Minho didn't look back to ask, heading instead toward the next building over that was still standing. Another storefront, though the glass windows were long gone, and it was hard to guess what it might have once been. ]
[And they had seen them being pretty damn creepy, mainly back at the mall.
Thomas wouldn't go as far as saying that he wasn't afraid of Cranks. He saw what they could do. And every time he had had an encounter with them, someone had ended up hurt. Winston, Brenda... He was afraid of thinking 'who's next'. As for them having been once human, the thought didn't seem to haunt Thomas as much. He was far more worried (and focused) on the fact that they could hurt his friends. Also, there was the Brenda issue, too. He had promised that he wouldn't tell anyone, but he was growing increasingly worried by the hour. She still wasn't showing any major signs of change, not like Winston had, but still.
For now, it was probably best not to think too much about it.]
Yeah. [He answered, nodding. They should probably tell everyone. After all, if one of them found those things without them being nearby, they should know what to do.
Hell, Thomas felt suddenly really damn stupid that he hadn't even thought of or remembered to share that information with them before.] Remind me to, when we get back.
[Following Minho close to the new building, he waited for him to point the light inside, making sure it was safe, before going in.]
[ They should all know. Nobody needed to trip over some Cranks taking an extended nap whereever. Now, or in the future.
Clicking his light back on, a first glance at the inside of the shop wasn't promising, empty shelves coated thickly in dust. First glances rarely were, though. Finding no further unpleasant infected surprises, the rest of their supply run went smoothly enough, picking up a can here, some water there, odds and ends people had forgotten or overlooked on previous, probably similar outings. Even so, dark had fallen before they returned to camp, and Minho at least felt at least a little relieved for the distraction and the noise of other human beings. It was nothing like the Glade, but at the same time, it wasn't nothing either. ]
[The next day, they ended up setting camp in an abandoned, isolated house in the middle of a prairie. It didn't have any major structures around it, or trees, which made it the perfect place to settle in, any threats easily visible, should they approach.
However, the lack of any buildings around also meant that there was a lack of supplies for them to scavenge for, and with the nearest known village quite a few kilometers away, it made no sense to try and go for it by foot.
As such, this time, the duties were changed.
Everyone agreed that it was Thomas and Minho's turn to lay low, given that they had done most of the runs in the previous days. The both of them were to stay at the house, keep it safe, prepare the sleeping places (and blanket piles) and get a good fire going, some food, too, once it started getting darker. Everyone else would go with Jorge in the car, to gather what they could from the village. And so it was.
Thomas had been spreading blankets around the room in different (yet still somewhat close) places, making sure there were enough for everyone while Minho tended to the fire. The house had an actual fireplace, too, which made it easier to work with, and they were lucky enough that the chimney was still fully functional. Once he was done, he brought some cans of food close to the fireplace and left them there, for when the sun finally fully set. It was when they should start cooking something for everyone.
For now, though, they still had quite a bit of time, so Thomas went back to his own bag and grabbed something he had found the day before, on the last building they had visited. It wasn't ideal, like something used specifically for this sort of thing, but it was oil, and it was clean, and it didn't really have any smell, so he figured it would do better than nothing at all. With it, he grabbed some bandages too, that he had made the night before out of some sheets they had found, and he approached Minho.
Without a word, he sat down behind him and moved his hands to his chest in order to grab both sides of his jacket, which he started to pull back.]
[ Minho preferred being out there, all things considered. Scavenging wasn't his favorite task, because he had no specific thing to look for, no particular goal, but at least it let him move and look around, stretch his legs after too many hours in a car. All the sitting made him feel like he was losing his edge. ... Perhaps he'd never have to spend an entire day running as fast as he possibly could, ever again. A strange thought, even now, but he supposed he'd better get used to it. At least the silence was comfortable, the both of them tending their tasks without needing a lot of words between them.
He'd heard Thomas approach where he was crouching before the fire, but this wasn't what he'd expected. Maybe he could mask the shiver down his spine as simply tensing, but then he dropped the iron poker he'd been holding and shrugged out of his jacket with a quiet laugh. Of course. ]
You get straight to the point.
[ Looking over his shoulder at Thomas, he wasn't sure if he would've been more or less surprised to see him holding something to draw with, instead of bandages. Document the pattern before it healed. Thomas never seemed to let anything go.
He'd have been lying if he'd claimed he wasn't glad for it. Even after they'd moved on, he hadn't been able to shake the thought of hands ghosting over his skin for hours. ]
[Thomas understood the feeling completely. And he wasn't in the Glade nowhere near as much as Minho had been. When he started to get too nervous, or anxious, he just couldn't stand or sit still. He had to move, walk, run if he could. If nothing else, it would help him clear his mind a little, having to stay focused on the ground.
Yet, as it was... He was glad for this, too. He had nothing that was worrying him too much, at the moment. Their friends were on schedule, the house was safe, they had food and blankets, and they were closer to their destination. Everyone was safe and sound and, well. This was just nice. It had been a while since he had had time to just relax. Or as much as one could relax out here, anyway. As much as his head would allow.
Once the jacket was off, Thomas set it aside, and his hands were back on Minho's waist right after, moving under the hem of his shirt and carefully pulling it up. At the words, he snorted (though he liked the sound of Minho's laugh), looking up (but not moving his head) to meet Minho's eyes.]
You make it sound like you only met me yesterday.
[There was a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips, though, letting Minho know that that was a tease back, that his words hadn't gone completely over his head.
As for the pattern, he didn't need to draw it-- The shape was well engraved in his mind. A lightning tree of sorts, covering up a good portion of Minho's torso. Yet, in spite of knowing how it was, as soon as the shirt was high enough that he could see it again, Thomas' eyes widened, once more, in mild-fascination.
It really was very pretty.
Pulling the shirt fully away, Thomas took a moment to just look, again, lips parting slightly as he did so. The room had much more light, this time, allowing him to see everything better.
It took him a good minute or two to realize he had been staring. Blinking, he licked his lips, completely on instinct, and brought the bottle of oil to his lap, hands working on getting it open.]
[ He liked seeing that smile, and the humor in his tone as well. An easy back and forth. The only reason to look up was to pull his shirt off entirely, more for practical reasons than anything else, but he'd have had difficulty not noticing Thomas staring. Now that made him feel warm for reasons that had nothing to do with the fire in front of them. He'd never been self-conscious, at least, and it was interesting to see Thomas so absorbed in something, quiet and still as if all his energy and intent was already occupied.
How was he supposed to stay sensible like this? He wasn't, no dice. Now, with the both of them alone in a place as safe as it could be, the others miles away, something stupid was bound to happen. But maybe he'd be able to wait until Thomas had patched him up. For now he sat down as instructed, feet planted and arms resting on his knees. ]
[Once he finally managed to open the bottle, Thomas squeezed some of the oil into his cupped hand, putting the bottle aside before focusing on Minho's back again. Feeling a pull, inside his chest, Thomas decided to ignore it to the best of his ability and just moved his hand over the wound, spreading the oil as best as he could.
Soon enough, his other hand joined the first, and he began to carefully cover the mark everywhere, from Minho's neck, down his back and on his side.]
You feel tense.
[It wasn't a question and not even an affirmation, per se. More like an observation, a thought that had crossed Thomas' mind and that, for some reason, he had ended up saying out-loud.
He went to the bottle again, after, getting more oil before returning his long fingers to Minho's skin, massaging softly, mainly where the wound was darker. It was unsettling, how hard it was to look away. He was completely taken by it, by how beautiful it looked.]
It's like your own maze map. [Again, a thought made out-loud.] A map of your system, underneath your skin. [His fingers stilled where they were, a frown coming to his expression. He realized that maybe he wasn't making much sense.] The mark, I mean.
[ Minho closed his eyes as Thomas spread the oil over his skin. He wasn't sure if Thomas' talking made it more or less difficult to relax, but it was definitely making him think about how to shut him up. For now, he was content to just roll his shoulders, sigh, and attempt to make himself less tense. At least this was easier to bear than the light touch from the day before, surer somehow, more solid, but that didn't mean it wasn't still distracting. But when he stopped, trailing off like that? All bets were off.
Minho looked over his shoulder before very quickly shifting from sitting with his back to Thomas to facing him, one knee planted on the ground as he reached out. Grabbing him by the front of his shirt, Minho tugged him close enough to kiss him roughly. Just shut up for two seconds. ]
[He should be really offended. That not only he didn't get an answer to anything he had just said, but that his words went seemingly completely ignored. He should be really offended. But he wasn't. Because whatever else he had wanted to say, whatever else he was thinking about, whatever else he wanted to point out-- It was gone the moment Minho kissed him.
He only had time to blink when he turned around, hands lifting. He gasped out of surprise when he was suddenly tugged close, lips parting, eyes widening and then everything just went completely and utterly silent. Still, for about half a second, soon Thomas' eyes were closing, one hand moving to the back of Minho's neck, the other digging into the back of his hair, fingers entwining with it and tugging, ever-so-slightly. Sorry (not sorry) about the oil. He kissed him back just as roughly as he had but also somewhat needy, hungry. A new thought finally formed in his head, taking over everything else in there, filling the sudden quiet. It was possibly the simplest, easiest thing to understand that had been on his mind for weeks, now. Minho.]
[ This? This was easier than words, clearer. He'd almost worried for that half second it took Thomas to figure out how to react, but that was all lost to just tugging hands and a rough, hungry kiss that didn't leave room for thinking. Even having it returned at all made Minho grin into it, any doubts and second-guessing going right out the window. Finally. The fact that he was getting oil smeared into his hair didn't even enter his mind.
The only reason he pulled back was to give himself time for a hurried gasp of breath, and to sit back down before he kissed him again, lips parted and still as hurried, as urgent as before. He'd thought about this more than once since that moment in the maze. One hand still fisted in the other's shirt, he brought the free one up to return the favor and tug at Thomas' hair. ]
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no subject
What Thomas found was that the outer edges of the pattern seemed more healed than the center, a variation of freshly forming scars and healing injuries still scabbed over. Of course, wearing a backpack hadn't helped, wearing some patches a raw in comparison and preventing them from healing quite as quickly.
It annoyed Minho a little that he didn't have a hand free to find out what it felt like for himself. On the other hand, this would not have been happening outside in better light. Too many angles, impossible for anything to be secure, no good reason to risk this kind of thing. He flashed Thomas a lopsided grin, looking him over. Look at what you're doing. ]
You sure? 'Cause you haven't really stopped.
[ Minho didn't care to tell him to either. If he actually minded, Thomas would know about it, and anyway, no reason to put it out there that he'd been scared for a second, and dealing with all the fallout from that. ]
no subject
Yeah, yeah, well-- [It's new, alright? And pretty. Like nothing he has ever seen. So sue him for being curious.
Moving one of his hands away, Thomas touched Minho's forehead with two of his fingers, pressing, softly, in an attempt to make him look away with that grin of his. Yet, as he did so, he smiled a little too, letting him know that that was his tease back, the sort that they knew, the sort that they were used to, between the both of them.
Once his eyes returned to the mark, so did his hand, fingers running over a fraction that seemed darker than the rest. For a moment, he wondered if he should believe Minho, when he said that it didn't hurt. As beautiful as the thing was, it also looked painful, like that, stretching underneath his skin.
Thomas frowned at the thought, mind setting on a decision: he'd be carrying Minho's backpack during the upcoming days.]
You'd tell if you weren't okay, right?
[He knew exactly what he was doing by making that question, too, to Minho, specifically-- Placing a weight on his conscience. At the very least, it would hopefully lower the chances of Minho lying about it (or hiding the fact, more like) in the future.]
no subject
He blinked at the question. It hadn't occured to him to be anything else but okay. They hadn't had the time for him to not be okay, and as surprised as he had been to find how few consequences being struck by lightning seemed to have, the discomfort he was feeling was never any more than that. ]
Yeah.
[ Hiding injuries was asking for trouble. It put the people who counted on him at risk. This, though? This hadn't seemed worth bringing up while under threat of death, but suddenly he felt self-conscious about his choice anyway.
Outmaneuvered. And so easily. ]
'S it look bad?
no subject
[Thomas nodded as he answered, his eyes never really leaving Minho's back. He felt like they should put something on it, mainly the patches that seemed a bit rawer, but they didn't have any water or oil with them. Frowning at the thought, Thomas mentally added 'something oily' to the list of things he should keep an eye out for, during the rest of their search for supplements.
He was about to have one last look, when Minho's question made him tilt his head a little.]
It looks hurt. Some parts more so than others. [One of his thumbs moved, then, softly rubbing the skin underneath it, where one of the prettiest ramifications stretched.] I can't tell if it looks painful or not, though. For a wound, it's really very pretty. Visually.
[His eyes settled on it again, fully taking the shape of it in.]
Kinda looks like a tree. A lightning tree.
no subject
Well you're never gonna be a poet, but I guess at least you think I'm pretty.
[ He let his shirt drop down and made to shrug his jacket back on. Best to call this done now, before he did anything stupid. Wouldn't have been the first time, but really, nobody needed anything to be any more complicated than it already was. ]
no subject
He wanted to ask, though. He wanted to ask what it was - It wasn't that cold in here, was it? - but before he could Minho was teasing again and, this time, Thomas just sighed, head shaking a little bit and lowering down, before he looked up at the other again, a small smile at the corner of his lips.]
Are you expecting a 'Yes, Minho, you're right'? Because you don't need me to help fill that ego meter of yours.
[He snorted at that, shaking his head again. He had been talking about the wound, but well. He hadn't exactly contradicted Minho's words either.
He helped the other boy move his shirt back down, then, as well as dress his jacket more properly. And then, he took a hold of the backpack that was resting on the ground, moving it over his own shoulder.]
I'm on backpack duty, now. You take the light.
[Some complications though, weren't really all that complicated, were they? Mainly not when they were like lifelines, keeping them above water in the middle of all of this mess.]
no subject
Maybe it wasn't important, but he'd had to stop himself from acting like an idiot more than once now.
But then the moment was over, and Thomas picked up the backpack. Perhaps he could've argued, but there was no point, no reason, nothing to gain. So he nodded instead. ]
Alright.
[ What he understood was that apparently his back looked bad enough to merit going a little easier. And when it was only a matter of shifting tasks around, that was as simply said as done. ]
And you know, I might've had enough compliments for one day.
[ Flashlight ready, time to move on. ]
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There was just something about Minho. He had this calmness emanating from him, making Thomas somehow feel calmer, too.
... Which was a remarkable thing to do, given the rush of thoughts (and feelings) running through Thomas' body as they spoke. A lot could go right over his head, but he wasn't stupid. That hitching in breath-- It brought back to mind a moment, a million years ago, it seemed, and yet, probably not even months old. They hadn't talked about it, they hadn't even mentioned it again, and well, as such, Thomas hadn't exactly tried to dig too deep into it, either.
He didn't know if he should. If he could, even. He was as lost as Minho was, in the whole thing.
He was looking at the floor, eyes narrowed, when Minho spoke again. He was glad that there were no complaints whatsoever.
Nodding, he just rolled his eyes again, at Minho's next comment, securing the backpack on his back and waiting for Minho to move.]
You go ahead. I'll follow.
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Minho moved, glancing around the room once. They'd gone through it methodically as ever, picked it clean of anything they could use, time for the next one. He made for the stairs first, but found that part of what had supported them must have collapsed, bringing down debris from above. Going over the mess with his flashlight revealed there might've been a downstairs too. If they really wanted to clear this mess out, perhaps it might've been worth exploring, but there were people waiting for them to return. ]
Think we're done here.
[ It seemed there was something growing out from whatever was in the basement. Like vines, or roots, that had begun to overtake some of the larger chunks of concrete at the bottom of the heap. Minho couldn't have said if he'd seen a plant like that before, but he wasn't going to start questioning the vegetation now.
Maybe they'd have better luck elsewhere. ]
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Following Minho was easy. Thomas kept looking from one side to the other of the room they were leaving, making sure they hadn't overlooked any spots. Once they made it to the stairs, he sighed, seeing all the debris. He had been hoping that they could explore the building a bit more; though the lower levels were usually wiped clean, the higher floors tended to still have things for them to take.
Thomas didn't intend to go back right away, though. They should try to explore the buildings on the other side of the street. If for nothing else, they would hopefully be able to find some alcohol and sheets, perhaps some canned food and some sort of clean oil for Minho's back.
He nodded at his words.]
Yea-- [But then his eyes caught the vine-root like thing growing from the basement, taking over the debris, once Minho passed the flashlight there, and his heart almost stopped.
His eyes began to widen and he took a step back, out of instinct, before one of his hands went immediately to Minho's arm, pulling him back.]
Quiet. [He whispered, in a rushed tone, eyes never leaving the general direction where he knew the vines were coming from, though only seeing dark, now that the light wasn't on them.]
Come on, we need to go. [And he took another step back, tugging on Minho's arm again, for him to move as well.] Come on, Minho, we need to leave right now.
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He slowed once they were out, clicking off the flashlight and glancing over at Thomas to see if he thought they should be running. Report back to camp, or full on sprint for a good distance?
As far as Minho could tell, there wasn't anything following them, be it human, Crank, animal, or otherwise, but that didn't mean he doubted his friend's judgement. ]
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With his eyes at the entrance of the store still, Thomas walked back towards Minho, eyes adjusting to the light outside. The sun was setting, but it was still not down enough that they would run out of light for the next hour or so.]
Whenever you see those things, on the ground or ceiling, [Thomas started, once he was close enough for Minho to hear him.] You move slowly away. [He turned his head then, to look at Minho, meet his eyes, before looking back at the coffee shop's entrance.] And if you hear a sound, you run out of there as fast as you can. [As it was, though, it seemed that they were safe.
He let some time pass, to allow his heart to slow down, before looking at their surroundings again. He moved a hand up, to shield his eyes from the sun as he looked at it too and then bit his bottom lip.
He knew that they should probably go back to the others soon, but he really wanted to go explore the other building and try to find some food and something oily, at least.]
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What, the vines? What are they?
[ Another one of those things Thomas had seen and lived to talk about, apparently. It turned out, the Runners' code served him just as well out here, only there were more chances to stop once in a while. ]
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Even though scavenging wasn't one of Minho's favorite things to do, when it came to these divided duties, it was one of Thomas'. He likes to explore, as well, get new things, see new things, find answers to questions he didn't even know he had. Of course, there was always the (more likely than not) possibility of running into trouble, too, but well. They were sort of used to that by now, weren't they?
He waited to catch up with Minho, before answering.]
Yeah. [A nod.] I don't know what they are, exactly. But, apparently, when the Cranks reach later stages of the disease, those things start to grow out of them, and stretch over the floor and the ceiling, keeping them in place. They seem to be asleep but they really aren't.
[At all.]
They will break those things easily and they will attack like the rest. [Maybe even more viciously so.]
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Here I thought those shuck things couldn't get much creepier.
[ Sure showed him, hadn't they? But then, he wasn't really afraid of Cranks. Only of numbers. Was it easier to forget that they had been human once, seeing the later stages? Not that it had stopped him from picking up a nearby object and bludgeoning one even without that, so he dismissed the thought as pointless.
It was difficult not to think of Winston, sickly pale and with his lips stained black with vomit. Difficult, but they needed to focus on the task at hand. ]
Should we tell the others?
[ How sure could they be that the things would stay put unless disturbed? Minho didn't look back to ask, heading instead toward the next building over that was still standing. Another storefront, though the glass windows were long gone, and it was hard to guess what it might have once been. ]
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[And they had seen them being pretty damn creepy, mainly back at the mall.
Thomas wouldn't go as far as saying that he wasn't afraid of Cranks. He saw what they could do. And every time he had had an encounter with them, someone had ended up hurt. Winston, Brenda... He was afraid of thinking 'who's next'. As for them having been once human, the thought didn't seem to haunt Thomas as much. He was far more worried (and focused) on the fact that they could hurt his friends. Also, there was the Brenda issue, too. He had promised that he wouldn't tell anyone, but he was growing increasingly worried by the hour. She still wasn't showing any major signs of change, not like Winston had, but still.
For now, it was probably best not to think too much about it.]
Yeah. [He answered, nodding. They should probably tell everyone. After all, if one of them found those things without them being nearby, they should know what to do.
Hell, Thomas felt suddenly really damn stupid that he hadn't even thought of or remembered to share that information with them before.] Remind me to, when we get back.
[Following Minho close to the new building, he waited for him to point the light inside, making sure it was safe, before going in.]
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[ They should all know. Nobody needed to trip over some Cranks taking an extended nap whereever. Now, or in the future.
Clicking his light back on, a first glance at the inside of the shop wasn't promising, empty shelves coated thickly in dust. First glances rarely were, though. Finding no further unpleasant infected surprises, the rest of their supply run went smoothly enough, picking up a can here, some water there, odds and ends people had forgotten or overlooked on previous, probably similar outings. Even so, dark had fallen before they returned to camp, and Minho at least felt at least a little relieved for the distraction and the noise of other human beings. It was nothing like the Glade, but at the same time, it wasn't nothing either. ]
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However, the lack of any buildings around also meant that there was a lack of supplies for them to scavenge for, and with the nearest known village quite a few kilometers away, it made no sense to try and go for it by foot.
As such, this time, the duties were changed.
Everyone agreed that it was Thomas and Minho's turn to lay low, given that they had done most of the runs in the previous days. The both of them were to stay at the house, keep it safe, prepare the sleeping places (and blanket piles) and get a good fire going, some food, too, once it started getting darker. Everyone else would go with Jorge in the car, to gather what they could from the village. And so it was.
Thomas had been spreading blankets around the room in different (yet still somewhat close) places, making sure there were enough for everyone while Minho tended to the fire. The house had an actual fireplace, too, which made it easier to work with, and they were lucky enough that the chimney was still fully functional. Once he was done, he brought some cans of food close to the fireplace and left them there, for when the sun finally fully set. It was when they should start cooking something for everyone.
For now, though, they still had quite a bit of time, so Thomas went back to his own bag and grabbed something he had found the day before, on the last building they had visited. It wasn't ideal, like something used specifically for this sort of thing, but it was oil, and it was clean, and it didn't really have any smell, so he figured it would do better than nothing at all. With it, he grabbed some bandages too, that he had made the night before out of some sheets they had found, and he approached Minho.
Without a word, he sat down behind him and moved his hands to his chest in order to grab both sides of his jacket, which he started to pull back.]
Help me get this off.
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... Perhaps he'd never have to spend an entire day running as fast as he possibly could, ever again. A strange thought, even now, but he supposed he'd better get used to it. At least the silence was comfortable, the both of them tending their tasks without needing a lot of words between them.
He'd heard Thomas approach where he was crouching before the fire, but this wasn't what he'd expected. Maybe he could mask the shiver down his spine as simply tensing, but then he dropped the iron poker he'd been holding and shrugged out of his jacket with a quiet laugh. Of course. ]
You get straight to the point.
[ Looking over his shoulder at Thomas, he wasn't sure if he would've been more or less surprised to see him holding something to draw with, instead of bandages. Document the pattern before it healed. Thomas never seemed to let anything go.
He'd have been lying if he'd claimed he wasn't glad for it. Even after they'd moved on, he hadn't been able to shake the thought of hands ghosting over his skin for hours. ]
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Yet, as it was... He was glad for this, too. He had nothing that was worrying him too much, at the moment. Their friends were on schedule, the house was safe, they had food and blankets, and they were closer to their destination. Everyone was safe and sound and, well. This was just nice. It had been a while since he had had time to just relax. Or as much as one could relax out here, anyway. As much as his head would allow.
Once the jacket was off, Thomas set it aside, and his hands were back on Minho's waist right after, moving under the hem of his shirt and carefully pulling it up. At the words, he snorted (though he liked the sound of Minho's laugh), looking up (but not moving his head) to meet Minho's eyes.]
You make it sound like you only met me yesterday.
[There was a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips, though, letting Minho know that that was a tease back, that his words hadn't gone completely over his head.
As for the pattern, he didn't need to draw it-- The shape was well engraved in his mind. A lightning tree of sorts, covering up a good portion of Minho's torso. Yet, in spite of knowing how it was, as soon as the shirt was high enough that he could see it again, Thomas' eyes widened, once more, in mild-fascination.
It really was very pretty.
Pulling the shirt fully away, Thomas took a moment to just look, again, lips parting slightly as he did so. The room had much more light, this time, allowing him to see everything better.
It took him a good minute or two to realize he had been staring. Blinking, he licked his lips, completely on instinct, and brought the bottle of oil to his lap, hands working on getting it open.]
Sit down. It will be easier that way.
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How was he supposed to stay sensible like this? He wasn't, no dice. Now, with the both of them alone in a place as safe as it could be, the others miles away, something stupid was bound to happen. But maybe he'd be able to wait until Thomas had patched him up. For now he sat down as instructed, feet planted and arms resting on his knees. ]
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Soon enough, his other hand joined the first, and he began to carefully cover the mark everywhere, from Minho's neck, down his back and on his side.]
You feel tense.
[It wasn't a question and not even an affirmation, per se. More like an observation, a thought that had crossed Thomas' mind and that, for some reason, he had ended up saying out-loud.
He went to the bottle again, after, getting more oil before returning his long fingers to Minho's skin, massaging softly, mainly where the wound was darker. It was unsettling, how hard it was to look away. He was completely taken by it, by how beautiful it looked.]
It's like your own maze map. [Again, a thought made out-loud.] A map of your system, underneath your skin. [His fingers stilled where they were, a frown coming to his expression. He realized that maybe he wasn't making much sense.] The mark, I mean.
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Minho looked over his shoulder before very quickly shifting from sitting with his back to Thomas to facing him, one knee planted on the ground as he reached out. Grabbing him by the front of his shirt, Minho tugged him close enough to kiss him roughly. Just shut up for two seconds. ]
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He only had time to blink when he turned around, hands lifting. He gasped out of surprise when he was suddenly tugged close, lips parting, eyes widening and then everything just went completely and utterly silent. Still, for about half a second, soon Thomas' eyes were closing, one hand moving to the back of Minho's neck, the other digging into the back of his hair, fingers entwining with it and tugging, ever-so-slightly. Sorry (not sorry) about the oil. He kissed him back just as roughly as he had but also somewhat needy, hungry. A new thought finally formed in his head, taking over everything else in there, filling the sudden quiet. It was possibly the simplest, easiest thing to understand that had been on his mind for weeks, now. Minho.]
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The only reason he pulled back was to give himself time for a hurried gasp of breath, and to sit back down before he kissed him again, lips parted and still as hurried, as urgent as before. He'd thought about this more than once since that moment in the maze.
One hand still fisted in the other's shirt, he brought the free one up to return the favor and tug at Thomas' hair. ]
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