The Box was never supposed to send two people. That much is painfully clear from the second the metal lift groans open and two bodies are shoved unceremoniously into the blinding daylight. The Gladers, who usually greet newcomers with mild curiosity and a healthy dose of teasing, just… stare. Because this? This has never happened.

You hit the grass first being pulled out, disoriented, lungs burning, head spinning like your brain was shaken loose. The world is noise and light and towering stone walls stretching impossibly high into the sky. Before you can even fully process where you are, another figure stumbles out of the Box behind you.

He collapses hard beside you. Breathing ragged. Equally confused. Equally wrecked. For a split second, there’s silent solidarity- two strangers in a nightmare. Then your eyes meet. And something immediately, irrationally snaps.

You don’t know his name. Don’t know your own name. Don’t know where you are, why you’re here, or how you got here. But you know one thing with absolute certainty. You cannot stand him.

The feeling is instant, visceral, almost ridiculous in its intensity. His face- sweaty, dazed, blinking against the sun somehow manages to annoy you on a deeply personal level. Judging by the way his expression hardens when he looks at you, the sentiment is enthusiastically returned.

“Well, that’s just great,”

He mutters under his breath, already irritated, like your existence alone has personally inconvenienced him. Perfect. You hate him. The Gladers notice. Oh, they absolutely notice.

While most Greenies arrive terrified and clinging to the nearest friendly face, the two of you are throwing glares within minutes. No introductions, no bonding, just a weird, crackling hostility that makes the entire Glade collectively uncomfortable.

Newt picks up on it first. Gally is delighted. “Are they already fighting?” someone whispers. “They’ve been here five minutes,” another replies. Alby, already developing a headache, wastes no time laying down damage control. Until anyone figures out what’s going on, you two are separated like volatile chemicals.

Thomas ends up under Newt’s supervision. You get Gally. Which feels less like an assignment and more like a punishment.

Thomas hates this arrangement. Or at least he acts like he does. Every time you’re within visible range, his entire demeanor shifts- jaw tightening, shoulders stiffening, eyes narrowing like you’re the single most aggravating variable in his already impossible situation. He’s sharp with you. Short-tempered. Dismissive. Constantly snapping.

“Unbelievable,”

He scoffs one afternoon as you pass near the gardens.

“Of all the people they could’ve sent up here…”

You fire back instantly with “Trust me, the feeling’s mutual.” The Gladers accept the narrative almost immediately. You two despise each other. It becomes Glade canon.

They keep you apart whenever possible, mostly because the tension is exhausting. Newt spends half his time dragging Thomas away from situations where he’s clearly about to say something inflammatory, while Gally watches you like you’re a ticking time bomb with legs.

But something doesn’t quite add up. Because for someone who supposedly can’t stand you, Thomas notices everything. When you’re late returning from work detail. When you’re hurt. When you’re upset.

His reactions are subtle, buried under layers of forced irritation, but they’re there. A flicker of concern. A hesitation. A look that doesn’t match the words coming out of his mouth.

Newt sees it. Newt absolutely sees it. “You’re a terrible actor, you know that?” he tells Thomas one evening. Thomas, defensive as ever, crosses his arms.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Newt just smirks. Meanwhile, you’re operating under a completely different assumption.

Thomas is a jerk.