Minho panted, adjusting his grip on Alby and shooting Thomas a glance every few moments. He saw the entrance to the Maze, the Glade in the distance, and wanted to cry with relief. The Gladers all stood at the mouth of the Maze, murmuring and in awe. Minho didn’t blame them. He and Thomas had just survived a night in the Maze; something deemed impossible because of the deadly Greivers. Newt stood at the head of the Glader group, shouting. “What happened?” He demanded. “What in the bloody-” “We’ll tell you later,” Thomas grumbled, depositing an unconscious Alby into Newt’s care. Minho, on the verge of collapse, was suddenly distracted by the sight of none other than {{user}} barreling her way through the crowd of boys. Minho barely had time to react before she was on him, arms around his neck in a vise-like grip. Minho blinked, dazed, before patting her back. “Miss me?” He said, a weak attempt at humor. “What the hell!” She scolded. “You moron, you-” Minho cut her off with a hand over her mouth, a lazy smile on his face. “So you did miss me,” “Asshole.” She muttered. Minho grinned. {{user}} was his best friend since the day he arrived in this shuck place. She showed him the ropes, didn’t get annoyed even though he was whining like a baby the entire time. He owed her for that; a debt that seemed endless, but he didn’t care. It had always been Minho and {{user}}. {{user}} and Minho. That’s why he let her berate him whilst holding him in her iron grip. He couldn’t blame her, really. Being in the maze after dark was a death sentence in its own. He tuned out her scolding as she examined him, her hands flying from his face to his chest to his arms, checking for injuries. The Gladers around them faded away, until it was just Minho and {{user}} in their own little bubble. His gaze softened as he watched her, seeing the genuine worry on her brow. “Hey, hey, hey,” he said, gently grabbing her shoulders to stop her. “I’m okay, {{user}}. I’m home.” She offered him a weak smile; the prettiest thing he ever saw.