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THOMAS WAS GONE. It had been two weeks since Samson had any dreams at all, but he wasn't surprised. After the way Thomas had panicked in the last dream, he wasn't expecting a visit from him for a while. Still, he couldn't help but worry about Thomas. Through the few memories he had seen in his dreams, Samson was sure that he and Thomas had been friends before. He just hoped he was okay.

"I need you to get stung,"

He really didn't want to go into the Maze. He didn't want to get stung. And he did not want to go through the Changing, not after the way Gally had described it. But Thomas's plan made sense, there was no denying that. Samson was just afraid.

Samson was so worked up about the situation, he'd started slacking off in the Kitchen. He had nearly cut his thumb off because he'd gotten lost in a trance and if Frypan hadn't noticed, Samson would've been sent straight to the Med-jacks.

"Get out of here," Frypan said after the thumb incident. "I don't want you in here if you can't function properly. Get some rest," he ordered.

Samson obliged, feeling guilty for leaving him and Brandon in the Kitchen. But Frypan was right. He wasn't thinking straight. He knew he had to tell someone about Thomas and his plans, and soon. But that was another problem in itself. Samson had no idea who to confide in.

He'd almost told Clark and Leo one night over dinner, but he'd gotten cold feet, forcing himself to stop speaking just as soon as he had started. Samson knew he'd be able to trust them, but there was no way Leo and Clark would be on board with him going out into the Maze and risking his life. None of the Gladers would be, for that matter, at least none of the Gladers who cared about him.

That's when it dawned on him. There was one boy in the Glade who didn't seem to care about Samson at all. But, he did care an awful lot about finding a way out of the Maze.

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That night at dinner, Samson told Leo and Clark that he couldn't eat with them. To his surprise, they didn't seem to mind much. He helped Frypan and Brandon serve everyone and then got himself a plate, eventually heading back out into the dining area. Samson scanned the room for a moment before his eyes landed on Minho. He was sitting alone at a table in the back, wolfing down his meal. For a moment, Samson found himself wondering why the Keeper of the Runners was sitting all alone but quickly shook the thought away. This was his one chance to get close to him.

Samson took a deep breath and started towards Minho's table. Minho glanced up at him for a moment, dropping his fork onto his plate when their eyes met. Samson quickly took a seat across from him, slamming his plate on the table. Minho rolled his eyes and tried to open his mouth to say something but Samson beat him to it.

"I'm just wondering...are all Runners this insufferable or is it just you?"

Minho scoffed at him, tightening his grip on his utensils. "Ah, I see. You been here three months and now you think you're top dog, huh?" he shot back, his eyes bearing into Samson like daggers.

"What is your problem with me?" Samson retaliated.

Minho snapped his mouth shut and lowered his head. "I don't have a problem with you."

"Then how come you can't even look at me?" Samson leaned forward in his chair.

"Cause you're one ugly shank," Minho said, a sly smile toying at the corners of his mouth.

Samson sneered at this, but he wasn't giving up just yet. "I'm not leaving you alone until you and I work out our differences. The sooner you give me a real answer, the sooner I'm out of your... perfectly groomed hair."

Minho groaned quietly. It took him a minute, but eventually, he confessed. "Every time I do look at you, something in my head goes off," Minho finally lifted his head. It seemed he was forcing himself to look at Samson.

He quickly broke their gaze after a few seconds and cleared his throat. "I...I've seen ya before. I can't wrap my finger around where, or how, or when. But I have," He stabbed his chicken with his fork and shook his head.

Samson gulped. "Did I do something to you?" he asked, his eyebrows pinching together in concern.

Minho shook his head again. "No, no. I think we were friends, actually," he said, his eyes widening.

"If we were friends, why have you been giving me the cold shoulder?" Samson frowned, feeling a little hurt. He wished Minho had said something to him sooner.

Minho scoffed. "Because it freaks me out. The first time I saw you, walking around with Newt, something in me just clicked," his eyes flickered over to the Keepers, then back to Samson. "It was creepy, and I wanted nothing to do with ya,"

Samson sighed. "Whatever. The past is in the past. Sort of," he replied, cocking an eyebrow at the Runner. He took a deep breath, deciding it was now or never to give Minho the details of his plan.

"Okay, listen, Minho. I need your help. You've just gotta hear me out. I was hoping you of all people would help me out and understand why I have to do this,"

Minho cocked his head but didn't say anything. Samson took this as a sign to continue. But as he went over Thomas's plan in his head quickly, he realized how crazy he was going to sound.

"Hey, Earth to Samson!" Minho waved his hands in front of Samson's eyes, snapping him out of his daze.

"Sorry," he shook his head. "Okay. Can you promise me you won't-"

"Yes! I don't have all day," he huffed, leaning back in his chair.

He started off nice and slow, telling Minho about the first dream he'd had with Thomas. He told him everything Thomas had told him from that point on. Every dream, and every memory he'd gotten since he'd arrived, and how he knew Thomas was real and he was telling the truth.

When he was finished telling Minho about Thomas, his expression hadn't changed. He sat up and cocked his head. "What's all this got to do with me?"

Samson swallowed hard, looking him straight in the eye. He leaned forward against the table again, looking wearily around to make sure nobody else heard them. "I haven't heard from Thomas in weeks. But, in his last dream, he told me what I had to do in order for the escape plan to work," he bit his lip and Minho motioned for Samson to finish his sentence.

"I have to go out into the Maze and get stung," he said quietly.

Minho's eyes widened, but he quickly relaxed his face and smiled.

"I'm serious," Samson whispered.

Minho's smile fell. "Gladers have been stung before. They remember things, but it doesn't help. It just messes them up for the rest of their lives. And guess what? We're still trapped here," Minho stood up, taking his plate.

"Minho!" Samson followed him, quickly grabbing at his sleeve. Minho spun back around, scowling, but Samson persisted. "You promised you'd listen."

"I've heard enough!" he whispered, scanning the room. Some Gladers had turned their way, watching them intently. Minho pushed his plate onto the counter and walked out of the Cookhouse.

Samson's hands balled up into fists. Without Minho, the plan wouldn't work. He needed Minho to listen and understand. Averting the eyes of the other Gladers, Samson left the Cookhouse abruptly, following Minho out into the field. But, being a Runner, Minho moved swiftly across the Glade. Samson had to break out into a jog to catch up to him.

"This is different!" Samson called after the Runner, but he kept on. "Thomas told me that when I get stung, he can plant the escape plan into my Changing." Minho stopped in his tracks. "Then, I can tell you and all of the Runners what to do, and we can get out of here."

Samson stepped towards Minho who slowly turned to face him. "This is going to work. I just need to know that you can help me make it work. You're the only person I've told. You've been looking for a way out for two years. Now we have a way out, Minho. Please."

Minho lowered his head. "I've heard that a million times before. Thought we had a way out two months ago, and we lost Nick because of it. Now, you wanna go into the Maze and risk your life." he scoffed again, shaking his head. Samson didn't know how else to convince him.

But after a while, Minho sighed, keeping his eyes low. "I can't promise it'll be anytime soon. But if an opportunity to go into the Maze presents itself, you'll be the first to know," he said tonelessly.

Samson beamed back at the Runner, letting out the deep breath he'd been holding in. "Thank you, Minho."

Minho merely crossed his arms over his chest in response, nodding to him. Samson began to turn back around towards the Cookhouse so he could finish his meal.

"Samson!" Minho hollered. Samson glanced back at him from over his shoulder. "You're not going out there alone. You won't,"

Samson nodded. "I won't."

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author's note!

this duo!!!

i love writing banter between these two, and there's plenty where that came from in the next few chapters!!

minho and samson supremacy <3

hope you all enjoyed this chapter!!

love always,

chloe