CH. TWENTY - EIGHT
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Though this might be the best night sleep she's ever gotten since her arrival in the Glade, she still wakes up with a groan.

Her head's pounding. Maybe even worse than after she nearly drowned. It's hard to peel her eyes open and once she does, the headache only increases more.

Whimpering, she rolls over. Rubs sleep out of her eyes. It's her day off today. She could choose to just continue sleeping and— where did the pink dick go?

She moves up with a frown. Looks at the sheets. They're black, not pink. There's no posters or lights or figures made out of underwear on the walls. No desk that's full with jars, but an empty one. No fake plants.

She looks down. It's a big relief that her clothes are still on, the same ones as yesterday. Her boots stand on the ground, perfectly next to each other, and she finds that even her necklace is still on.

Though she can't remember what exactly happened, she doubts it's something dirty. And hopefully, she's right.

Now she feels like she has to get up. Who's hut is it? She pulls the sheets off her, a wave of its smell hitting her.

Ah, it's Gally's hut.

She recognizes the smell from the clothes he once gave her. Nothing special. Just soap and, in this case, burned wood. Probably from the Bonfire.

Yet she doesn't remember what happened. According to the headache, she assumes she has a hangover, and she must be in his hut because hers is broken.

Good morning to you too.

She almost falls over at his sudden greeting. What happened?

You kissed Doug.

What?

Kidding, and then he no longer replies to her. Her eyes fall on the glass of water and in no time, she has drunk all of it. Then she tries her best to look at least half decent, and steps outside.

The bright daylight hurts even more. It stabs in her eyes and makes her head feel even heavier. It takes a while to even arrive in front of the kitchen.

"Wow! The Drunk has also made her appearance." Frypan laughs. "What can I get for ya, honey?"

"Coffee," she groans out.

"On it's way," another Cook announces. "You're lucky Minho asked the Box for a machine a while ago!"

"Right?" A voice pops up, right beside her ear. "I'm such an angel."

She turns to look at Minho, rolling her eyes.

"Hey, Greenette." He grins as he sits down on Fry's bar. A protest comes from the Cook, but Minho ignores it. "So glad you like my biceps and think I'm loyal!"

Yes, that's her true opinion about Minho, but how does he know?

Oh god, Gally's not the only one who she shares thoughts with?

"You told me yesterday," he adds. "When you were wasted. And Newt's so cute, yeah. Ben has great muscles? Mixed opinions on Gally? Interesting!"

Her face is as red as the apple Frypan hands her. Then he hits Minho with a wooden spoon, and the Runner has jumped off the bar with a yelp.

Satisfied, Frypan claps in his hands. "Go sit on something else, Minho. Ever heard of a chair...? Maybe—"

"Wow, an invitation to sit on your face," he interrupts. "Sorry, Fry. I really appreciate your love, but you cannot provide me of—"

"Stop being so delusional that you make things up," he snaps.

"Oh." Minho waves him off. "Oh, oh, Fry. Not so angry that I rejected. Your time will come!" Then, he has placed his hand on Joan's back, pushing her toward her picnic tables.

She slaps his hand away. "Don't do that, you clingy idiot."

"Man, I've got to make every Glader blush at least once. Just cooperate!"

"You made me blush when you called me out," she tells him, groaning. "Is that good enough to make you stop all this?"

"Sure," he eventually agrees. "Where do you want to eat breakfast?"

"Who said I'm eating breakfast with you?"

"I did," he says. "Well?"

"Perhaps at a normal table," she decides. Shakes her head. "Why such a rush to eat breakfast with me?"

"You're great. I like to be friends with the great people."

"It's been six months and you only come up with that now?"

"I take my time with certain things, Greenette." He puts a grape in his mouth. "So? How you feeling?"

"Horrible."

"Well, you look kinda horrible. Nice top, though."

Once his gaze lingers too long, she gives him a hard push. "You're a real pervert!"

"No. I'm just a teenage boy." He holds up his hands. "A teenage boy who, after a year and a half, sees a girl. That ain't nothing!"

"If everyone's mind is like this, then I wonder how I've survived."

"Of course everyone's mind is like this! But Gally claimed ya, so—"

"No one's claiming me. I'll cut their—"

"Yes, you've thrown that threat quite a few times by now. I understand." He chuckles. "And really, I am open to a friendship!"

"What if I'm not?"

"I'll force you."

"Sure. Like that will work."

"I'll threaten you," he adds.

"Because you've got so much to threaten me with."

He pops another grape in his mouth, leaning back with a grin. "Not really. Just... I don't know, I've seen Gally walk around with your bra... I've heard you mention you kissed him... and oh, well, apparently there's been a lot of blushing."

Her mouth is half open as she stares at him. "How do you know I—"

"Because you told Camil during breakfast, and I happened to sit right behind you." His smirk grows. "Good to be an observer sometimes, really. You slept in Gally's hut? What a dream!"

"Stop it," she hisses.

"So now you're forced to be my friend," he decides. "Unless you want me to share all of this with the rest."

"No!"

"Kidding. I won't, I promise," he says. "Not that mean. Besides, who needs threats to befriend me? Anyone would do that voluntarily."

"Weren't we friends already?"

He tilts his head. "Maybe."

"Then why ask now? Anything has changed?"

"Well." His amused eyes turn a bit more serious. "The other day, I saw you run away from Alby or whatever you were doing. And I've got to admit... you were fast. Faster than average guys here."

"Because I'm not a guy. And I've had a lot of practice. Lost count on how many times I've ran away from people."

He nods. "Exactly."

"So? Your point?"

"Alfred tripped and broke his ankle the other day. We're not sure, but he might never properly recover. Meaning, we're missing a—"

"Absolutely fucking not."

"I didn't even finish!" He throws his hands in the air, knocking his grapes over. "Come on, Greenette. We can practice a few times and you might turn into a Runner—"

"No," she repeats. "I'm not interested in the Maze. Not in the Runners. Never have been."

"You're smart. I've seen you with those chemicals. You remember much. You run fast. You're the best opportunity—"

"Nope." She shakes her head. "Still not interested."

"You get to run with a hot Keeper like me—"

"Nah."

"Help us escape—"

She shakes her head again.

"Be the coolest—"

"Nah-ah."

"Come on!" He grunts. "Everyone wants to be a Runner."

"No one wants to be a Runner, Minho."

"Alright, but they do want to escape."

"Well, I don't," she snaps.

His face falls. "Why's that? Everyone wants to escape and go to their family—"

"Everyone who thinks they'll find their family is fucked in the head. They're either dead or hiding in a bunker or something. You haven't gotten any food out there, it's more dangerous than here, and a million other reasons."

He's quiet for a few seconds. "Fine. I've learned not to try to convince ones who have no hope. Won't work anyways."

"Exactly," she says. "So no, I'm not interested."

Then they're left in a silence. Joan sighs under her breath, biting her lip. She didn't mean to snap like that. Get that defensive.

"I'm going to work," she eventually says. "See you, Minho. Sorry about—"

"It's alright," he says, seeming to be genuinely honest. "See ya, Greenette."

She smiles before she walks over to her hut, where she sees who she wanted to see. His back is turned to her. Arms are working on fixing the wall of her hut as little beads of sweat run down his back.

Turn around. He does as he's told, and his first tired face now lights up. "Oh, hi."

"Hey. Just wanted to thank you for getting me somewhere safe. I think that's what happened, at least."

"Yeah, you passed out on my shoulder." He scratches the back of his head. "You're welcome. Not a very big deal."

"Did I do much stupid things?"

"...depends on how stupid you find stupid. I'd say drunk Joan is sober Joan. AKA, you didn't act much differently."

"Do I take that as a compliment?"

He smiles. Those nice eyes squint at it— honestly, his whole smile is nice. He doesn't smile a lot, so it's nice when he does. "Maybe," he replies. "If you want to."

She nods, turning around. "Well, I guess I'm going to get ready now. Must look like crap. Bye, Gally."

"Wait—" His hurried voice makes her turn back around. When their eyes meet, regret fills his face.

"Yeah?"

"You— eh." He shrugs a bit, rubbing his chin before he makes a sloppy movement towards her. "You don't look very bad for someone with a hangover," he says quickly. "That was it— bye!"

"Okay." She has to do everything to keep herself from giggling. "Thank you. See you." Once she turns around, her smile is so wide that it hurts and her face is completely red. A little squeal leaves her mouth before she makes her way to the showers, clean clothes in her hands.

The lock is already installed. Happily, she hops inside the shower and does everything she has to do. The cold water has gotten normal by now. It's not extremely bad, since it's not freezing either. Just cold.

The smile is still on her face when she dries herself. Wow. Gally the grump actually complimented her.

In his way, at least.