Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It wasn’t easy. Minho thought it would be. After all that he’s been through, he thought living in this paradise, this so-called ‘Safe Haven’ they built, would finally rest his restless. But he has never felt so alone. His lovers slept in their cots; eyes closed, breathing steady, bodies still. It was almost eerie if not for the rising and falling of their chests. He wanted to stay there and wait for them to open their eyes and look at him again. Golden and oak brown eyes meeting his dark ones.

They didn’t, and he felt restless. He felt like he should do something. Anything to wake them or keep them safe. Safer than Safe Haven. He wanted to fight the people that left them in this predicament.

But the fight is over. Frypan would tell him. The fight is over. Brenda would tell him. The fight is over. Even Gally would tell him. But the fight in him wasn’t over. He wanted to shout at them. Lash out and tell them they don’t understand. He would’ve. But he could hear Newt in his mind, telling him to stand down. He could hear Thomas tell him it wasn’t their fault. So instead he did what he did best--something familiar.

He ran. His legs felt uneasy. It was weird not feeling the familiar ache in his calves.

He ran. In the early mornings, at night when he can’t sleep. He ran and ran and ran. In his boots, barefoot, the sand beneath his toes, the cold sea brushing his feet. He ran until he felt his lungs would give out and the familiar ache and exhaustion crept up from his legs. He ran until he collapsed as he heaved and caught his breath, feeling the sunrise dance on his skin.

He thought the fatigue would blow out the fight still igniting in his chest. The fight that lit up so fiercely when he was strung up and alone, thrust back and tortured in different situations. They were too stupid if they thought they could stomp and tire him out from all the stressful and traumatic conditions they threw at him. If anything it just made the fire in him angrier and more intense. It’s what kept him alive; all those months waiting for the right time to strike. An opening for him to escape. But of course, Thomas had beat him to it. Before he could find a way out, they'd already carved him a path and led him back to Thomas’ and Newt’s arms again.

Until they slipped between his fingers once more.

A crushing guilt fell down on him when he saw Thomas, tears rolling down his eyes, holding down Newt. Their kind, gentle Newt who was now snapping his teeth at Thomas. His eyes as dark as the evening sky they were under, growling and pleading. Thomas’ trembling hands on a gun pointed under Newt’s chin. It was Newt’s veiny hands holding it in place.

Minho would never forget.

It was burned in his mind.

The pounding and heaving of his chest from the run he just made. His scream as he pushed Thomas off of Newt. The first gunshot. Newt scrambling up and reaching for the gun. Thomas trying to wrestle the loaded gun out of Newt’s grip. The second gunshot. More deafening and close. Then the blood dripped on Newt’s shoulder. Newt collapsing on the ground. Minho grabbed a hold of Newt and tried to apply as much pressure on the wound. The serum in his palms. Thomas, walking away, looking at them with round broken pair of eyes. Minho wanted to call for him. To hold him and put his pieces back together. But Newt was also falling apart in his arms. And in his palms was the serum. He chose to stay. Minho hoped Thomas did too.

He remembered the hopelessness he felt when he saw Thomas atop the burning building. “There!” He had shouted at Jorge at the berg. Urging him to fly faster and go lower. But the buildings exploding, burning, and collapsing made it hard to get closer without harming the berg they were on--Jorge had scolded him. Minho cared more about the fact that Thomas was atop a burning building, and Newt was strapped on a bed in the berg trying to kill himself or make everyone else kill him. The serum worked only to allow them to heal his wound from the gunshot, after that, Newt's veins started blackening and his eyes darkened again.

Watching Newt go through the Changing was harder than watching him be a Crank. Watching Thomas limping on a burning building, half his weight on Teresa, his arms wrapped around his stomach, and Minho can’t do anything but reach out and shout his name, was more painful. He was watching two people that mean the most to him in this godforsaken world they live in slip away from him. And he can’t have that. He won’t allow it. He reached out. Thomas jumped as Teresa heaved him up on the berg. Vince had caught the boy, Minho scrambled to him and quickly dragged him up. He cradled him in his arms. Thomas. He whispered his name. Thomas. But Thomas twisted in his arms, looked down at the girl. She was in tears as she looked back at the burning building then to Thomas. Her eyes were pleading but resolved. It was Thomas’ gut wrenching scream that made Minho realize what she was doing.

They watched her fall, Minho in a voiceless shout as he saw the flames swallow her. Then Thomas whimpered back into his arms, hid his face in Minho’s stomach, and closed his eyes. He closed his eyes and he hasn’t opened them ever since. Minho will always remember.

So, Minho ran. He ran because he wanted to hit something. Because he felt useless and helpless. He ran because he didn't have anything to throw his anger at. He felt the guilt of feeling this way when everyone around him was trying to calm down and heal, trying to put the violence past them. But Minho could still feel it in his veins creeping up in him. He would sometimes wonder if he caught the Flare and he was Cranking. But of course it couldn’t possibly be. He was immune and so were the rest of them. Even his beloved Newt because Mary had administered the serum they found in Thomas’ pocket. The serum that they soon found out was the cure.

Sometimes he woke up screaming from his nightmares, but he wasn’t afraid. No. He’d wake up, his fists clenched and trembling and angry . So angry he sobbed and wanted to throw up. Because he remembered every single thing. What they did to him. What they did to Thomas, to Newt, to Alby, to Chuck, to Clint, to Jeff, to Zart, to Winston, even to Teresa. What WCKD did to all his friends and family. All lives lost. He wanted to throw his clenched fists on something. He did. To a tree, till his knuckles bruised. Until Gally found him and dragged him to the med hut. Demanded him to stay still and let the doctors do their work. Then dragged him back outside and gave his clenched fists a hammer. Minho was confused at first at what Gally wanted him to do. But once a Builder always a Builder, as Gally gestured at the others hammering and sawing wood--making buildings and shacks and cottages, trying to make the Safe Haven their home. Minho busied himself then. He was grateful for it. He was grateful for Gally. He felt like he had something to do again. He felt less useless. He woke up with a routine, hammered away as hard as he could, and slept, tired and exhausted from the day's work.

Minho still ran. He wakes up early to run before the sunrise catches his skin. 

And Minho ran when he saw Thomas walking around the Safe Haven; mouth agape, eyes roving over everything and everyone. He ran and hugged him. Tightly. Finally. Minho breathed in the boy— the man— in his arms. And Thomas squeezed back as tightly. Both clutching each other, giving back every moment they weren’t in each other’s embrace. All the moments they missed because of the wicked happenstance they ended up— ripped apart from each other’s grasps for too long.

“Minho,” It was a broken sob from Thomas, and Minho leaned forward, their foreheads pressed together. Another sob broke free from Thomas but this time Minho swallowed it--warm lips meeting broken and wounded. His arms snaked around Thomas’ waist and they stood like that for a moment. Forgetting everyone around them. Forgetting that they were quite literally in the middle of the Safe Haven. Until Jorge cleared his throat and Brenda let out a teasing whistle. Soon, Thomas was swarmed by their other friends--family, more like. Minho was hesitant when he let him go, but he stayed near him, following him like a dog.

Like hell would he ever be separated from him ever again.

“Newt?” Thomas asked that evening. Minho knew Thomas had wanted to ask that for the entirety of the day. He also felt the fear, and the grief, emanating from the boy as he cuddled closer to Minho’s chest.

“He’s alive.” Minho whispered in the darkness of the night.

Thomas jerked his head up, elbows pushing himself above Minho. The lack of light made it hard to see Thomas’ features, but Minho could very well make out the brown eyes, wide and watery.

“He’s alive?” Thomas repeated. He sounded so wounded. Minho tightened his grip on Thomas’ waist.

“You cured him, Thomas.”

Thomas’ hand flew to his pockets, feeling it, “The serum.”

“Mary gave it to him, not before she examined it.”

“It was from my blood.”

“You cured Newt.”

“Teresa… she…” Thomas buried his face in the crook of Minho’s neck, “She was right. She was right.” Thomas sobbed again and Minho held him tight. He held him tight and let him cry on his neck, drawing comforting patterns on his back.

It wasn’t long that Thomas joined Minho’s routine. It wasn’t long that Minho made Thomas smile again. And it was all starting to fall back in place. Until the space left for the third part of them felt more and more empty.

Thomas sobbed at night and Minho screamed at sunrise. They held each other everyday.

So, Minho ran. But he wasn’t alone anymore. Thomas had joined him. Both running till they collapse, sunrise dancing on their skin. The silence is comfortable but loud.

Minho ran when Gally had called for him. Newt was awake. Finally. He ran to the med hut, Thomas already there. The golden eyes looked at him, bleary but open and alive. Alive. Minho was right by their side in an instant. He brushed the blonde fringe away from Newt’s forehead and his eyes fluttered from the gesture. Minho didn’t think he could do something so gentle. After all his anger, he didn’t think he was allowed to be gentle. Toughness was what he knew all his life. It was what he lived by. He cupped Newt’s cheek and caressed it with his thumb. He took Thomas’ hand in his and entwined them. There in the med hut with Thomas and Newt, he allowed himself to be gentle and tender. To make the strong walls he had built around himself all his life crumble down. He leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on Newt’s dry lips.

“Hey, shuckface,” came Newt’s hoarse voice.

“Slinthead.” Minho said back.

Newt smiled weakly. He felt Thomas’ thumb rub patterns on his hand. Minho’s heart swelled in his chest. Finally.

At first it was difficult to wake up in between Thomas and Newt in the hut they shared. It was difficult because he didn’t know how real it was. He would grip them and they would start to stir from the pain but he couldn’t let them go. Not again. Until Newt will kiss him and Thomas will grip his hand as tightly as he was.

“Is this real?” Minho would whisper, a tear down his cheek. Newt wiped it away.

“We’re here.” Thomas said.

“We’re real. We’re safe.” Newt answered him.

But somehow it wasn’t enough. He felt like he was being tricked again. His guard went up and his tears fell relentlessly. Then Newt and Thomas would start their mantra. A prayer. A song.

“You like the color blue.” Newt began.

“Your favorite food is Frypan’s onion soup.” Thomas continued, Minho heard the smile on his lips.

“You’re strong and resilient. You like to run like you're racing with the sunrise.” Kisses trailed his neck, down his chest.

“You like to be kissed on your temples. You like it when we touch the mole right above your belly button.” A gentle scrape on the spot sent goosebumps through his body.

Each statement they gave was followed by kisses and touches. And that was all it took for Minho to come undone, under soft lips and rough calloused hands. This was real. He repeats in his head. This was real and they were there and they were real.

It wasn’t easy. But Minho knew they were going to make it work. At night, they were plagued by nightmares. They held onto each other like a lifeline; kisses and comfort against their pillows and under the sheets. Minho held them by his side tightly, careful of their wounds but still firm. Scared that if he loosened his hold they would slip away again. Thomas still sobbed. Newt sometimes drifts away. His eyes empty and his voice refusing to come out. But Minho, tough as nails he would call himself, stood by them. Embraced Thomas and cocooned him from the cruel world he didn’t deserve to be born into. He stayed by Newt’s side, his presence and weight grounding the blonde boy. It wasn’t going to be easy but Minho will make it his life mission to make it easier for the two men.

He kissed them, made love with them, and he realized he was tired of fighting. The anger in him calmed like a big wave washing out the shore and going back to the sea. Thomas’ smile, Newt’s laughter; he bathed in them. He would drown in them if he could.

“I love you.” Minho whispered to them. They whispered back. Minho felt himself healing. It was slow but he felt it. He felt the fire in him burn low. It was still there but it wasn’t as fierce as before. He let himself heal under Newt’s and Thomas’ caresses. They cupped the fire in him, contained it in their palms, not blowing it out but not letting it become a bonfire. It was there and it was steady. Minho let himself heal and thought this would become easier.

The sun rose and he stayed in bed between the two men he loved. He let his legs rest, tangling it with theirs. It was easier.

Chapter Text

It was hard. Newt knew it would be. The slow change he felt in himself as the virus ate him away. The loss of control he tried so hard to fight. Fear swallowed him whole. But WCKD had taken too much from him already. So he has to remember. He wanted to remember, so he wrote. A farewell. A proclamation. Two letters, for the two people he loved the most. He kept it in his necklace close to his heart. So when he ripped it out of his neck and insisted for Tommy to take it, he was ready. He was going to remember. He had to. He tried to.

The last of his consciousness picked up Thomas holding him down, pleas falling out of his own lips. Kill me, Tommy. Please. If you ever loved me, kill me. Tommy’s brown eyes were so broken, How could I? He whispered into the night. Newt sobbed, Tommy . And that was the last thing he had said himself before the Crank took over and almost killed them both. Almost left Minho alone in the world.

The next thing he knew was Minho crying over him and a sharp pain in his shoulder. Minho telling him everything was going to be alright. He still felt like dying. Then the sharp pain on his shoulder spread throughout his body. And he knew the Crank took over again. It was never going to be okay. They should have just killed him. Tommy should’ve just pulled the trigger. But deep in his Crank state, he saw Minho’s eyes, so broken, the same broken eyes as Tommy’s, and he wanted to look away. He did that to them. He broke them and he can’t even put their pieces back together.

Helpless.

He was helpless, and he forgot.

His mind slipped away and he let the Crank completely take over. 

He opened his eyes, blurry surroundings coming into focus. A hut. A pair of familiar brown eyes.

“Newt,” a whisper. Thomas. Tommy. He tried to reach out but everything hurts, and Thomas was on him in a second, whispering sweet nothings and how it would be alright. He didn’t believe him. How could everything be alright? But just for a moment he let himself trust Thomas’ words. Then Minho came and captured his lips and he sighed into it. He almost fully believed everything was alright.

Newt was right. It wasn’t. Of course Safe Haven wouldn’t magically heal everything and make them forget about what happened beyond the island. There were days that Newt was completely consumed by the darkness. Instead of hurting, it was familiar and he almost felt safe in it. He let the darkness take him. He would walk around the island feeling like he was floating. Thomas would hug him tightly but he couldn’t raise his arms to hug back. Minho would stay by his side, near the cliff. He was edging on it, his feet dangling and his eyes trained on the height below him. An escape. If not for Minho’s weight and presence beside him he would’ve tried to just slip away. 

It was hard. Thomas looked broken, Minho was bruised. They were haunted by their nightmares. The screams echoing in their heads, the flashes of the horrors they’ve been through. They’d never forget. How could they? Newt wouldn’t let himself forget. He would chant it in his mind. Alby. Chuck. Clint. Jeff. Winston. Even Teresa, who betrayed them but saved his Tommy.

He wouldn’t let himself forget.

Newt remembered Minho. Brave Minho who immediately took the courage to inspect their surroundings the first day in the Glade. Who suggested exploring the maze and made it his life mission to find a way out, then and there. He didn’t stop running. He just didn’t stop. The fire in his eyes never burning out even after everything WCKD has put him through. And Newt remembered Thomas. A scared little Greenie coming up from the Box. Breaking into a run. Resilient and determined to save everyone. Selfless, he was. Sometimes Newt hated that characteristic of his, for selfish reasons. But everyone loved him for it. He attracted and made friends along the way. He formed bonds, and Newt let himself feel a little jealous.

He let himself remember, like a checklist in his mind. He won’t let himself forget ever again.

It took him time to settle in the Safe Haven. For the longest time he didn’t believe it was all over. He felt like the ocean wouldn’t stop the evil from creeping up in their paradise. Thomas would pull him close, crying, and Newt would tell him words he didn’t believe. Minho would pull both of them closer and try to reassure them in his arms. But Newt had lost faith a long time ago. He wanted to believe them so bad. But a tug in his heart, a permanent damage inside him, made his doubt more powerful and louder. So he cried into their pillow, clutching the two men.

The sun was setting, slowly hiding behind the horizon and merging with the sea. Newt realized it was always going to be a struggle for him. To believe again. To have faith. The pain in his chest will always be a gaping hole. He closed his eyes and let the stinging breeze of the early evening brush through his cheeks. He accepted it. The pain, the emptiness. He let himself feel it, and he let the tears fall. He accepted that the ache he felt prevented him from having faith, from having Minho’s fiery determination and Thomas’ resilience. Like a manifestation of his emotions, his bad leg ached as well. He stretched it out on the sand, sighing. Then he felt more than heard Minho. The latter sat beside him and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. Newt leaned his head on Minho’s shoulder without opening his eyes. The pain will always be with him but so will Minho’s reassuring presence. So will Thomas’ fingertips dancing on his bare skin. So he’ll push forward. He’ll stay with them as long as they want him. He knows he’ll never reciprocate the amount of care they give him but he’ll try and give them his heart. Although battered and bruised, although it will never be enough, he’ll offer it to them. Give them all he has.

He made himself feel. He opened himself to them. He gave them his love, and in turn, they made love. They kissed and cuddled under the comfort and privacy of their shared hut. And he felt his heart, not the familiar ache that he always felt, but something overwhelming and wholesome. Something he has never felt in the life he remembered. He kissed Minho squarely on the mouth and on his temple, then gave Thomas a slight nibble on his bottom lip as he let his tongue taste him. He could stay there and feel them. Feel their fingers wandering around his body. He could let their touch consume him in place of the darkness. Their whispered sweet nothings into his ears tattooed his bare skin, because he could feel . Thomas’ hair falling on his chest as he kissed him there and there and there. Minho’s warm breath on his cheeks as he chuckled against his skin. Happiness, was it? Newt melted against them like honey in warm tea.

It was going to be hard in the long run. Newt knew the darkness was still there in him, it didn’t leave him, he just learned to accept it. He learned to let himself feel. Thomas and Minho steadied him on the ground. Pulled him in the safety of their arms. He let himself feel their affection. Even though some days he still felt like he didn’t deserve such precious things, he would shut his mouth and his mind. Instead he would listen to their heartbeats and tell himself this is how it’s supposed to be.

Deep into the night, after they let each other wander and explore each other’s bare skin, Newt had felt fearless. “I love you both,” he declared. Minho kissed his forehead, Thomas kissed his palm. He let their love blanket him, keep him warm, and surround him. People would sing songs about it. Poets would write dramatic proses about it. Painters would draw beautiful portraits about it. And Newt would let himself feel. He would let himself believe.

The sun was setting, casting down an orange hue on the island. His head was on Thomas’ lap and Minho’s hand was tangled in his hair. Newt rested his hand on his own chest, his heart beating against his palm. He closed his eyes. It wasn’t going to be as hard as he thought.

Chapter Text

He didn’t know what to expect. All he knew was he had to get them all out of there. No one deserved to be in the circumstance they were thrusted into. He had to get them all out of there. He had to save everyone. Even if it means losing himself.

And he tried.

He tried and tried.

But too much damage was done. And he felt lost. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. He was supposed to save everyone. He was supposed to bring Chuck to his family, lead Alby out of the maze, save Clint, Jeff, Winston, and so much more. So he did not stop. He couldn’t. He moved forward and planned and tried to save everyone he could. He tried to save everyone, that the two boys that mattered to him most slipped away from his grasp. Snatched away like a painful knife slicing through his palms.

Minho was out of his grasp before he knew it. He wanted to immediately get to him. To save his lover, leave everyone and let himself follow Minho. But Newt held him down. Talked some sense into him. He couldn’t do that to Newt. So he stayed longer, every second was torture. Newt was there beside him, always holding him, kissing him. He could feel Newt’s fear that if he let go of Thomas he would run away and be in harm’s way. He couldn’t blame him. He probably would.

And just when he got Minho back in his grasp, Newt was slowly falling away. The Flare consumed him fast. He handed Thomas a necklace like it was a farewell. 

Thomas has never felt so helpless.

Minho did what he did best and ran to get the serum. Thomas stayed with Newt and his heart broke into tiny little pieces every time his lover pleaded for him to kill him. How could he? He couldn’t possibly do it. How could he ask such a thing? Thomas pleaded back. Don’t do this, Newt. But it wasn’t Newt anymore. Their sweet and gentle Newt was gone. The body under him flailed. His eyes darkened and his teeth snapping. Then he took the gun on Thomas’ holsters and pointed it at his chin. Thomas grabbed it before he could pull the trigger.

“Please, Newt, please.” Thomas tried to take the gun away. But Minho had come. And Newt became angrier and the gun was dangerously wrestled out of his grasp until Thomas had pulled the trigger. He shot him. He shot Newt. If his heart could still break it would. But now he felt the hollowness in his chest. He stumbled backward as he saw Minho cradle Newt in his arms. Minho looked at him, eyes begging for him to stay.

But Thomas has had enough.

He always dealt with the matter at his hands and he’ll deal with this one. He walked away and into WCKD’s arms once more. He was going to deal with it and take Teresa’s word for it. If he is indeed the cure he’ll put a stop to this. To all the deaths he caused.

He tried.

She tried.

And she slipped away from his grasp as well. She may have betrayed them and caused the death of so many he wanted to save but he knew deep down she cared.  And he cared for her and no matter what happened he didn’t think that would change. They were both just trying and fighting in their different ways. In time, he could forgive her, and he was ready to start over again. But that opportunity fell out of his grasp as soon as it opened. He screamed for her, almost dove for her but Minho’s arms around him were firm and he could feel himself slip out of consciousness. Her expression so solemn and determined before the flames embraced her like it would a mother to her child will forever be ingrained in his mind.

Confusion hurt his brain as he woke up in a hut. The ocean waves brushing on the shore filled his ears. He walked out of the hut, his wounds still hurting but his curiosity led him forward. And he couldn’t believe it. They were on an island. The Safe Haven Vince told them about. People milled about, laughed, and they actually looked happy. Thomas walked and looked and took in his surroundings. Where his heart would be it would’ve ached but the numbness he felt was stronger. He was just glad it was all over. That he wasn’t going to see any more deaths. Hopefully. And then there was Minho, running towards him and then pulling him into a crushing hug. His wounds ached but he let him. The pain made him feel alive. The arms around him made him feel alive. He inhaled and he almost sobbed. It was Minho. He was enveloped by Minho. Minho was there in his arms. Minho was there and he captured his lips and the familiar fierceness on his lips comforted him more than he expected. Breathless, he felt his heart again. He missed it. The numbness slowly falling away.

He found himself wandering around the Safe Haven. Walking along the shore barefoot and just taking in his surroundings once more. For the first time he could remember they weren’t running from something. And it felt good. Although at night, in the darkness, everything would come back haunting him. He would sob and curl up in Minho’s arms. He felt pathetic but Minho’s strong arms made it feel okay. It was okay to fall apart. Besides, he was tired of trying to fix things. He might leave it broken inside him. He might always cry because he was tired and he just wants to let go.

So when Newt opened his eyes he couldn’t stop himself from sobbing. He was alive. So alive. He held onto his hand, his pulse beating against his fingers. Newt was alive. He was there. Minho was there too, beside them. Being extra gentle. And Thomas felt his heart again. Still trying to push away the numbness in his chest. It was new to him. But he tried. As he always did. He tried.

At night he would sob, and he would feel utterly broken. The shadows of his past fill the hollowness in his chest. And it hurt. But he felt Newt’s warm palm on him, gluing him back together. He felt Minho kiss his scars. And he sobbed harder. He was letting go. That was what he was doing. Because between them both he could. He breathed in, the scent of their love filling his lungs and his heart loosened its tight hold on bitterness when he exhaled. With them he could let go and breathe. With them he could finally live.

He doesn’t know what the future entailed for them. But for the first time he found himself not caring. He’d let himself be taken away by the waves. He would only float above it and not swim against it. Take him wherever, as long as Newt and Minho were with him. And he knows they felt the same. Minho became more clingy, following him around and dropping small kisses on his head when he could, touching or holding him when they were close to each other. Newt looked more peaceful than Thomas had ever seen him. A sense of tranquility had settled in him. Thomas pulled them in. Kissed them gingerly, then when it wasn’t enough he deepened it. Chasing their lips, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to open their skins and merge himself with them. He wanted to get closer and closer. He wanted them. And they let him demand what he wanted. They let him take what he needed. Thomas has never felt so taken care of. He has never felt so loved. And his heart could beat right out of his chest as it broke free from the cage the numbness built around it for safekeeping.

“I love you both, so much.” He gasped, and they kissed him better. They kissed him and they trailed tender fingertips all over him and Thomas has never felt so alive.

He was certain about one thing, as he laid himself beside Newt, curling on his side and reaching out for Minho across the blonde boy. The sheet pulled over them as their breaths evened and slumber took over them. He was sure he would spend the rest of his days with the two of them. And that was enough for Thomas.

 He began his new life lying down with the two men he loved, surrounded by the warmth and privacy the darkness and their hut allowed them to have. The salt air blew through their open window as the moonlight sliced through it as well. Thomas breathed in and out. This was enough.