Chapter Text
RUNNERS AND BUILDERS have hated each other from their origins. It’s in their blood. They are tied for the strongest boys in the Glade.
Runners spend their days sprinting the extensive maze. Their quads and their calves are defined and sculpted from hours of being on their feet. Their hearts are enduring and their minds strong, but they can be very narrow-minded.
On the other hand, Builders spend most of their day hauling material and using brute force to construct the buildings in the Glade. Their biceps and forearms are brawny and sturdy. Their lungs are expansive and their attitudes run wild.
The biggest difference between Runners and Builders is the mental component. Runners are disciplined and resilient, while Builders tend to be more creative and flexible.
Runners call Builders “blockheads”, Builders take the screws out of Runners beds and cut holes in their hammocks, nothing more nor less was expected of them.
On bonfire days, other Gladers chose alignments and huddled around as Builders and Runners tried to push each other out of the circle.
Not much unlike today.
It was the last round of the night, the Keepers round. The Keeper of the Runners, Minho, faced off against 3-time bonfire champion, Keeper of the Builders, Gally.
Minho had successfully avoided fighting Gally for the past three months, after their last match got a little too personal. But now he had no choice. The crowd was pushing him into the circle and this time he didn’t have an excuse at hand, he must accept his fate.
To make matters worse, Minho hadn’t drank anything, unlike most of the boys rallying behind him, so he couldn’t go pretend to throw up in a corner, or even try and persuade a drunken Gally to let him go scotch-free.
He looked towards his opponent. Gally wasn’t the tallest of the builders, but he still stood stalkily at 6 foot 3, a measurement done only to prove he was taller than Minho, who stood at an abysmal 5 foot 10.
Gally wasn’t the tallest, but he was the biggest. His arms bulged out of his worn shirt, stretching the red fabric until it was pink. Gallys legs were also athletic, strong enough to lift the entire foundation of a hut with just his body.
He stood in a fighting position, his hands on his spread knees. Beads of sweat from won battles dripped down his body, if Minho had known better, he would be afraid. The boys behind Minho began to cheer louder and push harder.
Minho made the first move, his first mistake. He lunged forward and Gally swiped his feet from underneath him.
The point of the game was to push your opponent out of the drawn circle in the dirt, not to beat them up, so instead pounding down on Minho, Gally stood above him and laughed, which was almost worse. The crowd's laughter ensued and Minho felt the weight pile onto his shoulders.
Minho struggled to his feet. He met Gallys bright blue eyes, shining in the dark lights of the bonfire. They showed little amusement, Minho must not be a worthy opponent. That made Minho angry.
What, did Gally think all he did in the Maze was sit around all day? No! He ran God damn it, the whole shucking thing. Gally wouldn’t last a few minutes out there, much less a day.
I’ll show him. Minho stood fully now and strided towards Gally.
Gally put his hands up but Minho smacked them away, and suddenly Gally was tilting on the edge of the circle. Their faces were inches apart and Minho had barely touched him. Gallys smirk was gone and his eyes lit up with an emotion Minho couldn’t read.
“Hit me!” Minho exclaimed over the cheers. “Hit me, Gally!”
Gallys eyes were wide. He gave Minho's shoulders a light shove. He wasn’t trying to hurt him.
“I can take it, hit me!” Minho took a step closer.
This time, Gally reacted. He slugged a hand across Minhos jaw.
The pain barely registered. The reaction of the crowd surrounded Minho as he stumbled backwards.
Everyone laughed at him, or showed some sort of reaction though most defaulted to laughter. Minho cradled his jaw and looked up at Gally.
Gally wasn’t smiling, in fact he looked worried.
Gally was stepping forward now.
Minho's arms extended and they locked into the same stalemate most players of this game ended up in. They pushed on each other's shoulders.
And somehow, Minho got the upper hand. His arms snaked around Gallys waist and he used all of his anger and strength from a year running the maze to push Gally fully out of the circle.
Minho got claps on the back, but he didn’t stay for the celebration.
He left, angry, and in pain.
Clutching his jaw, he strode off angrily towards the Homestead, the main building in the Glade. Another sore reminder of their divides.
Minho left the rest of the Gladers in hoots and hollers as the next match entered the circle. He took one glance back, a revenge glance, only to find Gally also stalking away from the circle in the opposite direction.
Minho whipped back around and walked into the Homestead, flicking on the light. The Homestead was the only building equipped with electricity.
He walked into the kitchen and pulled an ice pack out of their freezer. Despite the lack of technology in the Glade, they had been given a refrigerator and freezer upon request (the Makers had deemed this a reasonable request, their request for a television was denied).
“What the shuck happened to you?” A voice asked from the doorway of the kitchen.
Minho turned to see Siggy, more commonly known as Frypan, the Glades one and only cook, standing in the doorway.
“You weren’t in the circle?” Frypan shook his head. Minho was sure almost every Glader found a reason to be by the circle during bonfires, it was the most interesting event happening at the bonfire. He himself had fallen victim to that during his first year in the Glade. Nowadays, he spends most bonfires sitting away from the group, or with Frypan, just processing. And smoking, but those were stories for a different day.
“Did you get pushed in?” Frypan asked, stepping into the kitchen and getting himself a glass of water. In the light, his dishevelment glowed gloriously, as Minho probably did too.
Minho nodded. “Fought Gally.”
Frypans face flinched in discouragement.
“I won.”
“But at what cost?” Frypan was now walking over and removing the ice pack from Minho's eyes, replacing it with a small square of meat.
“That bad?” Frypan nodded.
Minho pressed the piece of meat to his eye and leaned back against the counters.
The night faded quickly after Alby shut down the fights, as they were getting too serious. Boys slunk off to their hammocks, leaving just the Keepers and Alby to have their monthly meeting.
Minho reluctantly joined them in the Gathering Room, adjacent to the kitchen.
He walked in and immediately caught eyes with Gally.
In the light of electricity, Gally looked less fierce and intimidating - not that I’m intimidated by him. His pale blue eyes darted around Minho's face. From the meat against his eye, to the scratches on his face from other parts of life.
Gally didn’t look too bad. A few small bruises he probably couldn’t feel with the amount of moonshine in his system. He probably-
Alby cleared his throat.
Minho hadn’t meant to be staring at Gally, but it had been over a minute of him standing in the doorway.
“Minho, sit.” Alby ordered.
Minho found the only empty seat, right next to Gally.
He sunk into his seat, gulping as the couch cushions dipped Gally dangerously close to him. Their thighs touched and Minho could swear his skin burned.
“The first order of business of the monthly review is our Greenie.” Alby said. “Zart, any updates?”
Minhos mind wandered anywhere but there. All he wanted to do was crawl up in his bed and go to sleep.
Suddenly, Minho felt soft air graze his ear.
“ I’m sorry. ” The words burned into Minhos neck, causing his face to go red. His head turned to meet Gallys. Their faces were inches apart.
Up close, Minho could see each individual freckle that dotted his face. They were like stars in the sky, each unique yet uniform, and forming beautiful patterns and shapes. Gallys eyebrows were a little wacky, a feature he was constantly made fun of for in their early Glade days, but up close they fit well with his face.
Gallys eyes were the color of the sky. On a good, warm day. They had dark blue edges, the color of the ocean, and lightened inward. It was easy to get lost in the spiral of Gallys iris’.
And his lips were perfect. Rosy red but not polished. They looked soft and bouncy, Minho had half a thought to reach out and touch them.
“Gally?” A voice snapped.
Gallys face tore away from Minhos and flipped to Zarts.
Minho quickly looked down at his lap. His cheeks were even more red now.
“Do ya think the Greenie’d be a good builder?” Zart was asking.
Gally was shrugging. “I mean, I haven’t seen him do anything yet.”
Minho was panicking.
He felt the eyes of the Keepers Court on him, bearing into his embarrassment and shame. He felt sick.
Minho's heart began to race and his stomach churned dangerously. His hands began to shake and his vision began to spin. Up and down around and forward. Noise was suddenly gone and Minho was left with his failing vision.
But then, the feeling began to pass. Faintly, Minho could hear Newt saying something about asking for more tomato seeds next month, and Gally was sitting forward again.
All was still.