𝟢𝟣𝟩，𝐢𝐝𝐤 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬

                                    

                                          

                            

                                
                            
                              
                                  
                              
                              
                                
                                  
                                  
                                
                              
                             
                            
                            
                          
                          
"Who did he fight?" 
"Some random kid."
"Why did he fight?"
"No idea. I'm thinking he might have some serious mental issues," Jeff murmurs before taking a big bite off his sandwich. "How can you kiss that?"
"It was an experiment. But that's not the point— where is he now?"
"Maze."
I frown. "But he didn't even tell me bye." 
"Sorry, can't feel bad for you." He shrugs. "So how's being a Slicer?"
"I've been here for... what, six months? Why are you asking that now?"
"To see if you're still not mortified by it."
"Not really. I get to take care of the animals and give them the best life until we painlessly slaughter them," I explain. "You all get food from it. I don't see a problem." 
He shakes his head, muttering something about 'disgusting'. 
"Let me guess," Newt slides next to us, "you're talking about Slicers?"
He's doing a lot better. Still not one hundred percent happy with the outcomes of his attempt, but he'll manage. 
"Yes. Taking care of animals is kind of therapeutic," I confirm." 
He nearly jumps back up. "TAKING CARE OF THEM? You're slaughtering those poor babies!"
"Not everyone can be a Second-In-Command."
"Third," he corrects.
"Whatever." I wave it off. "Has Minho left?"
"Yeah. A while ago."
"Why didn't he tell me bye?"
"Because he was in a rush, probably. I don't bloody know." Newt steals some food off Jeff's plate. 
I've noticed that, too. He's eating better. More. 
"But he always tells me bye—"
"We know," Jeff groans.
★
He always comes back around thirty past five. I've been bouncing from my toes to heels for twenty minutes straight, waiting, when he finally appears. 
I stop bouncing. Cross my arms. "Why didn't you tell me bye?"
"Hello to you, too. Thanks for the compliments on how well I ran today, in the burning heat with sore muscles and a bruised face." He jogs past me. "I was in a rush," he then hints.
"But you always tell me bye," I repeat for the millionth time.
"Well, I'm very sorry that I didn't, okay?" Sighing, he wipes sweat off his forehead. He's walking so fast that I have trouble catching up. "I need water." 
"You need to tell me bye everyday," I decide. 
"I've been doing that."
"No, you haven't. Today, you didn't."
Minho spins around, annoyance all around him. "Zee, it's not that big of a problem! I've been running the whole day and barely got any sleep. Let me rest, gosh."
Before he can continue walking, I attack him with a hug. "You can't leave without saying bye," I sniff. 
It takes a few seconds for him to soften in my arms. Once he does, he pats me on the back. "Okay," he says quietly. "I won't."
"You don't understand how scary it is to watch you go in there every day—"
"I think I do. It's not like I have no fear of not making out there alive," he says dryly. 
"Yes, okay, but you don't know how worried I am every day." I roll my eyes. "So don't leave without telling me again, even if it takes waking me up early in the morning."
"But you become grumpy if I do that."
"Worth it." My arms tighten around him.
After a short minute of silence and holding each other, we let go. Minho tucks one of my braids behind my ears, eyes locked in with mine. 
I take the paper butterfly from my pocket. It's a bit crooked and wrinkly by now, but I still press it in his hands. 
He smiles so brightly that his eyes light up. "Thank you, Pua." 
"You're welcome." The heat flows to my cheeks. "Okay, we'll get you water now. You should pack two water bottles from now on."
"Too heavy."
My eyes trail up and down, all over his body. "You're slowly growing taller, though. One day, you'll manage."
"Oh, trust me, I will. In a few months, I'm way taller than you," he says dramatically. 
"Way taller goes a bit far," I point out.
"Definitely not. And I'll be stronger."
"On certain topics, not on all of them. You won't ever slaughter a pig." 
"And you won't ever step inside the Maze again, unless you're forced to."