Chapter 6 - Ten

Warm sunlight filtered in through a small square window on the far side of the room, slightly diluted by pale blue curtains that hung over the glass in huge, sweeping folds and casting a welcoming glow over the scene. The soothing scent of Thomas, so familiar and intoxicating, filled Minho's head and chased away any concerns that dared interrupt his momentary bliss and he unconsciously tugged the slumbering boy closer to himself, reveling in the warmth and weight of the younger male pressed against him. The sensation assured the wolf his mate was safe and happy, which was honestly such a incredibly uncommon occurrence that Minho would probably wear a tutu and pursue a life as a world famous ballerina if it meant he could see his Runner like this more often.

Minho snuggled in closer to the warm, snuggly brunette, too tired to deny his wolf nor really feeling the desire to do so at the moment as Thomas instinctually wormed further into the Keeper's chest. The boy found himself wistfully imagining this truly was their life, that sleepy mornings and soft beds were something they hadn't been so cruelly robbed of and deprived the entirety of their youth. Minho closed his dark eyes and, just for the briefest of moments, let himself pretend that this is what their early hours always consisted of, waking tangled in one another's arms and reaping comfort in each other's presence. That they could be safe and happy.

Maybe, in that world, Minho would gently press his lips against Thomas's, which had fallen open in the brunette's slumber, and let them linger there until the other male would open his honey eyes and gift the gray, dismal world with one of his vibrant, perfect smiles, making the whole universe just that much brighter. Maybe, Minho would feel those perfect pink lips curl up against his own and Thomas would card his fingers through the boy's hair to pull him closer, letting his golden orbs fall closed once more as he kissed the wolf back and his already amazing scent would sweeten with the smell of happiness - And it would all be thanks to Minho.

In this world, however, Thomas was woken, not by a passionate yet chaste kiss, but rather by Stiles bursting unceremoniously into the room with a still sizzling pan clasped in one hand and a pot of steaming coffee in the other, some of the dark liquid splattering to the pale carpet lining the hallway and leaving stains that would undoubtedly withstand a nuclear meltdown, let alone just the thorough bleaching that they would likely be subjected to.

"Rise and shine!" Stiles announced at least fifty decibels higher than Minho was prepared to endure this early in the morning, leaving a horrible ringing echoing through his head as Thomas groaned to life at his side and tried to bury his head further into the wolf's muscled chest. Minho would slaughter to allow the smaller boy to stay nestled up against him, actually sleeping for once rather than screaming bloody murder, and Stiles was looking increasingly like the perfect sacrifice if that's what it took.

Yeah. No. Bad idea. Minho wasn't looking to have his throat ripped out by some half crazed monstrosity driven by a justified bloodlust today, thank you very much. The boy was only a Beta after all, and Stiles was an Alpha's mate.

"What?" Thomas groaned dazedly, honey eyes blinking up at Minho and full of a sleepy haze that made him look downright adorable by any sentient creature that possessed the sense of sight, especially the wolf propped over him who was practically biting his lip to refrain from cooing at the sight and laving the brunette's face with his tongue as he so badly wanted to.

"Stiles has so kindly graced us with his presence." Minho informed his companion irritably, shooting a pointed glare at the unwanted intrusion that had so rudely woken his finally resting mate.

"And brought breakfast!" Stiles merely added enthusiastically, apparently blind to the werewolf's irritation or, more likely, just choosing to ignore it as the boy held his items out as proof, practically beaming with pride.

"Dude, you didn't have to!" Thomas started quickly, snapping into awareness almost immediately and shooting up into a sitting position, painfully smacking his forehead into Minho's as he did so before falling back to the bed with a startled yelp.

Minho groaned in pain, rubbing his battered skull momentarily before his wolf instantly became more concerned with Thomas, who let out a similar moan and squeezed his hazel eyes shut as Stiles laughed wildly somewhere in the background, practically inaudible to the werewolf's selectively focused senses that were too preoccupied with the brunette on the bed to even notice anything else.

"You're a stupid shank, Thomas." Minho huffed gruffly, glaring down at his companion in faux irritation as he spoke, swatting the teen over the head with an open palm and pretending to be a lot more irritated than he actually was. Secretly, the whole act was just a way to distract the Runner and ensure he wouldn't glance over at Minho's arm - In which the veins happened to be turning an unhealthy shade of black at the moment. Even if his mate was only in the slightest amount of pain, his wolf was adamant the discomfort must be amended and the boy had no qualms about pulling the small dosage of hurt from his favorite human, even if it did send a mild wave of ache through his own body.

Thomas stuck his tongue out defiantly at the older boy just as Minho pulled his arm away. Satisfied that the brunette was properly cared for, the boy heaved himself up onto his elbows and rolled his dark eyes at his friend's antics before pushing off the mattress, though he couldn't stop a light smirk from tugging his lips upward as he did so.

"Finally!" Stiles huffed exasperatedly before turning on a heel and retreating from the room, apparently convinced his companions would follow soon after.

Thomas groaned and propped himself up onto his elbows, blinking as if trying to clear the sleepy haze lingering about him before his pink lips parted in a wide yawn that only left him looking more exhausted than before. "He really didn't have to make breakfast!" The teen whined to Minho, his voice keening up anxiously the moment his twin had departed and the sleepy boy reluctantly drug his lanky body from the sheets and plopped his feet onto the cold wooden floor below with a noise of displeasure.

Immediately, the teen sprang back into the plush bed, the springs inside the fabric bouncing at his returned weight as the kid stared at the floor as if it had sexually harassed him, drawing back into the sheets and eyeing the floorboards with wide, startled orbs.

"Yeah, well, he really didn't need to wake you up either." Minho retorted iritably but his displeasure fell way to an amused snicker at his bestie's antics. "The floor is lava?" The boy quipped snarkily, cocking one eyebrow and smirking at the brunette who merely flipped him the middle finger and made no moves to return to the ground, shuffling further away from the edge of the bed if nothing else.

"It's cold, slinthead!" Thomas hissed angrily, extending one, long leg over the mattress to poke a single toe against the wood, as if he expected the temperature to have magically changed in the past three minutes, which honestly wouldn't have surprised Minho too awful much at this point. No, the teen had long since stopped being surprised by anything.

The wolf's ability to be shocked dissipated sometime right after Thomas came up in the Box and Minho suddenly constantly found himself wanting to rub his body all over the other male while simultaneously running his tongue over the kid's face to express his undying affections.

The second Thomas touched the digit to the floor below, he yelped dramatically and drew his limb back into himself before shuffling back further onto the mattress, casting his horrified gaze on Minho as if he were some kind of monstrosity, which he actually totally was but Thomas didn't know that. Hopefully.

The boy had just started to feel his own face in search of any protruding fangs, a feeling of dread coming to swallow him whole when Thomas finally yelped, "How are you barefoot right now?" His voice full of disbelief and awe, apparently totally unaware that he'd just lopped three years off the Keeper life as his hazel orbs stared accusingly at Minho's feet, as if they'd somehow offended him.

" 'Cause some of us aren't pony loving sissies!" The boy groaned exasperatedly, running his hands over his face in a show of irritation and totally not to hide the fact that he'd just been searching his jaws for canine features.

"Yeah, well, some of us actually have feeling in our toes, Min!" Thomas bit back fiercely, still sounding totally thrown for a loop by the boy's ability to simply stand in a room that barely even felt chilly if you were asking the werewolf.

He's totally impressed with us. Minho's wolf practically preened, feelings of pride and satisfaction surging through the boy despite his intense desire to roll his eyes at the simple things his wolf seemed just enthralled by.

"So are you just gonna sit there and starve then, shank?" Minho teased with a smirk, snickering to himself slightly as Thomas seemed to consider this for a moment, his gentle features contorting into a thoughtful face, before the brunette merely groaned and flopped back onto the puffy mattress in defeat, sending a few folds of the tangled sheet drifting into the air momentarily before they came to fall back onto the boy.

"Woe is me! I shall wither away here, I suppose." Thomas moaned dramatically, bringing his hand up to his face to press against his forehead in faux despair as he stretched his lean body over the blankets to communicate pure agony. "Oh cruel world!" The Runner wailed sarcastically, stretching an arm up to grasp desperately at air and arching his back off the mattress with the motion before he let everything go lax and collapsed back against the plush sheets, closing his eyes and making a comical "blech" sound of death.

Minho felt a warm laugh begin to rumble in his chest and bubble up through his parted lips for the first time in awhile and, god damn, did it feel good. The familiar surge of humor endorsed happiness and endorphins exploded in the boy's mind, momentarily numbing him to the cruelties of the universe as he wheezed in huge breaths only to lose them in poorly contained snickers once more as he practically doubled over.

What's more, was that Thomas had reopened his perfect, honey hazel orbs to watch the wolf, a look of awed fascination written across the brunette's face as he propped himself up on his elbows to get a better look, leaving subtlety in the dust as a smile spread his own pink lips and a light giggle escaped him.

The endearing sound shoved a one way ticket to "you're so fucked-ville" into Minho's heart's eager hands and it hopped the train without hesitation as its owner's laughter was reignited by the small noise.

Of course, Minho's second round of breathless wheezes sent Thomas over the edge into his own fit of hysteria, as the younger male failed to smother his own snickers with a hand clasped over his pretty mouth. "What? It's true!" The brunette protested defensively, though the words lacked any bite to them whatsoever as they were sporadically gasped out between poorly bit back giggles. "I could starve!" The teen informed the teen curtly, attempting to shoot his friend a pointed glare only to lose the look to a wide grin almost instantly as his words caused Minho to laugh harder and the Keeper's snickers started his Runner's laughter all over again.

"You're so dramatic, Tomboy!" Minho groaned breathlessly, moving across the room to lightly shove the boy off his unstable, elbow propped perch, leaving Thomas to merely squeak out a useless protest as his body immediately flopped onto the bed with no resistance.

"I'm totally serious!" Thomas countered angrily before the boy suddenly reached out and grabbed Minho by both sleeves, yanking him forward roughly and sending the boy face first into the mattress with nothing but a startled "oomph" as he was caught off guard.

"Oh, you asked for it now, Tommy!" Minho growled deeply into the bedding, trying to keep the childlike excitement he felt welling up inside him from his voice as he sprang into action, shooting straight up before Thomas would even have a chance to process his declaration of war.

Minho barreled into the startled boy before the smaller male could even have an opportunity to defend himself, sending them both rolling as the attacked brunette regained his senses and struggled to try and fight back.

Thomas managed to use the momentum of Minho's charge to keep them rolling as the boy tried to pin the Runner but was knocked ajar by the force of the wily teen turning with the already existing line of motion. The smaller boy took his chance the moment he got it, instincts nearly as sharp as his companion's and reaction time just as high tuned as he tried to use the weight of his body to press the Keeper into the mattress in an attempt to stay on top, pressing his hands into the wolf's chest and dropping the entirety of his body mass over the older male.

It was adrenaline alone that kept Minho from simply letting himself loose this time, enjoying the feeling of Thomas's body attop his far more than he probably should in their strictly platonic kinsmanship that his wolf had already all but abandoned, dragging Minho along with it for the ride. However, the teen managed to convince himself to retaliate rather than focus on the fact that Thomas's hips pressed his own flat into the mattress for a moment longer, too fearful morning wood would make a guest appearance if he didn't do something (Unfortunately, probably not Thomas) quick.

Thomas may have been slick and clever, but when it came down to it Minho was of a more muscular build - and had supernatural strength on his side, though even he would admit that was an unfair advantage and really did attempt to restrain it during their play fights - so he could essentially overpower the younger boy no matter what the circumstances may be. Which was how the boy managed to grip the pale, mole speckled muscles of his companion's biceps and flip them easily in one, smooth motion, giving himself the upper hand once more.

But if Minho had been stupid enough to think for one, idiotic second that pinning Thomas to the bed would help alleviate his dick's desire to rise up and join a revolution, he was so, unbelievably wrong.

The Runner lay panting helpless under his hands, Minho's fingers easily wrapping around the brunette's thin wrists to prevent any sudden ideas from entering his cunning thing's little head and keep him in place better. The boy's cheeks were flushed rosy red with effort and his pale pink lips fell open to breathe in tiny, feverish gasps of air as he let his head fall back on the mattress in defeat, leaving his pale, mole speckled neck on full display.

Bite. Claim. Mine . His wolf growled desperately, practically snarling the sporadic thoughts as Minho was driven wild by the display and accessible, submissive, position Thomas had let himself fall into, as if completely accepting the fact that he'd been defeated and wholeheartedly trusting the boy above him to not harm him even when in such a vulnerable pose. It was bad. The desire to leave his mark on the gorgeous, captured boy below him was so strong it felt as if someone had taken a torch to Minho's body and lit his blood itself on fire and the boy honestly wouldn't be surprised if he suddenly burst into roaring flames on the spot. It felt like he already was.

Truthfully, Minho probably would've given into the seering urge if it weren't for the sudden sour edge his precious mate's scent took, instantly bringing his heat filled thoughts and steadily rising boner to an untimely demise as concern slashed through all else and brought the werewolf careening back to reality.

Thomas's eyes were wide and scared but yet so distant at the same time, as if the boy were somewhere, not safe on a bed under Minho who would rather die than hurt him, but someplace far worse. The acidic smell of fear tainted the younger teen's sweet smell as he struggled weakly against the steely grip the teen held him in, which the Keeper immediately released, that same musky scent the wolf still failed to place hitting him like a Mack truck.

"I can't!" Thomas pleaded desperately, leaving Minho confused as hell and absolutely terrified as he scrambled off the smaller male and frantically gripped the Runner's forearms instead. The werewolf had assumed his companion had become upset because Minho had taken it too far, freaked his friend out or something similar the boy was totally likely to do at some point, but it was quickly becoming apparent that wasn't the case as Thomas let out a low wail and curled in on himself.

"Thomas! Dude, please!" Minho cried anxiously, shaking the other male slightly in an attempt to bring him back to reality but it wasn't working this time nor was talking to the teen doing any good. This wasn't like last night where Minho could simply wake his friend from whatever nightmare he was trapped in and hold him close until he realized it wasn't real, that all his visions were simply dreams, nothing more. Thomas was already awake.

"Show him your hands!" Stiles's voice practically screamed in Minho's ear, but the wolf still barely heard the confusing words over the panic induced ringing blaring through his skull and drowning out anything that wasn't Thomas-related.

When the fuck had the twin gotten there? Admittedly, with his focus rapt on the now trembling boy in his arms, Stiles could've probably stood by for hours, perhaps have time to paint a portrait of the scene, and Minho still wouldn't have noticed his presence.

Minho always had been very single minded - Especially when it came to Thomas. Let's not forget the multitude of times Minho had risked himself and quite often the whole group of remaining Gladers on impossible rescue missions on account of one boy when he could count the other's deaths off like apples in a barrel.

"What?" Minho growled, literally, snarling at the kid, though he hadn't intended to do so and would probably have the decency to feel bad about it later when the most important person in his life wasn't lost to some imaginary horror and crying out a steady chant of "I can't" in a desperate whimper that all but shredded the wolf's heart.

Stiles merely rolled his eyes and snatched Minho's hand's from Thomas's arms, manhandling the appendages in front of his terrified twin's face while the hand's owner was still too shocked at the sudden action to do a single thing about it. "How many fingers?" The lanky boy questioned, his voice all but a gentle whisper as he pressed his thumbs into the palms of Minho's hands to make them spread out, revealing all ten digits to Thomas's confused eyes as their hazel orbs scanned the expanse of his friend's spread hands.

"Ten." Thomas eventually whimpered out, finally breaking his unrelenting chorus of "I can't" to answer his brother's odd question though he still looked confused and just as horrified as he had moments ago, convincing Minho Stiles's plan was officially stupid, whatever it may be.

"Then he's really here. You're here. Safe." Stiles explained, as if the number of fingers Minho owned somehow affected Thomas's ability to realize he wasn't in whatever mind wrecking memory he kept getting pulled into. "If you were somewhere else, just imagining all this, the number would be wrong." Stiles continued and, amazingly, Thomas began to shake a little less, his hazel orbs wide and full of such a pure hopefulness that Minho physically hurt at the sight. "But there's ten, so he's real." Stiles concluded, pushing Minho's hands toward Thomas who tentatively reached out his own fingers until his twin placed Minho's captured apandages into the kid's steely grip and the brunette wrapped his own hands around them instantly, clinging to the boy like a lifeline.

"That used to be all that worked for me too." Stiles finally admitted in a whisper after a long moment, giving Minho a sad look before he tentatively rose to his feet and moved back toward the door. "I'll keep breakfast warm, just come down when you're ready." The teen informed diligently before taking his leave, pausing briefly to shoot the stunned boy a quick, mock salute that the Keeper barely even saw out of the corner of his eye as his gaze locked on his broken mate.

"Thomas." Minho whispered quietly, not knowing what else to say as the boy lifted his head to blink at him, hazel orbs swimming with grief and guilt as the boy reached out to brush a stray hair away from their endless depths.

"Minho, you shouldn't have to put up with this." Thomas bit back, sounding surprisingly bitter as he turned his gaze away and began gnawing anxiously at his lower lip, his usually alluring scent smothered with sadness and practically choked out with that musky note... That musky...

Guilt. The smell was guilt. The realization finally came to Minho like a bowling ball straight to the stomach, thrown by a sasquatch that was. Thomas felt guilty for pushing his problems onto Minho as if that wasn't exactly what the boy was here for and would absolutely die to be the one Thomas went to with his burdens and leaned on for support. No, literally. Give him a knife - Minho would die for that opportunity in a heartbeat.

"Shut the fuck up, Thomas." Minho snorted roughly, though he emphasized the harsh words with a comforting squeeze of his hands, which were still captured in his companion's unrelenting hold with the strength of a thousand manly, lumberjack commercial type men.

Luckily, Thomas's scent did lose some of its acid edge at the Keeper's words, as if the other boy could read all the things Minho didn't know how to say as clear as day and it was all the teen needed to feel proud. He would protect his mate and keep him safe no matter what, even if the threat was inside the brunette himself. Minho would be there to chase anything that threatened his boy away. Always.