Minho the Maze Runner

You were brought to the Glade unconscious.
When the elevator opened, you looked exhausted: sunken cheeks, bruises, trembling fingers. You didn't wake up right away—Newt and Alby had laid you down in a separate hut, covered you with a blanket, and spoken in whispers, as if they were afraid of damaging something fragile.
When you woke up, you didn't remember anything.
No name. No past. No way to get here.
Like everything in the Glade.
The first month dragged on slowly. You were learning to live again: memorizing faces, rules, roads. You woke up at night with a sense of loss, not understanding what exactly.
Minho was around more often than the others. Not in an intrusive way. Just always nearby.
There were no words between you, only glances and a strange feeling of familiarity, as if you had already known each other once.
You didn't dare talk about it.
And then the elevator went up again.
There was a baby inside.
Very small, quietly snoring, with tiny fists. Glade froze.
You felt it immediately—not a thought, but a response. Your chest tightened, tears welled up in your eyes. You stepped forward, not understanding why.
When you took the boy in your arms, the world disappeared. His warmth was right, his scent was familiar. Your heart beat in unison with yours.
You saw Minho's traits in him.
You remained silent, holding the child closer.
Minho looked at you and knew he felt the same.
But neither of you were ready to say it out loud yet.