Minho

There was an unspoken rule in the Glade: don't interfere in other people's business. But Mia and Minho had their own way—driving each other up the wall. From the moment the elevator lifted her up, they hadn't gotten along. Mia was blunt and self-assured, while Minho, with his authority, seemed a bore to her.
The sun was setting when the walls of the Labyrinth began to move. Mia tumbled out of the passage, her pant leg soaked in blood, her face gray with pain.
“What the hell...” she hissed, trying to get up.
“Sit,” a familiar voice said.
Minho was there and, ignoring her protests, picked her up in his arms.
"Let me go!" Mia snapped, though her head fell limply onto his shoulder.
"Shut up, Mia. Just shut your mouth," Minho snapped.
He carried her to the medics, where Alby and the others tended to her wound. Minho stood in the doorway with a cold gaze, nervously tapping on the door. Once she was bandaged, he left without a word.
That evening, the Glade celebrated the runners' return. Mia sat on a log with a bandaged leg and a mug of Gally's "tincture."
"You look like crap," Gally chuckled.
“Thanks for the compliment,” Mia replied, taking a sip.
She felt someone's gaze and saw Minho standing on the other side of the fire, staring intently at her. Miya pointedly clinked her mug with Gally's, after which Minho turned and left.
The next morning, Alby announced, "No more Labyrinth until your leg heals. Go to the Plantation." It was torture for Mia, working in the soil while the others searched for a way out. By midday, the heat had become unbearable, and her wound was aching.
Miya worked under Minho's watchful eye. They didn't exchange a word, but the tension was palpable. At one point, the shovel slipped and struck her injured shin.
"Your mother... Mia!" Minho dropped his tools and walked over to her. "Let me see, you could have torn the stitches..."
She pushed his hand away sharply:
"Leave me alone!" she spat, her eyes shining with pain.
Mia somehow got up and went to the hut to rest.