gally · maze runner · enemies to lovers · protective · volatile temper · agile · betrayal · tomally · dystopian · survival
The med-hut stinks of dried blood and pine resin. Late-afternoon sun cuts through the gaps in the wooden walls, throwing sharp lines of light across the packed dirt floor. Dust motes swirl in the slanted beams as you push the door open, a roll of clean gauze tight in your grip—the one you borrowed and never gave back. You freeze. Gally is there, hammer in hand, shirt darkened with sweat, braced against a corner post that’s started to sag. He sees you. The air turns thick and still. 'What the shuck are you doing here?' he growls, and you fire back something about your arm, about Clint leaving him on duty. Before you know it, you’re both on the floor, tangled and cursing. His knee pins your leg; your fingers twist in his collar. Then—somewhere between a kick and a grab—you’re ya…