"Fuck." Thomas repeated for about the thousandth time in the past hour, mouthing over the foreign word Stiles had taught him slowly, as if trying to decide if he liked how it tasted on his lips or not. Minho would love to see what other things those pink lips enjoyed the flavor of - Jesus, could his libido please chill for like, two seconds?

"Give it up, shuckface. You sound like a complete idiot." Minho scoffed teasingly, shifting about on the hard wooden step he currently sat upon.

"That's what you said when I first started using Glader Slang too." Thomas countered defensively, turning to smirk smugly at his companion, who merely rolled his dark eyes in response.

"That's 'cause you did, still do actually. Your Glader Slang sucks, Tomboy." The Keeper informed slyly. "Just admit it, you'll never be as smooth as this fine piece of perfection." Minho continued cockily,gesturing to himself with a long, elaborate sweep of his hand.

"And so humble too." Thomas snorted amusedly before leaning back on the palms of his hands and fixing his gaze to the ceiling. "What if he doesn't like me?" The teen moaned anxiously, his scent picking up a harsh tang of worry that made Minho flinch.

"Thomas, c'mon, he'd have to be dumb not to like you." The wolf insisted resolutely for the billionth time today. If there was anything Thomas had said more than "fuck" in the past five minutes alone, it was this.

The pair was sitting at the base of a wooden stairwell in the Stilinski household, awaiting the eventual arrival of Thomas's supposive father - One, Sheriff Noah Stilinski. Stiles had left them there alone about an hour ago, claiming that he thought he shouldn't be there for such a private moment. Though Minho still caught the teen's scent every few minutes, letting him know the boy was obviously eavesdropping from somewhere nearby.

Minho had thought about leaving too when Stiles had bailed in honor of the father-son relationship that didn't exist yet; but the moment he had risen to do so, Thomas had grabbed him by the hand and yanked him roughly back down at his side. So, here he sat, desperately trying to restrain himself from nuzzling into his companion's side as his instincts told him he should do to comfort his mate.

Thomas opened his mouth, supposedly to reply and not just to invite Minho's imagination on a hormone driven joy ride, but the sound of the front door knob being jostled caused the brunette to snap his lips shut instantly, bringing an abrupt and gory end to the Keeper's fantasy. The smaller male snatched his arm out and captured the boy's hand in his own instinctually, going tense all over as he gripped the appendage with the force of a vice and practically trembling as his honey eyes widened and focused on the door.

The gesture was probably purely platonic. Thomas needed comfort and Minho happened to have nice hands that easily doubled as convenient, makeshift stress balls, that's all. Even still though, the Runner undeniably felt his lips tug into a small smile and decided it was best to just ignore the tormenting flutter his heart decided to betray him with as he squeezed the younger boy's hand back in reassurance.

Finally, after an agonizingly long pause in which the intruder struggled with the brass knob and cursed in a vivid array of vocabulary Minho would have to get Stiles to educate him on later, the front door was pushed open with a final huff of exasperation and an older looking man entered. The guy had to be at least in his forties and the years hadn't been gentle on him if the deep wrinkles and stress lines maring his face were anything to go by, but yet, his face looked kind and gentle at the same time.

The word trustable came to mind as the man turned his gaze on the pair, his dark eyes full of welcome and warmth as he slowly moved forward a few slow steps. Though, the boy had learned long ago not to trust anyone, no matter how genuine they may seem. Minho had Thomas and that was enough, thanks. No risk taking here, buddy.

Thomas must've reached a similar conclusion as his steely grip on Minho's captured hand tightened until the wolf wasn't quite sure all of his fingers were still present and accounted for anymore. The smell of the boy's unease rolled off him in waves, crashing over the Keeper and making the werewolf want to circle himself around his mate's small body and shield him from the rest of the dangerous world - Instead the boy settled for rubbing a soothing thumb along the younger male's wrist and edging a little closer to him, until their shoulders brushed and Thomas leaned back into him in the slightest.

"I'm assuming you're the boys who survived hell, not just two teenagers who were dumb enough to sneak into the sheriff's house?" The guy joked lightly, though his voice was thick with choked back emotion and his eyes were swimming with an odd mix of amazement and sorrow as he locked their intense gaze on Thomas.

"That's us." The brunette clarified curtly, squirming about uncomfortably under the sheriff's stare until he finally rose to his feet, pulling Minho up to stand beside him and never loosening his steely grip on the boy's hand in the slightest.

"Stephan..." The sheriff began carefully, his eyes suddenly growing misty as the name passed his thin lips, the dark orbs brimming with unshed tears as he took a hesitant step toward the pair.

"My name is Thomas." The Runner asserted hastily, his voice keening up with an edge of panic that made Minho dart out a quick hand and grip the smaller boy by the arm before he could stop himself. Luckily, Thomas instinctually backed into Minho's chest in defense as he spoke, so the whole arm grab thing must not have appeared too weird if the fact that the smaller male was still drawing back into the boy was anything to go by.

"Right, Thomas." The sheriff corrected quickly, looking momentarily hurt but letting the look fall way to a face of understanding as he held his hands up in a pacifying gesture. "Thomas and Minho, wasn't it?" The guy continued carefully, turning his searching gaze to Minho as he spoke and offering a small smile of welcome to the Keeper.

The teen tried to return the friendly gesture but he was pretty sure the action ended up looking more like a pained grimace on him as the sheriff shifted awkwardly under his gaze and reached an arm up to scratch uncertainly behind his neck.

"Well, um, I'm sure you're both tired after your long trip. Those train rides can be a bitch I hear." Sheriff Stilinski mumbled hesitantly, already beginning to move about the foyer they currently stood in as if moving through his usual nightly routine. The guy undid a sleek black holster and placed it on a nearby table, the familiar metallic glint of a gun catching the dim light and shining maliciously from inside the leather carrier.

"Yep." Thomas squeaked hastily, going stiff as a board for some inexplicable reason as his hazel orbs fixed on the weapon, wide and uneasy, as if he half expected it to spring up and bite him in the ass. The boy's scent went sour with a harsh edge of unease and a musky note of something Minho couldn't quite place at the moment, leaving the Keeper confused and curious. The reaction could easily be accountable to the younger male having been shot before but somehow that didn't sound exactly right, though Minho had no other explanation to offer.

"Well, there's a spare room upstairs one of you can use and the couch in the living room pulls out..." The Sheriff began but let his offer trail off as Minho felt a spark of panic ignite inside of him and he immediately pressed closer to his companion, feeling Thomas shrink back into him simultaneously as they both tensed. The thought of being separated from the younger male felt wrong on all levels and each boy's expression must have revealed that for their host relented instantly, looking startled by their strong reaction and waving his hand as if to shoo away his previous suggestion.

"Actually, the spare room has a big bed. You could probably both fit!" The Sheriff offered quickly, looking relieved as Minho's shoulders retreated from the sky high arch they'd shot into and the Keeper felt his friend relax against him, audibly letting out a shaky sigh that did ungodly things to Minho's resolve.

"Okay. Thanks for letting us stay here." Thomas replied gratefully, beginning to turn and retreat up the long wooden staircase but he only made it a step or two away when their host called him back.

"Wait!" The Sheriff yelped hastily, halting his estranged son's departure as the boy moved back to his previous position with a questioning look. "Um," The guy began and took a slow step forward, hesitantly extending his arms and looking imploringly at the teen, an unspoken plea.

Thomas hesitated for a long, tense moment in which no one moved. The Sheriff didn't dare come a step closer to the boy without permission and Minho had no earthly idea how he was supposed to behave in the awkward situation he'd loyally followed his mate into. How many times had the Keeper followed the brunette into insane predicaments now? At least this one probably wouldn't end in half their friends meeting an untimely demise... Hopefully.

Finally, Thomas inched forward a miniscule distance, it wasn't much but it was enough to silently grant the guy his request and the Sheriff absolutely beamed in reply as he moved forward to close the distance between them.

Minho had imagined what a moment like this might be like at least a thousand different times, as any boy who couldn't remember his own parents would. He'd imagined what his father would look like and how happy he would be to have Minho back. The boy pictured a hundred different ways the grand moment of reunion might look and how his long lost father would undoubtedly pull him into a bone snapping hug with promises to never let anything bad happen to him ever again. Through all the horrors of the Maze, and the Scorch, and the experiments, the Keeper had always held out the slightest sliver of hope for that fantasy moment. Obviously, since all of Minho's family were six feet under, or, more likely, hideous remnants of their former selves, cranked out and feasting on the flesh of their friends, that was never going to happen.

The familiar feeling of a poisonous jealousy leaking into his veins came to call, leaving Minho feeling guilty, and horrible, and envious all at the same time as the Sheriff eventually wrapped his arms around the boy's best friend and pulled the smaller boy into himself. However, every minuscule ounce of envy drained from the teen as he actually witnessed the scene play out and realized reality was, once again, nothing like his daydreams and vain hopes had promised.

Sheriff Stilinski had pulled Minho's friend so far that they'd actually turned in the process so that now the teen could see his companion's face as the boy tentatively wrapped his arms around the unfamiliar man. Thomas kept casting the Keeper fearful glances over his father's shoulder, hazel orbs swimming with a long engraved mistrust and guardedness that prevented any actual happiness at the reunion from occurring and revealed the true extent of the damage inflicted upon Minho's closest friend.

Minho growled unintentionally, his eyes glinting momentarily in the darkness before he managed to reign himself back in, not willing to reveal his secret to his friend just yet or ever, if it were up to him. Wicked had broken Thomas. The shattered boy couldn't even enjoy this one, simple moment after all that they'd done to him. Both Minho's wolf and human sides wanted to rip each and every one of those fucker's throats out. (Props to Stiles, for making his unspoken threats sound that much cooler.)

Sheriff Stilinski eventually released his steely grip on Thomas after a long moment of awkward silence and unbroken tension, stepping back from the boy with unshed tears visibly brimming in his dark orbs. "I'm glad your home." The man whispered in a quavering, watery voice before stubbornly biting his quivering lower lip and turning his kind gaze on Minho. "Any you too, Minho, wasn't it?" The man questioned, patiently waiting for the boy to give a curt nod before continuing. "You protected my son when I couldn't," Stilinski asserted, his voice shaky and emotional as Minho opened his mouth to question how the sheriff could know such a thing.

The wolf was starting to get a sneaking suspicion that maybe mind readers, dragons, and talking bottles of whisky for fucks sake wouldn't be wholeheartedly unheard of in Beacon Hills.

"Don't ask. I can just tell," Noah Stilinski continued resolutely, merely holding up a hand to silence the Keeper the moment the teen opened his mouth. "You followed him here didn't you? Old, I may be, blind I am not." The dude declared surely and Minho finally closed his mouth, admitting defeat with an easy shrug, the man wasn't wrong.

"You protected him and you'll keep protecting him and honestly I'm really glad you're here too, son. You belong in this house as long as he's here." Noah finally concluded gruffly, his voice void of any uncertainty or hesitation as he gazed directly at Minho, dark eyes pinning the boy in their unrelenting confidence.

Minho for one didn't know where the sudden declaration came from, maybe this dude was senile or just always this much of a disgustingly soft sap, but the boy would be lying if he said the comforting words didn't make him feel the least bit warm inside. Minho was happy he had a place. Minho's wolf was happy someone else was finally smart enough to acknowledge him as Thomas's sworn protector - When he swore that, Minho had no idea, but according to Wolfy he had and would abide by it until the end of his days.

"Thank you." Minho simply coughed out curtly, wincing at how awkward he sounded even to his own ears, but the Sheriff smiled warmly at him before shooting the same kind look to Thomas, who returned it much smoother than Minho's attempt. The boy's return smile looked genuine and made the boy's heart flutter in a way that reminded him of a cheesy sitcom and kinda sparked the desire to puke inside him. When did he get so cheesy, gods help him? How could one boy turn him into a literal pile of living mush with something so simple as curling his lips upwards? Though the action did also involve making his hazel eyes sparkle like sunlight glinting off a still lake, giving a sweet hint of contentment to his already perfect smell, and relaxing for a brief moment, gifting Minho with the breathtaking sight of his pretty face free of the lines of stress, and... Fuck. Again with the cheese. How did he let it get this bad? Oh right, Thomas was perfect. That's how.

Finally, their host waved them off with a final parting "sleep well," that Minho doubted either of them would actually succeed in listening too as a lifetime of torture and deception tended to lead to a variety of poor sleeping habits. However, the teen liked to hope that perhaps this new life, in this new place, could offer one of those "new beginnings" people always wanted to promise but never actually happened. You don't just "begin again. " You're still going to be the same old you, with the same old scars, now you're just lying to yourself as well.

Well, a new chapter then. Maybe Minho could hope for a new chapter.