ataraxionlogs | (no subject)

[Minho, on the other hand, hates this. He's used to being able to keep his emotions in check, only releasing them when he needs to or if it doesn't matter—mainly anger ends up bubbling to the surface the most easily. But with this connection, he imagines Thomas reading him like a book and picking up on the feelings he buries, feelings like fear and sadness and loneliness. So he hates this, but he also needs to figure out how to control it.]

This is so shucking weird. [But he knew it would also be helpful, because how many times had they been split up on the ship? They'd be able to run different routes but stay in contact, theoretically. So he sighed and then closed his eyes, trying hard to repeat the same words to Thomas but with his mind instead. He had no idea how to make it work, though, so it felt like shouting to himself.]

[ thomas would try to reassure minho that he was trying not to pay too close attention, but it would be a lie. thomas is nursing his own private mortification over his wreck of longing for teresa, his still-sharp grief for chuck, the anger over losing newt. it's embarrassing to think that minho can unravel as much of thomas' emotional state as thomas can piece together of minho's, but mutual intrusions probably won't bring anyone comfort in this situation. learning to focus and control it is the name of the game.

it's too bad thomas was terrible at this the first time around. ]

Yeah. [ sheepishly, fully aware of the familiarity of that sentiment. ] It gets easier. Just...

[ thomas trails off, hesitating, and then reaches out to push the next few words directly into minho's head.

trust me. if every other dumb shank on this ship can do it, then so can we. ]

[It's strange, because he doesn't feel anything new but there's definitely a second presence in his mind. His emotions are completely the same, but maybe the empathy makes it harder to understand Thomas; Minho longs for freedom, still carries the grief for all his friends who died in the Glade, and is equally angry about Newt being sent back to whatever horrors waited for him in their world. It's all a swirling mess, but the only was to distinguish his feelings from Thomas' is anything having to do with Theresa.

He jolts with surprise at the words that come through so clearly in his mind.] How'd you do that? [He's so used to using his mouth to communicate that it's hard to break the habit now.]

[ it might be for the best that thomas doesn't try to explain how connected he and teresa had been. thomas is uncomfortable but resigned to that kind of intimacy, and he thinks he trusts minho with most of what goes on in his head. or if not trusts minho to see it, trusts that maybe minho will ignore most of it. however, thomas is pretty sure it's not the same for minho. ]

Teresa explained it better. [ thomas' gaze drops, eyes on his hands as he plucks at a loose string on his sleeve. ] I hated it as much as you so it's...I don't know a good way to explain it.

[ the words are apologetic, even if thomas has some trouble getting them out. talking about teresa is still difficult. ]

I just think of something I want to say but I don't say it out-loud. I say it in my head.

[Thomas doesn't have to say anything for Minho to know how intimate all of this was. The weirdest part was thinking about the two years in the Glade that Thomas hadn't been around for and how things might leak over, things that weren't Minho's to share. So he tried to put them as far from his mind as possible, locking secrets away that weren't even relevant now that Newt is gone.]

Helpful. [He says it gruffly, but his sideways look at Thomas holds a smile. At least they're in this together, and there's no one else he'd rather share his brain with.

Clapping his hands and rubbing them together, he takes a deep breath.] Shouldn't be so hard, right? If a slinthead like you can do it, then the Keeper of the Runners can do it.

[ it would be a lie to say thomas wasn't interested. it's in his nature, to pry, to be too curious for anyone's good, least of all his own. no one had answered his questions in the glade, and there'd been so many other things to consider aboard the tranquility that thomas hadn't asked. now it feels like a different kind of trespass, but that doesn't stop the burn of curiosity. he has the urge to apologize for it, among other things, but instead he ducks his head, returns minho's smile. the familiarity of things like titles from the glade are reassuring, even now. ]

Once you get the hang of this we can try to manifest something. [ not a griever. ] Something useful, hopefully.

[ thomas takes a deep breath, projects his next statement directly into minho's head. come on, call me a klunkhead or something. that has to come easy to you. ]

[Oh, Minho was plenty familiar with that damned curiosity. Thomas was known for asking too many questions too often, and it had been as annoying as it had been admiral in the Glade. It had also been the kind of thinking they'd obviously needed, though Minho still wonders how much their escape had to do with Thomas triggering it or if it was more about everyone getting their butts into gear while the sky was falling. Maybe both. Regardless, he didn't want Thomas poking around for answers in his brain, especially if it brought up old wounds.]

I'd kill for more clothes that aren't spandex. You know I love some runnie undies, but a whole suit ain't my style.

[Groaning, he rolled his eyes. I'd call you an ugly shuckface.]

[ minho's voice flits through his mind, and thomas' entire expression brightens. he sits up straighter, reaches back again, that's it! ]

Whatever you did, do that again.

[ immediately, passing over the commentary on the clothes. thomas had gotten used to it all. either gotten used to it, or he was just preoccupied with everything else that was happening, trying to unravel the mystery of the ship and deal with his legs crumpling beneath him at random rather than bother with the clothes he was wearing while any of that happened. ]

It was working.

[For some reason it's more startling to hear Thomas speaking aloud in the small room than in his head, and he wonders if something WICKED had done to him to make him prepared for this. He hadn't had a link, not like the one that Thomas and Theresa had... had he?

Nodding and trying not to speak with his mouth in case it ruined the magic, he replied in his mind. Maybe I gotta insult you to make it work, he teased, because that always came most naturally to him.]

[ this might be the longest either of them had ever gone without speaking. thomas almost laughs at that, but instead he clings on to his focus, clutching at minho rather than letting the ache of familiarity here spark more memories of teresa.

keep calling me a shuckface idiot then. comes thomas' reply, lips twitching into a smile. so long as you don't spew out a griever or some other klunk from the glade while we're sleeping.

the manifestations might be more difficult to deal with. thomas isn't sure how to try to teach that to minho yet, so focusing on telepathic communication for the moment might be the better bet. ]

[He sees the smile, the strange spasm, and wonders if they could laugh through the mental connection. That was probably a lot harder to do, though, tossing out the vague sound of laughter rather than clear sentences.

Shuck it, you know that’s the last thing I want. But it wasn’t an irrational fear, considering the fact that Minho had been the one to bring out a couple of Grievers when those boggart things were loose. It made him keen to keep that part of his mind locked up as much as possible. That and cranks.

Think we’ll be able to make complicated stuff? Like machines? Not that Minho would ever want a machine on his side except for a car. It was hard to trust scientific things when all they’d brought to his life were death and destruction.]