Minho collapsed onto the grass, sweat matting his hair and pasting his grimy T-shirt to his heaving chest, the dirt streaking his bare arms a testament to the tumbles he'd taken in the maze. Frypan's own chest thumped staccato as he watched the other boy, eyes flicking from sharp cheekbones to broad shoulders to heaving chest to slim, lithe hips. He shivered then, despite the heat, hoping that no one else noticed where his gaze inevitably fell, and hurried to get the tea ready.