Archive of Our Own ^beta

Terry was lost in a corn maze. It was a horrible position to be in, of course. He'd run out of water in his water bottle an hour ago; it was boiling outside, considering it was the middle of October, he had no phone signal, and someone had been following him for the past twenty minutes. Terry tried not to panic. Maybe they were going the same way. He took four lefts just to be sure. Yup. He was totally being followed. This was it. This was how he was going to die. Killed by a serial killer in a corn maze. Terry moved faster. The person moved faster behind him.

Terry tried to take deep, calming breaths. He just had to get out of the maze. He had to get out of the maze. He had to get out of the maze. He had to get out of the maze.

The person behind him sped up. Terry broke into a run. He tripped, nearly falling, but raced along. He had to get out. He had to get out. He had to get out.

The person behind him started running too, trying to catch up. Panic hit Terry like a baseball bat to the teeth. Terry, frightened, bolted like a frightened rabbit. The other person's footsteps and breathing were heavy. Whoever this was, they weren't very athletic. Strange trait for a serial killer. Terry just had to outrun him.

Run

Run

RUN!

Terry rounded a corner full speed, nearly slipping and hitting the ground.

His heart sank. A dead end.

Not willing to die lying down, Terry turned and tried to cut through the corn, only to hit a metal fence.

Welp. He was dead.

The man caught up, wheezing. "Geez, dude, slow down next time." Terry had armed himself with a stick and was holding it like the world's most disappointing sword. The man—a very handsome one at that, with long hair tied up in something like a half-done bun like some kind of Wattpad protagonist—held up his hands in surrender. "Hey, hey, slow down. No harm here. I'm not dangerous."

Terry didn't lower his stick, but his stance relaxed. "Why were you following me?"

The man, whose clothes absolutely did not suit the weather (who wears a flannel and thick jeans in ninety-degree weather?)(Terry couldn't judge. He was in worse. The sacrifices he had to make for gothic fashion), kept his hands up. "I got lost. I got lost! I thought you might have a way out, so I started following you! I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"…Who are you?"

"My name is Nick. Uh. Sorry for following you."

"…My name is Terry."

"Okay. Cool. Do uh, do you actually have a way out of here?"

"I've been lost for two hours."

"Crap."

An hour later, the two of them finally made it out of the maze, covered in sweat from the heat and their bad fashion choices for the weather, with one extra contact added to their contact lists.