𝐌𝐈𝐙𝐏𝐀𝐇 - TMR, Minho

𝟢𝟤𝟩，𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐬

A knock on the door of the Bloodhouse.

My bloody hands reach out to open it. Before I can, a voice calls "Wait, I'll open it, so the handle won't get dirty."

The door opens, revealing my favorite person in the world.

"Hey," he says joyfully.

I smile. "Hi. What's up?"

"Not a lot. I'm just bored. Wanted to check up on you," Minho explains. "Which was a bad idea because the smell of this place already makes me want to vomit."

"Lame," I tease.

He rolls his eyes, then trails them up and down my body. They stop at my eyes for a few seconds. At my whole face. At my hair.

"I should make new braids," he mutters, "these are becoming fuzzy."

Automatically, I touch the top of my head. "Yeah. Maybe after dinner?"

"Sure." Minho nods. "Well, I'll head back now, so you can continue—"

"Wait, why aren't you in the Maze right now?"

★

Because he lost his memories.

I blink against the bright sunlight. My limbs ache for some reason. My heart does, too. The motivation to get out of my hammock isn't there.

I force myself out of the hammock, my body resisting every movement. The sunlight feels too bright, almost harsh. I rub at my eyes, trying to shake off the weight pressing down on me. It was just a dream. Get over it. Move on.

But the memory lingers. The way he looked at me with that familiar spark. The way he cared. All I want right now.

The Glade is already alive with movement when I look around; boys are running back and forth, doing their tasks. I know I should join them, that I should find something to distract myself, but the thought of pretending to be normal, of pretending everything's fine, feels impossible.

Instead, I wander. I walk aimlessly, my feet taking me past the fields, past the Map Room, past the Bloodhouse where the dream lingers like a ghost. I find myself tracing the same path over and over again, but I don't really see anything.

I pass by the Gardens, and someone calls out to me—Nick, maybe? His voice sounds distant. I nod or wave, or maybe I just keep walking. I'm not sure.

It happens again, later, when I'm sitting by the edge of the woods. I swear I hear his voice, calling my name. I look up, heart pounding, but there's no one there. Just the trees and the wind rustling through the leaves. My shoulders slump again.

It's nothing. Just your imagination. You're tired. I pull my knees to my chest, hugging myself tightly.

Time drags. I can't tell how long I sit there and stare at a tree. I feel like I'm stuck in an endless cycle, waiting for him to show up, to smile at me like he used to. But he doesn't come. He never does.