𝐌𝐈𝐙𝐏𝐀𝐇 - TMR, Minho

𝟢𝟥𝟢，𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐲? 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞

I don't need you.

You're obsessed. It's pathetic.

You're crazy.

They all know you've lost it.

It's all in your head— just like everything is. You assaulted me, you killed someone—gosh, maybe you're the one who killed George, too—and you're just messed up.

I'm not the one who's actually lost it. You are. Everyone sees it. You walk around here like you're a ghost.

Yeah, that's your problem.

You thought. You thought and you think and it makes you spiral.

And stop pretending like you know me. You don't.

I burned it.

Yeah. I didn't need it. Just like I don't need any of this.

The words spin around my head like they're on a loop. I can't shut them out, can't make them stop. They blur together, stick to the walls of my skull, bounce back and forth until it's all I can hear.

They all know you've lost it.

I think about those words and feel the sting, feel the way they dig deep. Maybe he's right. Maybe they all see it. Maybe they all look at me and see this... this ghost walking around. I stare up at the ceiling, at the cracks in the stone. They shift, swirl. They start to look like things—faces, eyes, butterflies with their wings spread wide.

I burned it.

Nothing feels real. Not the hammock I lie in, not the blanket that's too heavy. The Glade full of laughter.

I think of Minho's face, the way his eyes looked empty when he said all those things. You're obsessed. It's pathetic.

I curl up, pull the blanket over my head, shut my eyes tight.

You thought. You thought and you think and it makes you spiral.

You thought and you think and you thought—no, stop—spiral, spiral, spiral.

You assaulted me, you killed someone.

I didn't. I didn't, I swear. But the words claw at me, dig under my skin, and maybe I did, maybe I did because everything's so tangled up and blurry.

You're crazy.

I pull the blanket tighter, like it's a cocoon, like maybe if I stay in here, I'll come out new.

I should move. I should eat. But my body feels too heavy. The blankets are damp—don't know if it's from the sweat or the tears that haven't stopped for hours or days, not sure anymore.

You're crazy—

My hands tremble as I roll out of bed. I don't want to be here, stuck with nothing but my own thoughts. I need to do something.

The Glade is alive with the sounds of chores and chatter. Too loud, too real.

I make my way into the woods, the branches scratching my arms, but I don't care. I dig my nails into my thighs until it hurts, but it doesn't hurt enough.

"Zee, stop."

I spin and spin around, yet I am unable to find out where the voice comes from.

A chuckle. "Up here."

I lift my head, the world tilting as I squint through the leaves and branches, trying to find where the voice came from.

Then I see him. He's leaning against a branch, arms folded, a smirk playing on his lips like it always did. His hair is a mess. The run vest is on.

"Minho?" My voice cracks.

"Geez, Zee. You really do look pathetic," he teases from up the tree. A few weeks ago, it would've made me laugh.

But he's not real. He can't be.

I step closer.

"Come on, don't look at me like that. I know you missed me, who wouldn't, but you'll almost make me feel guilty."

"You're not here. You... you hate me."

He rolls his eyes, hopping down from the branch effortlessly. "Always so dramatic." He walks toward me, and my heart races, because he's getting closer, and I can almost feel the warmth of him. "What, you think I'd leave you alone in this mess? I've always had your back, you know that."

My nails dig deeper into the flesh of my thighs . "You're not real. The real Minho—he hates me."

Minho—no no no, not Minho—tilts his head, his expression softening. "Nah, Zee, he doesn't hate you." He reaches out, his hand hovering just above my shoulder, but I never feel it. Because he's not real. "He's just scared. You should know that the best out of all. He has always been scared, correct?"

I pull away, stumbling back a step. The real Minho's words ring in my ears: You're crazy. You're obsessed. It's pathetic. But this Minho—this fake Minho—he just looks at me like he always did, like I'm still his Pua and he's still my Hei Hei.

My head spins. "You're lying. You're just—" I press my hands to my temples. "This isn't real," I mutter. "It can't be real." But it feels real. And I want it to be real.

Minho takes a step toward me. "It's okay, Zee," he reassures.

I want to close my eyes and pretend it's real. For a moment, I do. The tears spill over, and I feel them trickle down, soaking into his hand.

But then I blink, and he's gone.

The woods are empty, the only sound the wind rustling the leaves above. My hand reaches out to the space where he stood, my fingers shaking. "Minho?" I whisper, but there's no one there.

He was never there.

The branches sway, and I drop to my knees, the damp earth soaking into my pants. My hands fall to my sides. "Please," I whisper to the empty woods. "Please, come back."

You're crazy.

I'm not the one who's actually lost it. You are. Everyone sees it. You walk around here like you're a ghost.

I am crazy. And I don't know how to fix it.