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"Take from me
Whatever you want
Whatever you need
But lover, please
stay with me."
— Nothing But Thieves
Time has been going on terribly slowly lately.
There wasn’t really anything to do in the little place they’ve agreed to call their humble abode.
Sure, Minho could talk to Thomas, but he doesn’t feel like it. He hasn’t felt like it for a long time. Minho can’t bring himself to speak to Thomas, let alone see him. They haven’t had a proper conversation since he’s given Thomas a bleeding nose the day he confessed to what he’d done to Newt.
Minho feels a pang in his chest as the thought passes his head.
Even if Minho tries to look past that, Thomas himself has been spending most of his time sulking on his own. Minho has noticed Brenda trying her best to be there for him, but she’s no Teresa.
With both of them being practically useless to the bone, Frypan’s been the only one keeping the surviving Gladers in check; asking how they are, whether they need anything –– all that shit.
Minho’s given up trying to be in good terms with any of them weeks ago. He isn’t stupid. He sees how they look at him. Like he’s gone crazy.
It started when they first settled into their new home.
Minho was sitting alone, resting in the corner of the living room as the others helped themselves check out the rest of the place. His eyes were closed with his head leaning against the wall. And that was when he felt it.
A hand over his own.
It was cold, a little misty. Sort of as if a gentle breeze decided to take form of a hand. It was all too familiar –– the size of it, the feel of it.
He remembers jolting his hand back and jumping on his feet. He was breathing heavily. “Newt?”
The moment that name left his lips, the others started distancing themselves from him. Bit by bit. It didn’t get any better, too.
He’d feel the atmosphere change sometimes, the distinct smell of sunflowers and honey swimming in the air whenever he enters his room.
Sunflower and honey.
That was what Newt often smelt like. He was always spending his free time growing a little patch of flowers next to their vegetables and fruits, even eating his meals there whenever he felt like his flowers needed a little more attention.
Minho almost smiles at the thought.
He’s sure Newt is still around. He can feel it. Minho could never find a way to speak to Newt. Even if he says his name over and over until it’s all his brain can think of for the rest of the night, the only reaction he gets are the weird looks from the Gladers, people he’s once called his friends. So it was almost a blessing when he spot something that might connect him with Newt once again.
Minho tugs the hood of his dark jacket over his head, locking his gaze on the floor as he rushes to get back to his room. He tightens his grip on the board as he carefully tucks it in his arm.
The other Gladers see him rush past them, but not one word leaves anyone’s mouth. Minho’s almost glad.
He finally gets to his room, a little relieved. Minho pulls his hood out of his head, running his hand over his hair as he moves to sit in the middle of his room. Cross-legged, Minho takes in the Ouija board sitting in his hands, slowly letting his fingers linger over the letters that were a little dusty for not having been used in what he could only guess was forever.
He found it in the attic while he was scavenging for whatever he could find. He doesn’t know how to use it, really, but he remembers seeing it in a movie once or twice. Even that was a long time ago, though. He pushes the thought aside and decides to get on with it.
To hell with it, right?
Minho gently sets the board on the floor in front of him. He digs his hand in his pocket and pulls out the pointer for the board. Letting out a deep breath, he puts the pointer on the board and places his fingers on the pointer.
“Is there, uh, is there a spirit in my presence right now?” Minho asks, his voice coming out a little raspier than normal for not having spoken in quite a while.
Nothing happens.
He clears his throat, and tries again. “Is there –– Newt, are you here?”
Minho stays still and waits for anything to happen. A heartbeat passes by, then another, then another. Again, he’s faced with another silence.
Minho starts feeling weaker and ashamed as time goes on. Maybe the others were right about him. Maybe he is going out of his head. Maybe he just couldn’t accept Newt being gone to the point he’s made himself believe that maybe, just maybe, he was still there ranting about Gally’s shitty moonshine that he couldn’t seem to get enough of.
“Look, man.” He drops his head as his voice breaks. “The other guys already think I’m losing my shuckin’ head, but I know –– Newt, I know you’re here. I’ve felt your presence more than once, and I know that that sounds odd, but please,” he lets out weakly, before very softly repeating, “Please.”
Minho’s quietly crying to himself now. He couldn’t help himself. All the emotions he’s been keeping to himself comes pouring out of his body like a tidal wave.
“God, I miss you bonehead so much.” Minho laughs pathetically as he lets go of the pointer and wipes his tears away. “Always ignoring me, even when you’re dead.”
Behind him, the door creaks open.
Minho whirls around to see Thomas at his doorstep, whose eyes flicker to the Ouija board before landing back on him. Thomas doesn’t utter a single word. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
“Shit,” Minho blurts out. “Thomas, I know this looks crazy, but Newt –– he’s here, I know it, okay? I know it.”
“Minho,” Thomas says, a hint of pain lacing his voice as he slowly steps into Minho’s room. “He’s gone. Newt’s not with us anymore. You have to learn to accept that.”
The sadness that comes with Thomas’s words makes Minho angry. “Don’t you dare pull this shit on me,” he says angrily, gripping the pointer in his right hand as he gets on his feet to level with Thomas’s eyes. “I’m not someone who listens to what murderers say.”
Thomas looks away, blinking away the tears that were threatening to fall. “He was my friend, Minho. And you are, too,” he says as he turns back to Minho. “God, do you know how much it hurts to see you like this? I don’t know if you’re hallucinating, Minho, but let us fucking help you instead of always locking yourself in here.”
The second Thomas’s words reaches his ears, the pointer he’d just been gripping slips from his hand. Something in his gut twists and he starts to feel weak standing up. Minho doesn’t say anything. He just thinks there it is, because he didn’t think, for one second even if they’d fought, that Thomas would turn on him.
“You, too?” Minho asks, looking at Thomas. “You think I’ve gone mad?”
Thomas doesn’t confirm or deny anything, and that doesn’t make Minho feel any better. Minho clasps his hands together to stop them from trembling.
“Look, Min, just come outside, all right?” Thomas says. “Frypan’s made some snacks. We’re worried about you, and we’d love to have you eat with us again.”
Minho looks away and clenches his hands. “Fine. Whatever.”
“Okay,” Thomas breathes, staying where he is as if he wants to apologize for all he’s said. But he doesn’t. Thomas turns around and leaves, closing the door gently behind him.
Minho is left alone standing in his room. He feels so numb, he doesn’t know what to feel anymore.
Newt’s not with him anymore, and everyone else thinks he’s proper crazy. He’s never felt this weak since the night of Newt’s suicide attempt, the night he’d stayed with him and promised over and over again that he’d find them a way out.
Minho looks down at the pointer on the floor and bends over to pick it up. He makes a grab for the Ouija board, and walks over to his bed where he sets both of them down.
He stares at the two components. “I wish you would talk to me,” Minho says softly, letting his fingers ghost over the pointer. “I never even had the chance to say goodbye to you.”
Suddenly, Minho feels a shift in the air. A whiff of sunflowers and honey flows into the room, and he thinks he’s just losing his mind again. But that isn’t until he feels the pointer moving beneath the tip of his fingers.
He stops breathing as he watches the pointer move to the bottom of the board. Blood was rushing through his ears as he heart drums against his chest.
‘GOODBYE.’
“Goodbye? Newt, what does that mean? Why are you saying goodbye?” Minho asks frantically, but there’s nothing. He tries again, a sob involuntarily escaping him this time. “Newt!”
He should’ve known he’d get nothing but silence. Frustration, anger, and desperation all mixed in one soars inside him. Minho couldn’t take it. He jumps up from his bed and flips the board over, landing on the floor with a loud thud.
Minho breathes heavily, burning holes into the Ouija board that was now on the floor. Emotions overriding him, he rushes out of his room and walks to the living room where he lets the loud chatter of the Gladers fill his screaming mind.