I look through the trees – behind them I can see a fragment of one of the walls. I look back at Newt, who is walking away from me, slowly, dragging his feet. His foot. His limp is worse than ever. I've always suspected that it's at least partly psychosomatic, as it's a clear indicator of how Newt is feeling at the moment.
Right now, he's feeling awful. And it's entirely my fault.
He doesn't turn around. He's too proud for that, too broken. He doesn't want to face me again. Doesn't want to see the indifference in my eyes, the satisfaction.
But there's none there.
If Newt turned around right now, he would see anguish. Worry. Guilt. He would see what he hopes to see. But he doesn't know that, and so he walks on.
He wants me to call him back. To hurry after him, to grab his arm. To turn him around and pull him in for a kiss. But I can't do that at the moment, much as I wish to. Life is not a fairy tale. Life in the Maze least of all.
I watch Newt's silhouette grow smaller in the distance. His outlines become shadowy, blurred by the dimness beneath the trees. Fading like a spirit in the mist.
I thought I was strong. I thought I could handle this by myself. Thought I didn't need anyone else. Too many people die in the Maze. Too many good men break because of the Creators. Of what they did to us.
Newt will be one of them. Heck, he's already broken. Look at that foot. I managed to save him then. I won't a second time.
It's time to let go. It may hurt now, but it will save me pain later. I can't break too. I need my energy for something else. Someone. Because one day, I will kill the Creators for what they did to us. To Newt. For him, I will make it through this. And I will put a bullet in the brain of everyone who watched him jump and did nothing to stop him.
I clench my fist. My nails dig into the palm of my hand, drawing blood. I close my eyes, focus on the pain. The physical pain. It helps to distract me from the emotional one.
It's for the best, I tell myself. It is. For Newt will break, and soon. I see it in the lines in his face. In the hunch of his shoulders. In the sluggishness of his gait.
I hear it, at night.
I remember when I used to lie awake at night, listening to Newt whisper prayers in the darkness. I said my own little Amens too, every time. I don't believe in God, but it helped. It was comfort. A tribute to the boy who struggled every day. Who kept fighting, believing.
Now he doesn't pray. He just cries.
I have to do this without him. I have to say goodbye now. I won't allow the Creators to take both of us down at once. I cannot let him break me.
I stare at the gap between the trees, at the shadows that swallowed my friend. He's gone now, and that's good. It was the right thing to do.
It doesn't feel that way.
I stare into the darkness, fighting back the tears. Those little drops of water will betray the best intentions. They don't let me rein them in either. I do my best to stop them, but they flow anyway. With them come the doubts.
Was rejecting him really the right thing to do? What did I miss? How many hours together, how many minutes of happiness could I have given Newt? How much sooner will he break because of me?
How much sooner will I break?
I fall to my knees. I stare at the night. I was wrong.
It's not what will happen to Newt that changes my mind. It hurts, of course, but I have thought of that before. I knew what my actions would entail for him. Breaking up was a selfish decision, a means to save myself. I knew that.
I thought that.
But with all the thinking of myself, all the reasoning and hardening to commit this egoistic act, I forgot to think of myself. My true self. The one Newt is part of. I spent so much time telling myself to be strong, so much effort on making others think the same while taking Newt's support for granted, that I forgot one thing about myself.
I thought I could do this alone; I thought I didn't need anyone else – but I do. This does not mean I am weak. I am not close to breaking. But when the ship goes down – and this Maze is nothing but a sinking ship, a gigantic freighter with the hull full of boys it will pull down with it into the deep – when the ship goes down, even I need someone to hold on to to keep from drowning.
I need Newt.
My eyes snap open, and I jump to my feet. My pants are dirty, and Newt is long gone, but I don't care. I sprint after him anyway.
I find him in the meadow outside the Homestead, in the place where we always sleep. He has curled up as always lately, his legs drawn close to his chest, his face buried in his arms. He's crying.
As always.
Although it hurts to see Newt like this, the familiar scenery gives me a feeling of unreality. For a second I think that if I just lie down next to Newt, go to bed in my usual place and fall asleep as always, we will wake up tomorrow as friends, and everything will be normal again. But no. Tonight, there's something more to be done.
I lie down on the grass, slowly, deliberately. Newt's back is facing me, and I put my arms around him from behind. Newt stiffens at the contact. I can feel his body shake with suppressed sobs. I want to say something, but I feel so helpless again. Every night I lay here, just a foot away from where I am now, listening to Newt cry in the dark. Every night I wanted to comfort him, to make his pain go away. Every night I knew that there was nothing I could do. So I stayed silent.
But tonight is not every night. Tonight something happened, and tonight giving up isn't an option.
But I still don't know what to say. I wrap my arms more tightly around him, burying my face in his shoulder. I can feel the tears well up in my eyes again. There's just nothing I can do.
The moment the first sob shakes my body, Newt relaxes. He takes his face out of his arms and looks over his shoulder at me.
"Minho?" he whispers. "Minho, are you crying?"
"I don't cry," I say, my cheeks wet with tears. Newt turns around to face me, and through his own tears he gives me a half-smile, as sad and broken and loving as only Newt can be.
"Liar," he chides me, and I can hear the fondness in his voice.
"I don't lie," I say, caught in the act. Newt's lips twitch again.
"Liar," he smiles, his eyes a little brighter than before.
"I don't love you," I say. I look into his eyes, praying for him to understand. I can't say it any clearer right now. Not yet.
I see a spark of hope ignite in my best friend's eyes. "Liar?" he breathes, barely daring to believe.
I take his face in my hands and place my lips on his.
Newt closes his eyes for a moment, then he pulls back a little. "What happened?" he asks hesitantly. "To… what you said before?"
"I need you," I mumble, burying my face in the hollow of his throat. "We'll get through this. Together or not at all."