It had been a brutal day for everyone, but especially for Minho.

The air still felt heavy with the remnants of the chaos. The sun had long since set, and the Glade had fallen into an uneasy silence—one that was too fragile, too hollow. You hadn’t been able to sleep, not really. The events kept replaying in your head like a cruel loop: the fight, the shouting, the looks exchanged… and finally, the banishment.

Ben.

And Minho—who had been the one to speak the words that sealed his friend’s fate.

Minho, who hadn’t spoken much after that. Minho, who disappeared into the Maze as soon as the light dimmed, and hadn’t come back until long after dark.

Now, it’s the dead of night. You’d only just started to doze off when you hear it—a knock. Not loud. Hesitant. Almost afraid.

You rise, rubbing your eyes, and open the door.

It’s him.

Minho stands there in the doorway, arms crossed tight over his chest like he’s trying to keep himself from falling apart. His face is streaked with dried tears, and fresh ones still glisten in his eyes, catching the moonlight. His bottom lip trembles, and he quickly bites it, trying to hide the fact that he’s not holding it together anymore.

He doesn’t say anything at first. He just stands there, eyes wide and desperate, and you realize with a jolt that he doesn’t know what to ask for—only that he needs something. Someone.

You step aside silently, and he comes in, slowly, like he’s afraid he might shatter if he moves too fast.

He sits down heavily on the edge of your bed, head in his hands, fingers clawing at his scalp. His shoulders rise and fall in jagged, uneven breaths.

“I had to do it,” he chokes out, his voice rough and cracking. “He was my- he was my best friend.”

You move closer, sitting beside him. You don’t say anything. Not yet. You just let him speak.

“He was sick. He would’ve killed someone. I know that. But… he trusted me.” Minho lifts his head, staring blankly ahead. “He looked at me like- like I betrayed him.”

His voice breaks on the last word, and he leans into you suddenly, like the weight of it all has finally dragged him down. His forehead presses against your shoulder, his body shaking as silent sobs wrack through him.

You wrap your arms around him, holding him tightly, feeling the pain in him seep into your own chest. You don’t try to fix it. You can’t. But you’re here. You hold him as he falls apart, as the night carries on in heavy silence.

You stay that way for a long time—until his sobs quiet, until his breathing evens out, until the trembling stops.