Aris Jones X Reader One Shots

No Longer Alone (Part 3)

Late nights have grown more common now. Silent days were needed too. Days where we didn't speak but still knew the other was there.

I hate silent days. It means one of us had been experimented on that day and was too drained to talk.

I hate days like today. Where I know he’s hurt but can't help. I just stay by the vent, my knees curled to my chest, being more than aware that he was so close yet so far. And so hurt yet there was nothing I could actually do about it.

“You're my best friend. You know that, right?”

I winced at just the sound of his voice, broken and nasally. It sent a pang of guilt through me, something that stung more than anything the doctors could ever do to me.

“You're my best friend too. You're my only friend.”

“And friends look after each other. I’ll look after you. I’ll make sure you're safe from this.”

Without realizing what I was doing I had reached my hand out for him, only to be stopped by the tiny vent. Glaring at the thing both separating us yet being our only form of communication, I reluctantly pulled my hand back, holding it in my lap.

“You need to take care of yourself too,”I said firmly, my eyes glancing towards the hidden empty wrappers stashed under my bed. Another pang of guilt wept through me, as though it was a dirty secret. Every time he slips them under my door though, I devour them almost instantly. So quickly I’ve come close to vomiting more than once now.

“That’s kind of hard to do here.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“It's okay. I mean I wouldn't have met you if I wasn't trapped. That's something good,”He reasoned.

“Maybe.”

“What do you mean maybe?”

“I don't know. I just-I've been here for so long I can't help but associate me with them. I don't want to, but there's this distinction I don't know how to place. That growing up with nothing but WCKD means I am WCKD.”

He stayed silent so I went quiet as well. Besides my heart that was racing in my chest, thumping out that he agreed. That I’ve somehow become WCKD through my time with them there.

I don't want to know if that's what he thinks of me. If that is true, that would break me in ways I can't even describe.

“No.”

He said it so quietly I almost didn't quite hear. If I wasn't always listening for him maybe I wouldn't have.

“No?”

“No. You'll never be them. You're too kind. Your heart is too pure. You think too much. You would actually think about everything you were doing. You would dwell on it, lose sleep over it. Just because they're all you’ve been allowed to know, does not make you them. This won't be for much longer. I’ll make sure you get out, no matter what it takes.”

“You can't talk like that here,”I whispered, my face heating up in worry that someone was listening.

“But I mean it. You're not going to be their prisoner forever. Neither of us are. You’re too good for that. Far better than they could even dream of.”

“I wish I could hold your hand. Just for a little,”I admitted, placing my palm back on the vent. This time it was with purpose though, as if I was taking in his presence with the seemingly useless action.

“One day, you can hold my hand as much as you want. I promise.”

“Don't make promises you can't keep.”