𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ༒ minho, tmr

forty-two ~ tomorrow never came

☾

The train rumbled beneath Minho's feet, the low, mechanical groan echoing in the dark, windowless carriage. He sat motionless, his arms strained by the chains dangling from the ceiling, the cold metal biting into his wrists, but it wasn't something he was not used to by now. 

His head hung low, his hair flat and lifeless, stripped of its usual wild energy. The weight of the last six months pressed on him like a boulder, each day another struggle to endure, each second a battle to keep going.

Sonya and Aris were nearby, similarly restrained, their faces gaunt and hollow. None of them had spoken. Not since they'd been taken.

Minho's gaze was fixed on the floor, his shoulders slumped. The steady clink of chains swaying with the train's motion was the only sound that filled the silence. He couldn't even muster the energy to look up, to acknowledge the other prisoners. 

The Minho who had once been full of fire and fight was barely a flicker now. And yet, in the deepest parts of his mind, one thought persisted. One person. His person.

Londyn.

Her name was a constant echo, a thread he clung to in the endless darkness on days he felt like simply giving up. He thought of her every day, at first, with the hope she would find him. But, as the months dragged on, his hope turned to doubt, and the overall wonder of where she could've been.

What if she's given up? What if she's thousands of miles away from here? 

Minho swallowed hard, his dehydrated throat and eyes burning. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the thought away. But it was embedded deeply in his gut, turning a bad day worse with every sunrise.

What if she's moved on? Is it even worth me waiting for her anymore?

The idea gutted him more than the experiments ever could. He imagined her smile, the way her eyes would light up when she laughed, and it felt like a punch to the chest. 

He thought of the way her voice would tremble when she was scared but still somehow managed to sound brave. The way she'd put her life on the line for the people she cared about. For him.

Londyn, where are you? Do you even think of me anymore?

And for a moment, just a brief, fading moment, he allowed himself to believe that she hadn't given up. That somewhere out there, she was still fighting for him.

The train lurched suddenly, jerking him out of his thoughts. The chains rattled, the noise loud and jarring. Minho winced, his body swaying with the motion of the train when he was snapped back to the reality he was living.

He didn't know where they were taking him this time, what fresh hell WCKD had planned. But as his head hung low again and his fingers curled into weak fists, one thought burned in his mind.

If he ever saw Londyn again, he would tell her. Everything.

Because wherever she was, whether she cared or not, she was the only thing keeping him alive.

He lifted his head slowly, his neck stiff and sore from hours of hanging forward. His gaze landed on the grated overhead windows, narrow slits barely wide enough to let in the faintest flicker of sunlight.

Two sets of legs darted across the grates, silhouetted against the dim glow of the sky outside. They moved quickly, light on their feet, the clang of their boots barely audible over the roaring train.

Minho blinked, his exhausted mind struggling to process what he was seeing. For a moment, he thought it might be a hallucination, a cruel trick his mind was playing on him after months of confinement and despair.