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in all he could remember (which wasn't that long), Atlas had never felt heartbreak quite like this. The forlonging, seeing-but-not-really-believing, waiting for something to happen kind of heartbreak. one where he would wait, wait for him to come back up, wait for him to tell Atlas this was all some cruel prank. He wanted him to come back up, so he could beat his fists over his broad chest, and tell him about all the tears that were spilled when he was waiting. He waited forever. He said he'd wait right there. and when seconds turned to minutes, and minutes turned to hours, Atlas realized he was never coming back.
He stayed stubborn, even when dawn swapped to sunshine, and when the other gladers gave him pity looks. even when Newt came by and tried to get him to move. Even when Atlas just sat, and stared.
He may have been in denial. he didn't believe it. It felt like a whole of him broke off into tiny, little pieces. That last touch, that last look.
Was it painful? it might've been. He felt—like some sort of guilt. like it was his fault. because maybe if he had been more defiant...
but no matter how much he replayed it in his head, it didn't change the fact that he was gone. he was gone, and he wasn't coming back.
tomorrow,he won't be by Atlas's side to wake him up. Tomorrow, he won't be there to help him fall asleep. Tomorrow, he won't be there, he won't be there, and suddenly he was angry.
He stood up in a fit, startling nearby gladers. They watched as he took one last glare at The Box, and stalked off towards the deadheads.
he was there, watching the day go by slowly, no one really doing anything. everyone aimlessly walking. he was there, as the sun went down, and everyone retreated to their hammocks. he was there, when a group of gladers gathered torches and milled over to the Wall Of Names.
He was there, when they crossed out Nicks name with a thin, white line.
and suddenly, he was taken back to the second night he was there. When Nick had taken his smaller hand into his. Lead him to the wall, and watched as he carved his own name into the stone.
And then he wondered how long he might last? Would he die tomorrow? or would he live to see the 90's. Who would survive with him? Is the world outside even worth surviving?
Truly, he didn't know. The weight of these last few weeks weighed on him, and for the first time since he got here, he felt hopeless, scared. Sad. More than sad, depressed, maybe.
He didn't realize tears were falling until he felt a puddle begin to form, feeling it dry across his neck. he felt angry, sad, scared.
Alby was officially declared First In Command, despite no one being happy about it. There was a blanket of tension floating on top of the glade, and in the center of it, Atlas.
He fell into a fitful sleep in broad daylight.
when he awoke, it was dawn. the sun has gone down and there were no gladers around.
He stood from his area, cringing as his bones popped, and then suddenly there was a scuttling noise, and his head snapped behind him.
for behind him, was an abnormally large beetle. with glowing red eyes, and 6 legs, 3 on each side. it was watching him, studying him, before it ran off. he frowned.
what was that?
he chose to ignore it and shake of the feeling, before setting out to find someone.
finally, he came across Newt, just as the walls were closing. He had a sullen look on his face, and he looked tired, older than normal.
"i'm sorry." Atlas said, despite not knowing what for. maybe it's because Newt knew him longer. Maybe because he was their leader.
he felt so out of place suddenly, and made to move away, but newt caught his arm.
"you have nothing to be apologize for. Nick loved you." Newt said.
And that, that hurt more than anything.
i couldn't find any gif of froy that wasn't "3mb or above 🥺🥺🥺🥺"
