I could've saved you| tmr

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The body looked awful, blood covered almost every inch. Alby had ordered that some of the youngest would leave so they wouldn't have to see the person everyone loved so hurt. Minho was crying. Minho. He was stroking the hair away from the face.  "This is all my fault," he muttered, mostly to himself and not wanting a response. 

"Did a Griever get him?" Someone asked. Minho wanted to laugh, because that would've been so much better. He could've hated those things with a burning passion if they had killed him.

"No."

"Min..." Newt looked so broken. Oh God, Newt, I'm so sorry. Minho shook his head from the traumatizing image.

He couldn't speak, so he simply lifted his-- because, Oh shuck, he can't even bring himself to say his name-- wrist, and Newt knew. At least, it seemed that way.

***

Frypan silently cried in his kitchen with his back to the wall, he should've known; Thomas didn't eat much. He always thought nothing of it. If he had paid more attention, he might have... been able to help him? He doesn't know anything anymore. The world feels so wrong. Everything feels so wrong and he feels like nothing could light the world up with the same warm fire Thomas carried in his heart. That fire died out, not only because Thomas did, but because everyone saw that they hadn't realised Thomas was missing soon enough. It made no sense as to why the brunet would kill himself,  he seemed happy enough. Maybe it was all an act and they were too dumb to notice it. 

Maybe Thomas was a good actor. What Frypan doesn't understand is how  the boy could hate himself without anyone telling him diffrently, because they should've noticed. The Cook wipes his tears away. It was unfair, Thomas deserved to live, he deserved to be happy. He was the life in the Glade, even if he was a Runner and not always in the Glade, he was the life. Every bonfire, dinner, breakfast  and so many other things too was turned into a delight by him, and only him.

Frypan may not remember his life before, but he's sure that it was dull in comparison with the happy moments he shares with Thomas. He sighed and slid down the wall so he was seated.

It was so-- so-- unfair. He should've-- he chokes on his own irregular breath, he should've seen the signs. Should've done something. The signs were so obvious if he thought about it. How Thomas always knew how to coax them out of a panic attack, how he knew when someone felt unwanted, how he knew how to show someone love, how to clean a cut-- wait. Oh God, no... Thomas....

"Newt!" Frypan gasped out, hoping the boy could help him with processing this possibility and coax him out of his panic attack like Thomas would've known and done. Thomas would've been sitting there, trying to coax him out with a gentle smile. It stung as Frypan remembers how Thomas had different techniques for everyone. With one look he could tell them all what to do. He-- He was their real leader. Their True Leader. Because oh.. how Frypan despises everyone including himself for not noticing the things, Thomas would have in a second or less.

Tear kept streaming down his cheeks as it felt impossible to move on from the sudden death. Maybe it was impossible. He chokes on his breath again and closes his eyes. 

***

Minho cried as Newt held him in the shack. He tried to take an even enough breath to muster words. Eventually he succeeded, "N-Newt..." The said boy shushed him but Minho had to tell him.

"Can... Can we cl-- clean that blood off?" He felt Newt nod. 

They moved to the body and each grabbed a wet rag. Minho took a deep breath and tried to dry his tears, he slowly brought the rag to the face of his once best friend. Minho winced once those thoughts popped into his head, some best friend I am...