-Close Up the Windows-

-I teared up while writing this one-shot and almost didn't finish it. But I feel like this is what should've happened, so here it is. Let me know what you think :)

Title inspired by: Time to Say Goodbye, acoustic cover by Hope-

Standing there, on the crumbled pavement, in the harsh sunlight, Minho wanted to die. He stood with the sinking sun at his back, staining the sky brilliant orange-and-red. It streaked above his head and painted the clouds in blood. He stood with scuffs on his boots, rips in his jeans, and dust on his black T-shirt; marks of war from a pointless fight. He stood with a gun in his waistband and a crumpled piece of paper in his right hand.

He stood there, seemingly fearless, and he wanted to die.

But, perhaps, not as much as the boy across from him. Newt was beautiful, with the sun turning his hair to molten gold. His white shirt was ominously marked in places, as was his scratched skin. But his eyes were the same, striking dark blue they'd always been. It was the same Newt.

Minho kept telling himself that, over and over again. He hoped he could convince Newt to believe him.

They faced each other silently, for several more moments. The dull roar of the van was already fading, having dropped Minho off before taking Thomas to his own fate. The crazed voices of the Cranks were nearly gone too; the pack that had been ravaging something on the road earlier seemed to have run off. It was just them.

It had always been just them.

Finally, Minho spoke. "I found your note." He didn't bother to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Newt dropped his eyes briefly. "Good," was all he said.

Minho felt a flash of pain and anger at the same time, like a knife in his heart. "'Good,'" he repeated mockingly. "Well, I'm glad to hear you think a suicide note is 'good.'"

Blue eyes glared into Minho's dark ones then with a blackness that caught him off-guard. "It's not like that," Newt replied icily.

"What's it like then, huh?" Minho asked. "I'd love to know."

"You wouldn't understand."

"No, you just think I wouldn't."

"Minho. I didn't mean that note to sound the way it—"

"Oh, you didn't!" Minho exclaimed in mock surprise. He threw his hands up, the paper still clenched in one fist. "Okay, then, my bad! Guess I should've asked you what you wanted it to sound like then!"

Newt flinched at Minho's harsh tone. "Minho..."

"No, no, let me help you understand this then," Minho went on. "Let me read it to you."

"Please don't," Newt tried. But Minho was already smoothing out the note in his grasp.

"'Dear Minho,'" he began grandly, "'Kill me. If you've ever loved me, kill me. From, Newt.'" He let his hands flop to his sides afterward, fixing Newt with a cold look. "What a shucking heartwarming letter THAT was."

Turning away from Minho briefly, Newt raked his hand through his hair in jerky motions. There was distress written across his features and in the way he paced slightly. Minho felt horribly satisfied. Let Newt be upset. He deserved it for this joke. Raising his gaze to Minho again, Newt sighed. "I didn't mean to hurt you," he said flatly.

"Really?" Minho asked, oozing sarcasm. "Because this—" He held up the note. "—is all I got. Is that what you really thought I deserved? A two-sentence-long note that says to KILL you? Shuck it, Newt!" He threw the paper violently to the ground and shot Newt a smoldering glare. "I do not deserve that! Not from you!"

"Stop yelling at me," Newt warned.

"Do you actually think I'm going to murder you? After—after everything?"

"I said, don't yell at me."

"Or what?" Minho challenged, lifting his chin. "You'll go all Crank on me?"

Shocked hurt flickered in Newt's face, and for a second, Minho felt a twinge of guilt. Then Newt's expression darkened and he took one step toward Minho. "You don't know what I'll do," he replied. "I don't even know what I'll do. That's why I wrote that note."

"Please," Minho scoffed.

"You don't believe me?"

"I don't believe that you'll actually hurt me." Rubbing the back of his neck, Minho managed a tiny, wry smirk. "You're Newt. Even if you did lose your shucking brain, you wouldn't—"

"Listen to me, Minho!" Newt shouted suddenly, cutting him off. His hands were curled into fists at his sides now. "I have the Flare, okay? I have no idea what I'm capable of!"

Taken aback, Minho blinked. "Well, apparently," he replied slowly, angrily, "you're capable of writing ridiculous, shucked-up notes to me. So I guess the Flare didn't reach all your mind yet, did it?"

"Dammit, will you just shut up?!" Suddenly, Newt was striding forward in hurried, hard steps and the scorching rage in his face scared even Minho. At first, he took a step back. But when Newt kept coming, too close, Minho's hand instinctively went for the gun at his belt. Newt halted jerkily nose-to-nose with Minho and Minho forced himself not to flinch; his fingers rested on the gun, ready to pull it out in an instant.

Newt's eyes burned into Minho's, tainted with sickness. "Go on," he growled. "Do it." He waved a hand at the gun Minho barely held.

For the first time since finding Newt, real fear began to replace Minho's anger. "No," he answered, with a layer of steel in his words.

"I said, do it," Newt repeated. "Stop being such a shucking coward, and do it!"

"You can't make me," Minho returned, thrusting his face close to Newt's. Their noses nearly brushed. "I won't do it, and you know I won't."

"Damn you, Minho! You're too bloody selfish!" Newt shoved Minho's shoulders, but the taller boy only staggered. "Can't you see I want this?! I can't believe you, you shuck-faced—" His insults started to falter as he shoved Minho again. Minho took it, stone-faced. He ordered himself to not let it get to him, because it didn't matter. This wasn't Newt. This was the Flare. Soon he'd see sense, and they'd go back together, the way they always had. Right?

"Newt," he said, trying to call back the blonde's attention. "Listen."

"No, I won't listen!" Newt planted his hands on Minho's shoulders and pushed him again. "You have to do this for me! You promised to do anything for me! You bloody PROMISED!" He shoved Minho hard again, but this time, Minho caught him by the wrists. Newt snarled. "Let go of me! I mean it, right now! Let GO!" Minho watched the display with growing darkness in his heart. It felt like a hole was yawning open inside of him. "What's wrong with you!? Just shoot me already!"

"Why did you give me that note?" Minho demanded. The force in his voice made Newt pause his struggling. Breathing raggedly, Minho searched the blonde's expression for any trace of Newt. "Why me?"

Newt swallowed. "Because you can do it."

Minho shook his head. "No. Newt, I can't," he replied quietly. "I'll never be able to."

"I know you will."

"This was a mistake."

"Do you love me?" The question was sudden. There was a tremor gathering in Newt's voice.

Minho studied the boy he'd known his whole life. They'd been Runners together, fought through the Scorch, and seen unspeakable horrors. It had always been Newt-and-Minho. His grip on Newt's wrists loosened. "Yes," he confessed weakly. "Angel, of course I love you. How could I ever stop?"

Newt nodded once. "Then do this for me," he pleaded, cradling Minho's jaw. "Just this. That's all I ask for."

Minho's throat was full of cotton, making it hard to breathe. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "But, you know I can't."

"You said you'd do anything." Newt's eyes were open and his heart was breaking in them.

"I know." Minho gritted his teeth, swallowed, and placed a kiss on Newt's forehead. "But not this. Never this. Please, Newt." He rested their foreheads together, closing his eyes. "Come back with me. I can protect you. We're so close to a cure. I can save you, I swear, and no one will ever hurt you again. Just come with me."

Newt smiled sadly. "You don't know you can save me," he whispered. "And there may not be a cure for a long time. This is it for me, Min." He shut his eyes tight, agony etching itself into him. "I can feel it, in my brain," he rasped. "It hurts. I just want it to stop. I don't wanna hurt anymore."

A burning began behind Minho's eyes. He stroked his thumbs over the place where Newt's pulse beat in his wrists. Then his hands slimmed down the blonde's arms, memorizing the feel of his skin. "Give me a chance." Reaching down, Minho tugged the gun out of his waistband. He held it up, muzzle between them. "This can't be what you want, Newt," he said, using the gun for emphasis. "Nobody wants this."

"I'd rather die than become one of them," Newt replied. The sorrow brimming in him was visible and it made Minho ache inside. Newt was losing himself. "Please. Just do this for me. I'm begging you." His hands knotted in the front of Minho's shirt as he leaned up on tiptoe. Minho made a weak sound as Newt touched their lips together. It was a small, soft kiss that spoke of countless other kisses before it. Eyelids falling closed, Minho's hold on Newt's arm slackened. Without pulling entirely away, Newt whispered, "please, Minho. Please." He touched Minho's arm, making him flinch involuntarily.

They both heard the gunshot, loud as a cannon blast in the empty world. In horror, Minho realized he'd accidentally pulled the trigger. He dropped the gun and cupped Newt's cheeks, seeing the way Newt's eyes widened. "Newt, are you okay? Newt?"

Newt didn't answer. Slowly, they both looked down at the pool of scarlet spreading across Newt's shirt at his stomach. Minho's heart plummeted out of him and onto the ground. A small choked sound came from Newt and his hands wandered aimlessly toward the wound. "M—Minho?"

"Oh, God, Newt, wait—" Minho caught the blonde as he stumbled. He was shaking so hard, he barely held Newt up. "Stand up," he ordered, panic burning in his veins like white-hot fire. Newt whined and his knees buckled. "Stand up, please. Sweetheart, look at me, stand up."

"C...can't..." Newt sank lower and Minho followed him down; on his knees, he drew Newt into his lap, holding him the way a mother might hold a child.

"No, no, stop." Minho pressed his palm over the injury to stop the bleeding, but it was no use. Blood welled between his fingers and soaked Newt's shirt. Tears pricked Minho's eyes. "Shuck it, stop bleeding!" he snapped, as though it would help.

"Min...it's okay," Newt croaked.

"Don't say that." Minho clenched his jaw, looked around desperately. The van was long gone. There was no one around for miles. Terror unlike any he'd ever known froze him there.

Reaching feebly, Newt laid his hand over Minho's on his stomach. "It's really okay," he whispered. "I want this...I do...Just let me..."

"No," Minho pleaded. "Please, don't leave me. I'm sorry, love, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. You don't have to die."

"I don't have a choice." Newt winced. "It's gonna be all right."

"No, it won't!" Minho blurted out. Tears raced down his cheeks as he stroked his hand over Newt's ruffled blonde hair. "I can't live without you, I need you. Please, stay with me."

Newt's eyes glistened. When he breathed, his throat rattled. "I have to...go," he rasped, fingers shaking violently and crimson falling from him to the ground. But there was calm in his eyes. It was the kind of calm that stayed after storms were over.

Minho shook his head. "Don't go," he begged. "Please, please, Newt. What'll I do without you?"

"Minho..."

"I can't—I can't lose you now. Just stay."

"Min."

"What?"

Newt looked up at him and his gaze softened. "I love you," he whispered very weakly.

Minho sobbed, bowing his head to bury his face in Newt's chest. He let himself cry, because what did it matter anymore? His light, the only spark in his world, was dying. He clung to Newt tighter. "I love you, too," he whimpered, muffled in Newt's shirt. "I love you more than anything. You can't leave me. I'll die."

"You'll be...okay." Newt's voice was growing fainter, overcome with a crackling sound of blood in his throat. His body moved on its own, curling in on itself briefly as it began to shut down. "I know...you will...You were always...stronger...than me..."

"I won't be strong without you," Minho whispered hoarsely.

Newt closed his eyes. "You will...you will..." His hand tightened on Minho's over his stomach, as his breathing grew harsher.

Minho wanted to scream and cry and kill something, anything. But all he could do was hold Newt and feel his labored heartbeat in his chest. Shifting, he rocked back and forth slowly with Newt, and softly smoothed the hair off of Newt's face. "Someday, we'll be together again," he murmured chokingly. "I promise. Wait for me, angel. Just wait for me." He bent and pressed a lingering kiss to Newt's forehead. He heard the long sigh that drifted out of the blonde and he knew it was the last breath he'd ever held. Beneath his hand, Newt's heartbeat stopped.

Minho then understood why Newt had tried to kill himself so long ago. Minho nearly shot himself then, just to escape this new agony: he was alone. There was no more Newt-and-Minho. There was only half of what had been Minho's whole life. He was incomplete.

When the van doubled back to pick him up, Thomas found Minho kneeling on the street, holding a broken angel in his arms.

-X-X-X-

"Close inside of me the light you see, that you met in darkness." –Time to Say Goodbye