The Withered Flower That Bloomed In Autumn
CHAPTER 2 | Silence
TMR x Seon (OC) fanfiction / FTM ⚧︎ / 2,586 word count
WARNINGS: slight mention of SH and SA /!\
Time hangs heavy in her hands — it was unbearable.
What they called the ‘pit’, was just like another kind of cage: a cramped space dug underground, surrounded by rock walls, barriers made of thick wooden stakes, and a miserable pile of stones they called a bench.
She spent the last half hour thinking since they had thrown her into the Slammer. For the first time, she had space to think properly, her mind overflowing with knowledge but mostly questions.
Questions about this place, about these people, about those six words that kept repeating, and about herself.
But she could not go beyond her existing knowledge to answer any of them — and she desperately needed to.
She walked in circles, pacing the room, rocking repetitively like an animal in the throes of zoochosis. She had to get out of here before something uncontrollable overwhelmed her.
Terrifying thoughts flashed through her mind sending shivers down her spine. What if I’m trapped here ? Why did they lock me up ? What happens if they find out I’m a girl ?
Oh what would they do if they learned about her ?
She swallowed hard, only tightening her dry throat. She felt her chest rise and fall faster, sharper. The nauseating sensation returned, her hands trembling at the repulsive thought creeping in.
What is happening to me ? Why would you even think that ?
Her fingers reached her forearm, scratching lightly at first to distract herself from her thoughts, trying to bleed all frustration and fear out of her chest.
Gradually, her nails dug deeper, scraping harder — until only the sound of her skin dragging beneath her fingers remained.
She imagined those same boys, twice her size, their large hands gripping her arms, roaming her body, pinning her down like they had moments ago — holding her still, immobilized, taking advantage of her. Use her. Her body. They would destroy her. They would–
The familiar voice snapped through her thoughts.
She flinched at the unexpected call, her gaze flying up to the boy standing above the pit. It was the same dark-skinned boy who had ordered her thrown in there.
She stared at him, disoriented, waiting for instructions — anything. Instead, he simply looked at her.
Her mind felt hazy, unfocused, scanning his face like a cat trying to catch a laser. Then she noticed it.
His gaze was fixed on her arm.
She followed it down, breath hitching. Red scratches stood out against her skin, small beads of crimson welling at the surface. She yanked her sleeve down immediately, avoiding his eyes as she shifted her weight from side to side.
His gaze lingered on her arm longer than she expected, before settling again on her face — calm, unreadable, so steady it made her stomach churn.
He was silent for a moment, as if weighing something. Then he tilted his head toward the exit of the pit. Without a word, he opened the door and stepped back, giving her enough space to come out.
She climbed out without hesitation, stumbling on a loose stone and nearly colliding with him.
Relief barely had time to settle before her shoulders stiffened — she had brushed against him, heat radiated from his imposing body, solid and immovable.
She recoiled instantly, lips parting to apologize — but absolutely nothing came out. Her throat locked completely. Everything in this place felt like a threat, simply because she didn’t know anything about this place.
He looked down at her, expression flat. One thing, however, was clear behind that gaze. Indifference — and something colder beneath it. A certain contempt. It wasn’t condescending, but something about his attitude displeased her.
“Had enough time to cool off ?” he asked.
He crossed his arms, flexing his bulging biceps. He looked as if he could rip his shirt with a single movement. Without waiting for an answer, he continued immediately.
“You run again, we throw you straight back in the Slammer. Or worse. You hear me ?”
How could it be worse than getting completely dominated by teenage boys.
Her stomach twisted at the word. This was not just a warning — it was law. Disobeying would be a foolish move, especially not knowing what these boys are capable of.
“Do you understand ?” he pressed, impatience creeping into his voice.
She nodded quickly, twice, her head low while her eyes stayed glued to him.
He introduced himself as Alby — leader of this place they called the Glade. They referred to all the inhabitants as Gladers.
As they walked across the field, he gestured around, naming places, explaining the function of them as if reciting a routine; The Homestead, the Blood House, the Kitchen, the Deadheads and so on.
She was surprised by how well organized everything was. It felt like a functioning society. Too functional. She wondered how long they had been here, how long it had taken them to build all of this. It was impressive.
But before she could ask anything, he said something that made her mind reel.
He explained that what she had experienced was normal — that they all came from the Box, that a new Greenie arrived every month — that it happened to all of them — that confusion was a perfectly normal feeling.
How could any of this be normal ?
She tried to follow up what the boy was saying but the flood of information drowned her. New words every few minutes. Rules. Systems. Names. She could barely hold onto any of it — making it impossible for her to make heads or tails of anything.
“Do you remember anything ?” Alby asked suddenly.
She was startled. She tried — really tried — gathering any memories she could possibly think of, frowning harder as if that might help her recall anything that had happened before coming to the box.
She felt a wave of grief wash over her, longing for a past life she no longer remembered. Her lip trembled as she stopped in her tracks. Alby, who had been walking in front of her, turned twice before stopping as well.
“I– I’m not sure.” Her voice came out softer and deeper than she had expected.
She swallowed hard, attempting to speak again “I don’t know. I remember things, I know things, but I don’t know how I can remember them.”
The silence stretched on, and Alby only studied her in silence, intently and impassive. Something like curiosity flickered behind his eyes — brief, measured.
“Fair enough.” He nodded once.
She sighed as she turned away — and her gaze caught on the massive stone walls beyond him. His eyes followed and came to rest on the high walls that rose before him.
Her eyes darkened as she stared at the space between the doors through which she had previously tried to escape, losing herself in that darkness.
She took a sharp breath, as if wanting to say something, but another warning from Alby cut her off instantly, only increasing her frustration.
“Listen, we only have three rules. First, pull your weight.”
She barely heard him — her eyes flickered between the walls and him, unable to fully tear her gaze from those intimidating stones.
“Second, never harm another Glader.” he said, looking in a specific direction. “None of this works if we don’t have trust.”
In the distance, the boy she had kicked in the face passed by, cloth pressed to his nose. He shot her a glare, his gaze lingered long before moving on.
She frowned, cringing at how ridiculous she must’ve looked, facing her back to the boy. Suddenly, Alby shifted closer, fully blocking her view of the walls.
“And most importantly. Never, ever, go beyond those walls. You get me Greenie ?”
She nodded again, though resentment burned in her chest. His presence pressed down on her, making questions feel dangerous.
She really disliked his attitude.
She attempted to speak, only to get cut off, again — this time by someone else. Someone she hadn’t seen in the crowd when she first arrived.
“Everything alright, Alby ?”
She turned her head so sharply towards the unexpected voice that the approaching boy startled. A faint smile tugged at his lips — not mocking. Curious.
Her eyes widened only slightly, her surprise barely perceptible. He was the first person in this place to ever look at her with what was close to the definition of kindness.
“Greenie, meet Newt. When I’m not around, he’s in charge.”
He was a tall blond boy. His honey toned bangs swayed casually in the light breeze. His eyes reflected an earthy hazelnut brown with delicate freckles dotted across his cheeks. His smile soft but restrained — like someone who did not give it freely.
“Is this the one who ran into Minho ?”
She instantly etched his name into a corner of her memory. She would spell it out again and again until it became familiar under her tongue. She wanted to know more about this boy.
She had to know more about this boy.
And just as she was about to speak again, something warm trickled down her forehead. She absentmindedly wiped it away, only to hiss as an electric pain flared across her temple.
The scarlet color of the water stained on her fingers. Her mind was tormented by countless unanswered questions that she had completely forgotten about the pain.
Alby sighed then turned to the younger boy, gesturing in a direction with his chin to which he replied with a simple nod.
“See you at the bonfire.” He glanced at her briefly, then patted Newt on the shoulder, already turning away. “Patch him up.”
“M’kay,” Newt said gently, “Come on Newbie. Let’s get you sorted.” He pointed to his own temple as he already made his way.
Suddenly, a low rumble echoed in the distance — so loud and powerful it shook the ground. Unrealistic.
She jerked her head towards the entrance of the Glade, her pupils dilated until her eyes looked like two black buttons.
The walls. They are moving !
The doors were slowly moving towards the center, finally closing firmly before leaving a long echo in the air. She froze, completely taken aback, amazed by the incredibly high walls.
She couldn’t help but stare at them, wondering how such a massive object could possibly be moving. Who could’ve built such a place ?
Newt called to her, catching her attention. He was already waiting a little ahead near the hut’s entrance, chinning up towards the door before walking inside without waiting for her.
She casted one last glance at those hypnotizing walls, then hurriedly followed him inside.
The boy stiffened, standing from his position quickly with a grunt, springing to his feet off the cot — stains littered everywhere as he cleaned the area with a blood-soaked towel. The sight made her frantic, oblivious to the context.
“What is it Newt ? Do you need something ?” Jeff’s gaze inexplicably fell to the ground
“No, not me. Him.” He jerked his head toward her, his arms crossed.
When his eyes fell on her, he let out a sigh of acquiescence and gestured for her to sit on the other cot in the corner of the room. She sat down, waiting for Jeff to fetch a first aid kit along with other supplies.
She scanned the hut carefully, trying to focus on something else than the bloodstained bed in front of her. It was difficult, the smell of blood still fresh. The scene must’ve been terrible for whoever had lain there — she only hoped they weren’t dead.
A few seconds later, Jeff came back with the supplies. The boy sat down beside her as he tried to treat her wound — which was an impossible task.
She kept her arms crossed over her chest squeezing them even tighter each time the boy got closer. Five minutes would’ve been enough if she had stayed still, flinching at the slightest movement coming from the medjack, despite his best efforts to be as careful and gentle with her.
They all knew it would take some time just to treat her.
As soon as he raised his hands again to reach her, she snapped her neck to the side in reflex. Jeff groaned backwards, letting his arms fall to his sides.
“I can’t do this if he keeps doing that.” He turned to Newt, his voice thick with frustration. He wasn’t even addressing her, as if she were a wild animal.
After all, she was constantly looking around like a lost cat in an alley. Newt had observed everything, leaned against the wall. He snorted softly, amused by her reactions but also with a look of understanding.
“Easy, Greenie. We’re only here to help.”
These words, meant to reassure her, coming from the pretty boy, seemingly the gentlest of them all, didn’t convince her.
“Trust goes both ways; if you can’t trust us, how can you expect us to trust you ?”
That finally brought some glimmer of clarity. Despite the fact that they had literally thrown her into a prison without giving her the slightest explanation, they still had at least shown a certain amount of patience with her. Somehow, his words sounded more convincing than Alby’s.
She got reminded, in particular, of the second rule the older boy had told her — none of this works if there isn’t trust.
After a long moment of exchanging glances and contemplation, she broke eye contact, her shoulders finally relaxed, and then turned timidly towards Jeff.
He looked at Newt as if waiting for approval and, once he nodded, he turned back to her — this time, with extreme caution, placing his hand on her hair, lifting her fringe to better examine her injury.
Although she still kept her arms crossed and flinched occasionally, she was now letting them do as they pleased — like a wild cat that, at last, trusted the food a stranger had left for it.
While Jeff was treating her, Newt watched them from a distance, growling softly and squirming in discomfort, shifting his weight from time to time, still leaning against the wall.
Out of curiosity, she glanced at the boy, trying to understand what was wrong. Her gaze first fell on the grimace on his face, then slowly slid down to his veiny forearms, moving lower, trying to unravel the mystery of his reaction.
It was then that her eyes landed on his left leg wrapped in thick bandages, pants rolled up to his knee. Injured.
But she didn’t pay too much attention, quickly looking away while clicking her tongue as Jeff stitched her wound. It was none of her business to dig into what lay hidden behind that leg. She tried to suppress her curiosity.
Because, deep down, everybody probably has a little secret they prefer to keep to themselves. Just like Alby, who won’t give any details about this place. He doesn’t say openly or word for word, but by silencing her indirectly, by making her understand that she must stifle that curiosity.
Just like the secret she’s hiding from everybody, even from herself. Sometimes it’s better not to know.
And perhaps, it’s the only way to truly survive.
a short sneak peek of her bonfire moment waiting next ;)
