Eighty-seven’s heart was racing. It had been hours and the ivy hadn’t disappeared yet, she couldn’t see anything and she had yet to come across an obstacle. She stood at yet another crossroads, looking in both directions multiple times. For the first time, however, she looked behind her. Eighty-seven gnawed on her lip, eyes frantic and mind looping different options together and pulling other possibilities apart. She could turn left, who knows what was down that path. She could turn right and get much the same result. Choosing between left and right had gotten her here, confused and feeling like she’d been walking in circles for hours. Or, Eighty-seven could turn back and follow the path she’d come from. She could distinctly recall every twist and turn, having mulled over every decision for five minutes or more, each.

                The rule of not turning back, only proceeding forward was flashing in blaring red letters in her mind. Eighty-seven also considered that she’d already broken one rule, what was the point of following the others. Her hand tingled at the thought and she looked down at her palm. She noticed something swirling there, the same pink hue as the light in the middle path. Eighty-seven blinked and blinked and started at her own hand and blinked. She thought of Eigthy-eight, wondering if his hand had the same ball of pink light glowing just under his skin. She thought of the contact they’d made; simple, but it had been in the back of her mind since they parted – coming second only to her desperation to just leave this maze.

                Eighty-seven looked up at the ivy-covered walls. There was no end in sight to them, they towered over her and completely overpowered every sense she had. She glanced to the left, trying to see as far ahead as she could and did the same with the right side, but neither path looked as promising as the one behind her. At least if she turned around, she could make it back to the courtyard where she could drink and feel safe, once more.

                Eighty-seven, with very slight reluctance turned around and let out a long breath, standing firm and taking one step down the path she’d already explored. She was moving backwards.

                Eighty-eight had turned back after twenty minutes of walking in circles and, since then, he’d been fighting his way through the ivy. He felt the glow on his palm before he saw it; a warm, tingling sensation like what he’d felt when he took Eighty-seven’s hand. Looking down at it now, it was the only thing urging him to keep fighting. The ivy had untangled itself from the glass walls, thorns extending and poking into his skin as the twisting vines wrapped around his legs and his arms. Eighty-eight yanked at them with all his strength, pulled himself and grunted his way through the menacing vines. They seemed to coil as soon as the glowing circle under his skin touched them, retreating back to the glass walls with a small shriek. Eighty-eight had been pressing his palm to the ivy since. He could see the arch, perhaps twelve feet in front of him when he heard a loud, horrendous scream. Immediately, Eighty-eight released a vine and stood as straight as a board, eyes wide in shock, “Eighty-seven.”

                The screams came a second, third and fourth time and Eighty-eight was off in a sprint. He was moving as quickly his feet could take him, back to ripping through the ivy desperate to take hold of him and jumping swiftly out of its path. He was out in the courtyard in seconds, glancing hastily in both directions before he turned and headed down the path Eighty-seven had taken earlier. He was shouting for her, calling out, “Eighty-seven! Eighty-seven!”

                She could barely hear him, she could barely think to hear him. But, Eighty-seven knew that Eighty-eight was calling out to her. The ivy, however, was her top concern. It had twisted itself around her waist, her legs, her arms and . She was struggling against it’s hold, her vision going in and out as she tugged on the vines. She heard his voice once more, Eighty-eight calling out to her from somewhere near. She tried her best to shout, “The ivy!”

                And, she could heard him instruct her, “Your hand! Use your hand! The glow, Eighty-seven! Use it!”

                How could he have possibly known her hand was glowing? She looked down at her uncovered hand, watching the pink glow swirl in her palm before she slowly placed in on the vine strangling her. In seconds, it retracted and hissed, finding its place back on the wall. Eighty-seven was panting, heavily, holding and feeling the embroidered “87” on her collar. She touched her palm to the ivy around her waist and watched as it slithered away from her, then she proceed to do the same to the other vines until she saw him round the corner. Eighty-eight was in her path, standing in front of her with scratches covering his face and his hair a mess. She could see tears in his once perfectly clean white outfit and guessed she looked the same. He was quickly at her side, pressing his own glowing palm to the ivy and pulling her away from it – she tried not to react too obviously when his glowing hand met her and dragged her behind him, “Come on, Eighty-seven. You’re almost out.”

                Eighty-seven let Eighty-eight pull her out of the maze and into the courtyard once more. She looked around the space, noting that it was much darker now. It must not have just been the ivy casting shadows, the whole maze was dark and eerie. She looked up where the once blaring white lights shown and saw twinkling, like the night sky. Eighty-seven couldn’t fully understand, but she knew it was fake. She knew this whole maze was artificial – save for the rustling trees, the fresh grass and the running water. Not for the first time, she reminded herself that the courtyard was safe.

                And, looking at their still connected hands, Eighty-seven reminded herself that Eighty-eight was safe. Still, she was so much more than curious about their predicament, “Why did they want us to avoid each other.”

                Eighty-eight was breathing heavily, staring at the ground with one hand braced on his knee and the other holding onto hers, “Compassion.” He said, standing himself up and turning to look directly at her, “This is compassion. Me helping you is compassion.”

                She was quiet for a moment. Eighty-seven just looked upon Eighty-eight and let herself breathe, take him in, breathe, take him in. She cleared , quietly and whispered, “Thank you.”

                Her eyes spotted a cut on his cheek, dripping blood onto the white fabric of his clothing. He was mostly covered in dirt and cuts and she knew they must have stung, as hers did. So, Eighty-seven led Eighty-eight towards the fountain with a gentle tug and sat him down on the edge. Her fingers wrapped around a hanging piece of her pant leg, giving it a tug until it tore away and she could dip it in the water. Eighty-eight had his eyes on her the whole time, watching as she submerged the cloth, rung it out then pressed the cool fabric to his face. Eighty-seven brushed gently over his features; the smooth skin of his forehead, his sharp cheekbones and down across his jawline. She slid the fabric along the bridge of his nose and wiped the blood from his plump lips, taking in every last detail of his face and letting herself enjoy how he looked at her.

                She pulled her hand away and mumbled, like it had just come to her, “Affection.”

                “What?”

                “I feel safe here. I feel safe with you.” She dipped the cloth once more, but Eighty-eight took it from her hands and pressed it to her own injuries, being sure to keep his touches gentle around the bruises and cuts on , “I think that’s affection.”

                “What about intimacy and attachment?” He laughed.

                Eighty-seven couldn’t think of why she wanted to, but she couldn’t stop herself from reaching out and brushing her thumb across Eighty-eight’s bottom lip. Every time her skin came into contact with his, her hand would glow brighter. It instilled a feeling of warmth to the very center of her being and she wanted to keep that feeling alive. She thought about if more than just her fingertips touched his skin, if her could press her lips to his cheek, his jaw, his lips. Her mind was formulating all these possibilities from nothing, pulling her down in waves of confusion; a dangerous undertow. Eighty-seven sighed, dropping her hand. As much as she enjoyed the warmth, as comfortable as she felt, she needed to stop herself.

                She had to stop breaking the rules.

                Eighty-eight placed the soaking fabric on the edge of the fountain behind him and looked at Eighty-seven. He liked the curve of her lips, the way her almond shaped eyes always seemed so wide and shocked by everything. He didn’t know if he looked like that, as well – he was certainly shocked by most of the things he’d experienced today - but it seemed so natural on her. His hand was glowing brighter, as was hers, and he couldn’t help himself but to look at them, pulling hers into his lap and comparing the two. She had much smaller hands than he did; hands that fit almost perfectly in his own.

                “When did you notice the glowing?” Eighty-seven’s voice was soft and quiet; like she was telling him a secret even though they were the only two around. He shrugged his shoulders, “What should we do?”

                “We?”

                “You came back for me.”

                He nodded. It was true. From the moment she turned away from him, Eighty-eight was thinking about following her. If it hadn’t been for the sound of The Voice echoing in his own mind, he would have taken off down her path from the beginning. Eighty-eight told her, “I couldn’t let you die.”

                At that, Eighty-seven smiled, using her free hand to lift his chin so she could study him once more, “You don’t seem all that bad.”

                “You were curious, weren’t you?” Eighty-eight questioned, “You wanted to know why we weren’t supposed to touch each other just as much as I did.”

                After a moment, Eighty-seven nodded her head. She gave a pointed stare down at their hands on his lap, where his two hands were fiddling mindlessly with her own, “I think we figured out what happens.”

                He only glanced down for a minute, too concentrated on her face to think of anything else. Eighty-eight swallowed and his lips, “I want to try something else.”

                Eighty-seven blinked up at him, looking at him with that wide-eyed look he’d seen so frequently in such a short amount of time, “What do you want to try.”

                “This.”

                Eighty-eight took her face in his hands, the glowing in his palm warm against her cheek. She found her hands wrapping around his wrists, not in an attempt to stop him, but as a confirmation. Eighty-eight leaned forward, slowly, waiting for her to protest, or tell her he was doing something wrong. He needed some sort of sign, if this was something she was against he would find a way to stop himself. But, Eighty-seven only watched him with a steady gaze as his lips got closer and closer to hers, as she felt his breath hitting her face. When their lips finally met, their eyes closed and they missed, completely, the flow from their hands burning brightly. Eighty-seven’s hands found their way to Eighty-eight’s hair. His hands dropped to her waist, thumbs circling on the skin exposed from the tears in her clothing. He pulled her closer, she let him adoring the feeling. Adoring. They couldn’t stop.

                They didn’t want to stop.

                Both felt another spark, like when they’d touched hands for the first time. This one was stronger, this one was settling in their chests and pulsating like the glow in their palms. This spark ignited a fire, and they were flames Eighty-seven and Eight-eight didn’t mind being immersed in.

                Eighty-seven pulled back first, looking up at Eighty-eight so she could tell him, “Intimacy. This is intimacy.”

                He smiled and tucked a strand of her previously slicked back hair behind her ear, “Intimacy.”

                Eighty-eight watched as she bit her lip and held back a giggle. He wished she wouldn’t, he was sure he’d like the sound very much. But, before he could think to tell her that, another wave of remembrance washed over the two of them. Eighty-eight’s eyes went wide, Eighty-seven’s followed. They gawked at each other slack-jawed before Eighty-seven dared to speak, “I think…”

                “We know each other.” Eighty-eight finished.              

They were halted, however, but the twinkling of the artificial stars changing – in a second – to flashing red lights and loud, high-pitched sirens. The pair looked up at the sky, covering their ears in a vain attempt to block out the shrill sounds, then quickly back to each other. Eighty-seven saw, just over Eighty-eight’s shoulder, the return of the glowing pink light in the centered arch. She lifted a shaking hand so he would take notice, as well. Eighty-eight immediately wrapped his fingers around her hand and pulled her with him to the entrance of the maze, “Come on.”

She paused, only for a moment, at the entrance and confessed, “I’m scared.”

He promised, lips pressed against hers, “I’m going to protect you.”

Compassion. Affection. Intimacy. He stepped into the maze first and the pair followed the pink hue around corners and deeper into the ivy-covered walls. The sirens still sounded, the red lights were still flashing, but Eighty-seven and Eighty-eight were in a full, panicked sprint moving through the maze. Neither one would let the other stop until they found themselves boxed in, once more. The glass frosted over and flashing before them were the words “LOVE” and “POWER.”

Together, they read them aloud.

Eighty-eight looked down at Eighty-seven while the walls dropped in front of them, revealing nothing but clean white walls. Quickly after, the flashing lights were replaced by the familiar, florescent glow from before and the wailing sirens silenced.  The room was completely quiet and vaster than either one of them imagined. They couldn’t decipher where the white tiled floor met the walls, nor where the high walls touched the ceiling; everything was just white and blank before them. They were the only things in contrast.

Eighty-seven didn’t look away from Eighty-eight, she was too scared to, and their hands never let go of each other. They merely stood in the center of the room, unmoving and horrified, breathing evening out after their hysterical dash. Doors slid open and several pairs of feet were stomping their way towards Eighty-seven and Eighty-eight; still, neither moved. She hardly blinked, keeping those almost shaped eyes open and wide to take every detail of him in. Eighty-eight did the same, until the sound of the stomping feet became too close for comfort and his head snapped to the right. Four hefty men were advancing towards them, dressed completely in burgundy and with scowls on their face.

For the final time, something clicked within Eighty-seven and Eighty-eight. In his head, he saw her smiling and dressed in a blue sundress. She was poking at his face, the two of them curled up on the sofa. Then he saw her across the table from him, twirling away at her noodles and animatedly telling him a story with those wide, almond shaped eyes. Eighty-eight could see Eighty-seven with her hair down and twirling about a dance floor while he followed her movements effortlessly and pulled her close to him.

Eighty-seven gasped, her own memories of Eighty-eight kissing her and touching her, holding her close to him while they walked through the park, came rushing back to her. She could feel the way he loved her, the way he cared for her and the way he looked at her with so much love in his eyes.

He heard her whisper his name – his real name – and his attention was immediately back on her. Eighty-seven repeated it, eyes slowly raising from the ground to look up at him. It was all coming back to them too quickly, he’d never seen his girlfriend so panicked – his girlfriend. She let out a shaky breath, “Jongin, what is happening?”

He shook his head, “I don’t know, baby.”

“I’m scared.”

                He promised her a second time, “I’m going to protect you.”

                But a moment later, he was torn away from her by two of the four men. The others had their arms wrapped around her arms, holding her away from him. The men started back towards the open doors, leading to two separate, darkened rooms. The two of them were fighting against the hold of the men in red; Jongin was trashing and she was kicking and screaming his name. He shook himself free at the same moment she did and they raced back to each other. She was in his arms, she felt safe again. He pulled back and held her face – the glow was gone from their hands, but it burned in her eyes.

                “We’ve been here before, haven’t we?” She started. Though it came out as a question, Jongin knew she was looking more for his confirmation or his denial. She was hoping that her memory was incorrect.

                He kissed her lips, “I love you. I will always love you. I won’t forget you, again. Promise me you won’t forget.”

            She was shaking with sobs, kissing him back just as desperately and holding onto him as long as she could. In a low voice, she made her promise to him, “I promise. I love you.”

            He kissed her again. Attachment, "You're mine. I am yours. Don't forget that."

NiShe could feel the arms of the men in burgundy wrapping around her waist and yanking her back from Jongin. They were being pulled into different rooms, still fighting as much as their bodies would allow. She was shrieking and screaming his name, he was shouting at the top of his lungs, “I won’t forget you again. I promise. I won’t forget. I won’t forget!”

            He could hear her scream for him, her voice strained when she said, “Jongin. I love you. I promise I won’t forget!”

            But, as the doors closed behind her and she was covered in darkness, once more, she could hear one of the men holding her laugh and say, “That’s what you both said, last time. You'd think they'd give up after three times.”

            She opened to speak. Everything went black.

Her eyes flew open and she must have blinked one thousand times before any moisture returned to them. Save for the single, crimson light shining above her, the room was shrouded in darkness. Her chest was rising and falling, the thought of breathing coming second to the screaming of her uncontrollable panic. Across from her, she could see a metallic wall and her faint reflection. White; she was dressed in all white, from head to toe, and her hair was pulled back and slicked down. Quickly, she took in every detail of her surroundings, a complete and thorough count of every visible object in the increasingly small room. The metallic walls – four of them. The red light above her – one. The stainless-steel chair she was strapped to – one. The black, leather straps holding her down – four. Again, she blinked; though this time only once. She couldn’t remember anything; not how she arrived here, nor what she was meant to be doing, not even her own name.

                There was a low rumble, similar to the sound of a generator being powered up. The straps around her slipped away and disappeared in the slate floor or the back of the chair. She stood, immediately. The collar of her white shirt felt suffocating, like it was choking her and, as she stepped closer to the cold metal wall, she could see the numbers stitched into the fabric. She whispered, “Eighty-seven.”

                “Number Eighty-Seven.” A voice echoed off the four walls, bouncing around until it reached her ears and pulled her away from her reflection. It was clean and crisp, the medium pitched, level voice of a woman, “You have been chosen.”