✓ BECAUSE WE WERE YOUNG | NIKI

22 - We Become We

"Do you really think he's here?" I ask Jake as we stop in front of a massive building emblazoned with a giant snowflake. Even from a distance, I can hear the muffled thump of music and the faint scraping of blades carving against ice. It's an ice rink, completely unexpected and a little out of place in the heart of the city. A nervous knot forms in my stomach.

"Yeah, he's always here," I watch as he looks down at his feet and sighs. "Do we really have to do this?" Jake finishes, his voice barely a whisper. The weight of unspoken apologies and lingering anger hangs heavy in the air. I spent the past two hours trying to convince him that confrontation wasn't the answer. Talking, sharing their grief, that was the path to healing. But the raw pain in Jake's eyes, the way his jaw clenches with every mention of Sunghoon, tells a different story.

"We don't have to. But maybe talking things out is better than letting this silence fester. We can turn around and pretend this never happened, but wouldn't that be a disservice to Sunghoon and Narae?" He turns to me, an unreadable expression lingering on his face for a while before he nods curtly. He takes a deep, shaky breath and without a word, he pushes open the heavy glass doors, the frigid air of the ice rink washing over us like a wave. Jay gives me a soft smile and I smile back, knowing well that he's by my side in this mission to mend the bridge between these two grieving hearts.

We step onto the polished concrete floor, the music thrumming through my chest. The vast sheet of ice stretches out before us, a shimmering expanse under the harsh glare of overhead lights. Skaters of all ages glide effortlessly across the surface, their laughter echoing off the walls of the rink. But my gaze is glued to the figure sitting in the distance, watching the skaters ...with a detached sadness. Sunghoon hunches over on a lone bench tucked into the corner, his face etched with this heartbreaking emptiness. It wasn't just sadness that clung to him, but a hollowness that seemed to suck the life out of his surroundings. The vibrant colors of the rink, the joyous shouts of the skaters—everything appears muted through the lens of his grief.

I glance at Jake to find him clenching his jaw, staring at Sunghoon as if willing him to move. As if urging him to get on the rink and skate like he must have done before the tragedy that took his passion along with his happiness. His eyes are filled with and sorrow and a desperate plea. It isn't just the desire for reconciliation, but the yearning for the Sunghoon they once knew. The Sunghoon who moved with the grace of a dancer on ice, his laughter echoing through the rink as he chased Narae across the frozen surface.

"I'll go talk to him first," I walk past him, pulling my oxygen tank along. "And then you can follow up, Jake." I say, my voice barely audible over the pounding in my chest. The walk towards Sunghoon feels like an eternity, each step a struggle against the fatigue gnawing at my body. He doesn't react as I approach, his gaze fixed on a group of young children clinging precariously to the sideboards. Their clumsy attempts at skating draw giggles from both the kids and their parents and I wonder if that sound, innocent and carefree, grates against Sunghoon's soul. 

Reaching him feels like crossing a vast distance, and finally, when I lower myself onto the cold bench beside him, he lowers his head and runs his fingers through his hair. "You didn't have to come all the way over here." Sunghoon mutters, his voice rough with barely contained emotion. The forced lightness in his tone betrays the tremor in his hands. He avoids my gaze, focusing instead on the patterns etched into the ice. 

"I wanted to," I say gently, glancing at Jake and Jay standing across from us. "We wanted to. We care about you, Sunghoon. Seeing you like this makes us—"

A humorless scoff escapes his lips. "Like what? A broken toy?"

"No," A heavy silence descends as the two of us watch a young couple glide across the ice, their laughter echoing off the rafters. The woman stumbles, saved from a fall by her partner who pulls her close, a smile blooming on his face. "Like someone who's too hard on themselves."