✓ BECAUSE WE WERE YOUNG | NIKI

28 - Happy Endings

Jake had accidentally fallen into the water. A plausible story. His clothes were drenched, his skin cold and clammy to the touch, and we all remember the look of sheer terror that gripped his face as he clung to the edge of the pier, gasping for breath. It was an accident—simple, believable, and easy to defend. We were all there. We saw it happen. We helped him out, worried about him and laughed about it afterward when he woke up.

Busan was our destination, but for some reason, no one can bring themselves to mention it now. This village seems more comforting than any bright lights or busy streets could ever be. We decide to stay as if the act of choosing this quiet, rural haven could somehow rewrite the past week. We find a small, family-run guesthouse tucked away on a dusty side street. The kind-faced owner, a woman with laugh lines etched around her eyes, welcomes us with a warmth that feels foreign to us now.

"You young souls must be tired from your travels," She says, her voice gentle. "Stay as long as you need." We mumble a chorus of grateful thank-yous, our voices overlapping in a jumble of exhaustion and relief. She shows us to our rooms, and we collapse onto the soft beds, the weight of the past few days finally catching up with us. The air smells faintly of wood smoke and jasmine tea, a welcome respite from the antiseptic scent of the hospital. Yet, every creak of the floorboards, every rustle of leaves outside the window, sounds like approaching footsteps, like the inevitable knock on the door that would shatter our fragile peace.

I open my eyes to a sky still streaked with the faintest blush of dawn. For a moment, I lie there, listening to the quiet sounds of the morning—the distant chirping of birds, the rustle of leaves in the breeze. I must have drifted off to sleep. I don't know how long I've been lying there, lost in the hazy realm between dreams and reality. But as I blink away the remnants of sleep and slowly sit up, I take off my cannula and put it on the bedside table, the plastic tubing curling like a snake in the dim light of the room as the familiar hiss of oxygen ceases. 

I rise, the creak of the floorboards echoing in the pre-dawn stillness, and tiptoe to the door before I step out and head to the back garden. The cool morning air hits my face and I close my eyes, savoring the crisp air filling my lungs, s simple pleasure I haven't realized I'd missed so much. 

The village is still shrouded in a pre-dawn slumber and the boys are still asleep in their rooms. I sit down on a weathered wooden bench tucked away in a corner of the garden, surrounded by blooming flowers and lush greenery. The events of this summer all replay in my mind like a broken record. I'm nothing but a tangled mess of guilt and fear. We're protecting Jake, I tell myself, but are we really protecting him, or are we just prolonging the inevitable? The truth always has a way of coming out, like water seeping through the cracks in a dam. And when it does, what then? Will our fragile facade crumble, leaving us exposed and vulnerable?

"Y/N," The sound of my name being called makes me open my eyes and Jay is standing before me, holding my oxygen tank and my cannula. "You shouldn't be out here without this," He says softly, holding out the equipment. 

Taking the cannula and oxygen tank, I mumble a thank you, the words sticking in my dry throat. "Why are you up? It's still early." 

"I had to monitor my blood sugar," He simply says and sits down next to me, running his fingers through his hair before he buries his face in his hands with a sigh. "I couldn't sleep." 

I sit there, silence wrapping around us like a warm blanket. The tension that was once between the two of us after his confession is no longer present. I haven't had the time to process his feelings or give him mine for that matter. I watch Jay, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion and the weight of our shared secrets. "Are you-" I'm about to touch his shoulder, to offer some comfort, but his voice makes my hand freeze midway, hovering in the air between us.