✓ BECAUSE WE WERE YOUNG | NIKI

35 - The World Owes Us Sunrises

The room feels too small, too suffocating, filled with the antiseptic scent of hospitals and the muffled sounds of footsteps echoing in the hallway outside. Sunghoon's shoulders tremble with silent sobs, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Jay leans against the window frame, his forehead pressed against the cool glass, tears leaving a trail on the surface as he stares out into the world beyond. Heeseung and Niki are two specters in the doorway. None of us had ever felt this ache, but right now, we're all children, grasping for something that we can no longer reach.

The police officers make the place look like a battlefield of grief. Two burly officers stand awkwardly in the corner, talking to my father about, well, everything and nothing. Their voices are a low murmur, punctuated by sighs and the rustle of papers. The words "missing person" and "accidental drowning" hang heavy in the air and Jake's mother winces every time she hears these terms. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her hands trembling as she clutches a tissue tightly in one hand. She stands by the door leading to her son, her gaze lingering on it as if willing him to walk through one last time. Every few seconds, a fresh wave of grief washes over her, a shudder that racks her thin frame. Her gaze flickers to me, a silent plea for a miracle that neither of us can offer. 

When one of the doctors steps out of the operating room, the scene almost looks like a celebrity being surrounded by paparazzi. Everyone swarms him—not with flashing cameras, but with a desperate hunger for news etched on their faces. Jake's mother is the first to reach him, her voice trembling as she asks the question that hangs heavy in the air. "Is my son...?" She can't bring herself to finish the sentence, the fear of the answer too raw, too painful to utter.

"We're so sorry," He simply utters, bowing down as low as he can. "We did everything we could, but..." His words falter momentarily as if searching for a way to soften the blow that no words can truly soften. "Sim Jake had been declared brain dead." The world tilts beneath my feet, and I feel myself swaying, on the brink of collapse. My breath hitches, a strangled gasp that tears at my already ragged lungs. The sterile white walls of the hospital room seem to press in on me, suffocating me just as surely as the cancer eating away at my insides.

We're nothing but an audience to the raw pain that seems through Jake's mother as she crumples into herself, a silent scream escaping her lips. We're nothing but a bunch of people who pretend we're in pain when we're drowning in the guilt of not being the one who drowned. Jake. The boy who'd smile and joke around on the bleakest of days. The one who always knew how to turn a frown upside down, even when his own life wasn't sunshine and rainbows. We're nothing but shattered pieces of a life that once felt whole.

I don't deserve to weep. I don't deserve to grieve. My own tears feel like a mockery of the soul-crushing grief engulfing Jake's mother. The guilt, a monstrous serpent coiling around my heart, tightens with each labored breath I manage to steal. I want to scream, to rail against the unfairness of it all, but my voice catches in my throat, choked by the overwhelming feeling of loss surrounding us. 

"Why?" She cries and I bury my face in my father's shirt when he wraps his arms around me. "Why me? Why my son?" And none of us can find an answer that would suffice to explain such a tragedy. None of us can explain death's indiscriminate touch. 

"But there is something you should know," The doctor says, the urgency in his voice making all of us freeze as if waiting for a miracle. As if the doctor's words could reverse the irreversible. "Jake and you, Y/N, share the same blood type. His organs are viable for donation, and he left explicit instructions in a letter we found in his backpack." The world somehow freezes around me. My mind cannot process the words that tumble out of the doctor's lips, or they're simply too overwhelming to comprehend. Too absurd to be real. The room seems to tilt on its axis as the doctor continues. "We understand this is a difficult time, but your blood type being a match presents a unique opportunity. A chance to save your life." 

I look around the hospital room, seeing the devastation etched into every face, especially Jake's mother, who has collapsed into a chair, her face a mask of unimaginable pain. She turns towards me, her gaze searching mine for an answer I didn't possess, and shame, a familiar serpent, coils tighter around my heart. "I can't," I breathe. I'm not this selfish. "I... I can't." How could I justify clinging to life while another family mourned the loss of their loved one—a loss I'd inadvertently contributed to?

"We understand it's not an easy decision. Take your time and think it through," The doctor says and I want to scream at him to stop. Time? Time is exactly what I don't have. Not when the weight of Jake's sacrifice presses down on me like a physical burden. Not when the sterile white walls seem to mock the vibrant life he'd lived, a life extinguished far too soon. "There's no right or wrong answer here, Y/N. Jake's choice was his own, and your decision must be yours." With that, I'm left to make a horrifying decision. I'm left to stare into the abyss of a choice that would forever alter the fabric of my existence.

I'm alone, sitting in a room with nothing but the relentless ticking of the clock on the wall and the weight of an impossible decision bearing down on me. I'm given time to think, to ponder the unimaginable consequences of my decision. Each tick of the clock echoes like a hammer striking an anvil, reverberating through the silence of the room. How could I accept life when it came at the cost of my friend's? Am I able to shoulder this burden, to live a life knowing it was bought with such a heavy price?

The door opens and the sound of creaking makes me raise my head, my eyes locking with Niki's red-rimmed ones. He stands hesitantly in the doorway and all I want to do is run to him but all I do is freeze in my place. "I read the report," He signs, his hands shaking slightly. "About Jake. About the donation." My throat tightens, the air suddenly thick with unspoken words. I nod, unable to find my voice. The world feels surreal, a distorted reflection of the life we once knew. How can we even think about the future when the present is painted with such vivid hues of grief? "They're waiting for your answer."

I stare at him, my words from a few days ago haunting me like a malevolent echo. I had pushed him away over and over again and yet, he's here, standing before me with the same tenderness in those two pools that seem to hold every emotion he's ever felt. His lips part as if to say something, but no words come out. 

"It feels wrong," I sign, the language suddenly feeling inadequate to express the storm raging within me. "It feels selfish. Like betrayal. Like I'm stealing his life." 

"It's not stealing," Niki signs, his gaze softening ever-so-slightly. "It's honoring. It's carrying a piece of him with you, living the life he couldn't. It's not stealing, Y/N, not when his mother wants you to have it." When his hands pause, I'm a broken mess. I cry, and cry, and cry. When the others step inside the room, all I do is cry and weep and I'm nothing but a raw nerve ending exposed. Comforting arms wrap around me and I've never known what raw pain sounds like until we mourn together. Until the Frangipani flower loses its fifth petal and becomes dry. 

I glance at the clock on the wall as the doctors inform me about the procedures I'm supposed to go through. My father's happiness is tainted with guilt and sorrow and I cannot be thrilled for this new life I'm offered. I cannot be completely selfish. 

Jake's mother slowly approaches us, her face a hollow shell of grief. In another universe, where Jake gets to live, it's my father who would be the one standing there. But in this universe, he stands beside me, silently bowing at the woman whose child has saved mine. She reaches out to touch my arm, slowly holding my hand in hers. "Thank you for making that decision," I can see the way her lips quiver, the way her tears don't stop falling, but I also see the way a flicker of desperate hope ignites in her eyes. "I can't bear the thought of Jake dying twice."

Squeezing my hand gently, Jake's mother speaks again, her voice barely a whisper. "There's something I want to give you," She says and I watch as she reaches into her purse and pulls out a folded piece of paper, stained with the tears of those who have read it before me. With trembling hands, I unfold the paper, the words swimming before my eyes. 

My Dearest Y/N. If you're reading this, it means I'm gone, but it also means you'll get to live. I know life has been cruel to you, just as it has been to me. But if there's one thing I can do in this life, it's to give you the chance to breathe easier, to live without the chains that bind you to this hospital. My lungs are yours. Live through me, Y/N. Live a thousand lives, for me, for you, for the beauty that still exists in this broken world.

And when you grow up, remember that this very world owes us sunrises and forever, because we were young.