Aftermath

The hospital smelled like antiseptic and stale air, the kind of place that made time slow down. Footsteps echoed in the hallway as Noah walked, his legs still sore from everything that had happened. The past few days had been an endless cycle of running, fighting, bleeding, and barely breathing.

Now, for the first time, everything was still.

He stopped at the door to a small hospital room and took a deep breath before stepping inside.

The room was cramped, four beds shoved against pale blue walls. Two of them were occupied—Liam and Ethan, both bandaged up like mummies, propped up against their pillows.

Liam looked up first, flashing his usual grin despite the bruises covering his face. "Did you bring the food?"

Noah sighed, shaking his head as he walked over. "Yeah, yeah, don't rush me." He pulled a brown bag from his backpack and tossed it onto Liam's lap. "Here's your burger."

Liam snatched it up immediately.

Noah turned to Ethan, handing him a wrapped hot dog. "And here's yours."

Liam took it, muttering, "Finally, some real food. I was about to start eating the hospital bed sheets."

Noah pulled up a chair beside them. "How long are you guys gonna be stuck here?"

Liam took a massive bite of his burger before answering. "Dunno. Probably a few more weeks or so. Got some broken bones, internal bleeding, the usual."

Noah nodded, looking down at his hands. "I see…"

Liam leaned back with a groan. "Since I'll be here, you gotta take care of my house, you know, like clean and shit."

Noah snorted. "Of course. Can't have your place looking like a mess when you get back."

Liam grinned. "That's the spirit."

Ethan, already halfway through his hot dog, nudged Liam. "Hey, what about the art battle?"

Liam raised an eyebrow at Noah. "Yeah, what about that? Ryan's probably losing his mind right now."

Noah sighed. "He's definitely upset. He really wanted this whole competition to go smoothly."

Liam waved a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about him. Ryan's an art freak. He's pissed at me, not you. You're good."

Noah nodded. "Okay."

A brief silence settled in the room.

Noah stood up, adjusting his backpack. "Well, I should get going. Got some chores to do."

Liam lifted his hand lazily. "Aight. Don't burn my house down."

Noah rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. See you later."

Liam gave a small nod. "Later, dude."

As Noah stepped out of the hospital, the sunlight hit his face, warm and bright. It was a sharp contrast to the chaos that had consumed the past few days. For the first time, he wasn't running. For the first time, he wasn't bleeding.

But despite the calm, his mind was anything but quiet.

---

He walked aimlessly, his thoughts spiraling.

So much had happened.

Running away from home. Meeting Liam. Getting dragged into his world. Facing Henry. Facing everything.

And now… what was left?

The fight was over.

Henry was still out there, but something had changed between them. Noah could feel it. Luke and Mark were probably still recovering from their injuries, and most of the gangsters had been arrested.

The war was over.

But what about him?

He had no place to go.

He couldn't hide at Liam's house forever.

Eventually, he'd have to go back.

Back to a house that didn't feel like home. Back to parents who didn't love him. Back to school, where everything was supposed to be normal.

He let out a long breath, his feet carrying him to a familiar place.

The park.

The massive lake stretched out before him, the water reflecting the sky like a perfect mirror. Usually, there would be kids playing, people walking their dogs, couples sitting on benches.

But today, it was empty.

Noah sat down by the water, dropping his backpack beside him.

He pulled out his tablet.

And he drew.

His stylus moved across the screen, fast, almost frantic. He didn't think, he just let his emotions spill out in lines and colors.

A war scene came to life on the screen.

Soldiers clashed in the middle of a battlefield, blood staining the ground. Weapons clashed, bodies fell, faces were twisted in rage and pain. Some of them fought with desperate determination. Others fought because they had no choice.

In the next drawing, the battlefield was silent.

The war was over.

The ground was littered with the wounded. Some soldiers lay motionless, their weapons discarded. Others sat on the ground, bandaging their injuries, staring blankly at the destruction around them.

Then, another image.

A soldier standing before a grieving mother, his hands trembling as he delivered the news. Her son was gone. He had fought bravely. He had died honorably. But he wasn't coming home.

More images.

A soldier, removing his uniform, stepping into a quiet home. His war was over, but the scars remained. He tried to sleep, but the echoes of the battlefield stayed with him.

A final drawing.

A man standing at the edge of a lake, staring at his own reflection. His face was tired, his body covered in old wounds. The war had ended, but he still didn't know where he belonged.

Noah exhaled, staring at the last drawing.

It wasn't just a war story.

It was his story.

The past few days had been a battlefield, and now that the war was over, he had to figure out what came next.

He couldn't keep running forever.

He had to decide where he belonged.

He had to decide who he wanted to be.

And maybe…

Just maybe…

He had already found the answer.