Heechul was sitting with me, showing off the latest postcard he had received from Han Geng. They had decided to fly Yoongi south, and Han Geng had used his apparently vast network of contacts to get him cleared to accompany Yoongi as his guardian. It seemed to work out well, and Hannie, as Heechul called him, was sure to update us every step of the way. Unfortunately, once he was out of China, he no longer had the appropriate electric outlet adapter to charge his phone, so he kept us as in the loop as possible via physical mail and postcards. Heechul was always prompt to come up to my room to share whatever news he had.

It had been weeks, and they had finally reached Sydney. Each time they moved Yoongi across international borders, he had to stop, get tested and inspected, and be held until deemed fit for travel again. Of course the postcard this time featured the iconic opera house, brilliant white against the warm glow of a sunset-painted skyline. Even so, Heechul and I cared more about the scribbled, shaky Korean characters crammed onto the rather limited space on the back of the card. “Why won’t he just write normal letters?” I found myself mumbling as I struggled to parse together what the card said.

Heechul laughed once, smirking at me with his gummy grin. “Hannie can’t be bothered to deal with envelopes and stamps,” he explained as he pointed to the corner of the postcard. Sure enough, it had pre-paid postage at the time of purchase. “Thankfully I am fluent in the Hannie-Botched-Korean,” he announced smugly, sitting up a little straighter in his seat next to me at the edge of my bed. He pointed to the words as he read aloud, “He says they made it to Sydney okay, but there’s a bit of a language barrier.” I shook my head slightly at his words, doing my best not to get frustrated. Of course there’s a language barrier. Yoongi only understands Korean, and Han Geng speaks decent enough Korean, but really his native language is Chinese. And even if he knew some rudimentary English, he would certainly have a hard time understanding a native Australian. Even I had trouble with Australian accents sometimes.

I gripped the hem of my shirt, just as a way to channel some of my irritation away from Heechul himself. “Is there any good news?” I asked, the impatience slipping through on the tone of my voice.

He simply gave me a playful nudge to ease the tension, “Chill, Zoey-baby. They made it there safely. Next stop, Los Angeles.” He had a point, but still I was growing anxious. With each passing day, the news brought worse and worse news from the conflict in Korea. The confident words of the President of the United Stated had been met with laughter from the Korean government. Just as the US had been preparing to re-engage, so too had the Koreans. Casualty counts from both sides were climbing steadily. No word from Ellen, no word if Jungkook and Hobie were alive. Yoongi’s position and movements were the only things I could really keep track without going crazy.

Finally, I relented to his kind smiles and reassuring words, crossing my arms over my chest in defiant defeat. “Alright, does it say how Yoongi’s doing?” I asked, not even attempting to read the postcard myself.

“Well,” Heechul started, pausing to squint at the handwriting for a moment, “Sounds like he gets a little worse every time they put him on a plane.” Heechul’s voice got quieter and slower as he pieced it together. It was his turn to slump slightly. “Still,” he tried to rally himself, “the Australian doctors won’t put him on that plane until he’s ready.” Yet, that wasn’t particularly comforting either. It meant an even longer wait than before. The flight from Sydney to Los Angeles was over thirteen hours. I had looked it up. Maybe a few too many times. Still, my emotions were pinging back and forth between relief and anxiety. He was okay- that was good. He was trapped in Australia of all places until further notice- that was bad.

“Thank you, Heechul,” I tried my best to sound genuine. My appreciation was, indeed, genuine, but it did get difficult not to take out my negative emotions on him. He must have seen my emotional turmoil on my face, as he simply gave me a gentle little smile, sliding his arm around my shoulders to give me a firm squeeze. The pressure was like an immediate stress reliever, and I let my head fall into his shoulder.

His shoulder began to shake a little as he repressed a little laugh, “Any time, little Zoey.” His nonchalance was equal parts aggravating and reassuring. Regretfully, he retracted his arm from me, and slowly stood, smoothing out his questionably appropriate clothing in the process. Despite being well into his thirties, his fashion choices sometimes felt like they were chosen by a middle school-aged little girl. I had become alarmingly used to it.

Once he was gone, I stood as well, stretching my legs to release some of the tight, aching tension that had been building in them all day. I had been glued to my computer, reading news article after news article, combing through them for any sort of hint as to the whereabouts and status of Hobie, Jungkook, and our old compound. Heechul had already confirmed that there had been no word from Ellen, but still I hoped she had managed to get out and find a way to contact me. Perhaps I was going mad. I knew Namjoon and Jin were particularly worried about me. It came as no surprise, then, when a gentle knock came at my door. Already on my feet, I simply nudged the door open to find Jin standing there apprehensively. “Come on in, Jin,” I offered, gesturing vaguely to my mostly empty room.

“So?” he asked me simply as he pushed through to the interior of the room, forgoing any of the pleasantries.

I managed to smile a little at his forwardness. “They made it to Sydney,” I stated with a little shrug. My apparent indifference had no effect on Jin, who clutched at his chest as he sighed heavily in relief. I decided to clarify before he had the chance to ask, “Their next stop is LA, but they want to wait a while until they’re sure he can make the final trip.”

Jin remained standing in the center of the room with me, his kind, almond eyes full of the worry I felt myself. “Okay,” he finally responded simply, “I’ll let Namjoon, Tae, and Jimin know.” He watched me quietly for a moment before speaking again, “Unless you’d rather talk to them.”

I knew what he was doing. Ever since the start of the war, I had been withdrawn, hardly leaving my room. The four of them took turns trying to lure my out at first, but eventually, they came to terms with the fact that my isolation was my coping mechanism. Not to say I didn’t enjoy their company anymore, I just… couldn’t really participate in group conversations without feeling slightly panicked. Instead, they came and visited me one by one to spend time with me. I knew I was being unreasonable. I hated what it was doing to my relationship with the boys. If I had worried about drifting away from them before, I was only making it worse. Still, the loyalty they showed me was nothing short of touching. “Yeah,” I finally agreed, “I’ll tell them at dinner.”

Jin’s small smile said more than words ever could. Instead, he pulled me into a quick hug, his long arms and broad shoulders enveloping my shorter frame for just a few short moments. “Okay then,” he let me go just as quick, “I’ve almost got dinner ready.”

As we shuffled down the hall, a memory came to me, “You know, Jin,” I called to him. When he responded with just a single raised auburn brow, I continued to walk with him, “Before you, Tae, and Jimin came back, I told Namjoon I would take over the cooking.