It was utter chaos outside the front doors of the building. Ravi and I squeezed through the double glass doors only to be obstructed by a wall of reporters’ backs, their attention fixated towards the street. Ravi kept a firm grip on my upper arm as he weaved through the bodies, dragging me along in his wake. Finally, we made it to a point where I could see, thanks largely to Ravi, who pulled me around in front of him, helping me get a decent vantage point. The throng of media bodies were all centered around a small clearing on the sidewalk, a visibly flustered Mira in its center. Her normally well-groomed red curls were tied back haphazardly behind her head, her sunglasses insufficient against the combined might of the setting sun and the cameras. She seemed to be on some sort of damage control, brushing off the increasingly aggressive journalists.

I was confused by what was happening, so I turned to Ravi for some sort of hint, but he was simply looking off into the distance towards the street, a sly smile on his face. After simply watching him for a moment, contemplating what he might be thinking, his expression finally changed, his smile spreading into an all-out grin. As if on cue, the thrum of murmuring voices amplified into a raucous roar. I did my best to catch a better glimpse of what the fuss was about. At long last, an unmarked white van pulled in front of the tower, the reporters surging forward to crowd it. If it weren’t for Ravi’s quick, broad hand at my back, I might have been knocked over in the fray.

Soon enough, all questions were answered. I felt my breath leave me as I stood amidst the turmoil. Weakness washed over me in waves, and once again, I owed my dignity to Ravi, who was quick to grab me by the shoulders. I heard his deep, reassuring rumbles from behind me, but I could only hear my own heartbeat as my unwavering silver eyes trained on their targets. Several people poured out of the vehicle, but two stuck out like sore thumbs. A pale, frail, crumpled body was in a wheelchair, trailed by an equally gaunt, limping one. I could have recognized Jungkook anywhere, even if he was hunched over in the chair, his black hair long, matted, and greasy. His already pale skin was yellowing and tight where it was visible. He was in the horrifically familiar black and white getup from the compound. His head lolled as the unfamiliar attendant pushed him along, parting the crowd of press like the Red Sea. Hobie hobbled along beside them, a jacket loosely slung over his shoulders, covering his left arm, slung close to his chest. He was in no better shape than Jungkook, but his steps were steady and slow. A bandage was taped across the right side of his face, covering his eye and ear.

Snapping out of my silent reverie, I broke from Ravi’s hold and wormed my way through the small crowd, unconcerned with common decency and personal space as I grappled nondescript bodies. I was only concerned with getting closer. Part of me didn’t believe what I had seen- the truth could only be revealed by getting closer. At long last, I broke through, stumbling forward onto the concrete walkway. There was a moment where time seemed to come to a stand-still when my gaze met the recessed, weary pools of darkness that were Jungkook’s own eyes. His slack-jawed expression didn’t change, his unblinking stare sending an uncomfortable shiver down my spine.

“Zoey,” Mira’s voice broke me out of my trance, her hands guiding me firmly along as my senses returned to the present. The noise and movement of the press around us came roaring back to life, and I was suddenly thankful of Mira’s shielding as we were ushered back inside, leaving the scrambling mass behind us.

“Zoey?” my name was repeated, this time by the weary, but unmistakable Hobie. I squirmed out of Mira’s grip, seeing as we were in the relative seclusion of the lobby, despite the camera flashes still coming through the glass walls. The quiet man who had wheeled Jungkook in his chair silently took his leave, leaving only the four of us inside, Ravi must have slipped away long before. I practically launched myself at Hobie, my heart elated at the strained, but wide smile, revealing his long, even teeth, the gesture wrinkling his clean, white bandage along his cheek. He braced against my embrace, his voice filled with pain, despite his weak laughter, “Careful, careful.”

Only then did I look him over, his arm pulled tight to his chest, hidden under the jacket. “You’re hurt,” I pointed out rather redundantly. I only threw Jungkook a glance. Something was horribly wrong. I had just found out that Ellen, our savior, had died rescuing my best friends, who were injured or worse. My emotions were so overwhelmed, I felt an overwhelming numbness take over me. “Mira,” my voice dropped as I looked over at the tall red-headed woman, who looked equally frazzled.

She shook her head to interrupt me, holding up a hand to emphasize, “I’ll send up their medical reports. We can talk later.” The waver in her voice gave her away. She must have known about Ellen already. Maybe she just saw the men in uniform leaving the building. Either way, she was clearly not up for argument, so I let her go, her heavy footsteps echoing across the floor and back out the front door to deal with who-knows-what. At that point, I didn’t care.

When I turned back to Hobie and Jungkook, the former looked about ready to pass out, while the latter remained in his comatose oblivion, staring intensely at the polished marble floor of the lobbie. “Hobie,” I spoke up quickly, reaching out to grab his healthy shoulder. He responded quickly, turning to pull me into an impressively tight hug with his free arm. I grasped at his dingy linen shirt, burying my face in it, despite the rather rancid smell.

We stayed that way for a long moment before he murmured to me, “Did anyone else make it?” He asked me with such hesitation, I could tell he had assumed the worst. I swallowed hard, doing my best to gather the will to speak. Thankfully, the bright ding of the elevator removed the burden from my shoulders. Hobie’s grip on me only tightened as I lifted my head to find Jin, Namjoon, Taehyung, and Jimin all pour out of the elevator.

The ensuing ruckus was impossible to follow. Tears were shed, hugs were shared, and inevitably, the excitement gave way to deep concern as Jungkook still showed no reaction- the only sign of life was his eyes following the movements of his friends. The bittersweet reunion was an emotional rollercoaster. Taehyung was the last to greet Hobie, his demeanor uncharacteristically meek and almost nervous. Silently, Hobie took Tae into his uninjured arm, and they remained that way for long, quiet minutes while the rest of the boys began to bombard me with questions as if I held the answers. “What’s wrong with Kookie?” Jimin was the first one with the courage (or lack of tact) to ask outright, his voice low as if he could exclude the wheelchair-bound boy in question.

I shared a long, pointed glance with Namjoon before answering. His wide face was pulled into a contemplative frown, clearly with no idea how to help me. “I don’t know,” I answered all three of them honestly. “Mira said she had some medical records that she’d give us,” I peered around Jin’s shoulder to catch a glimpse of Jungkook. “If the hospital released him, that means he’s at least not in any danger,” I was more speaking to myself than to them, but as my mind tried to wrap around what this all meant, I looked up at Jin for reassurance, “Right?”

Even if Jin had tried to smile at me, his overly-expressive features told me everything I needed to know. He was just as conflicted as I was. Relieved, overjoyed, but also suddenly very concerned. “Let’s get upstairs,” was all Jin managed, in a smooth and quiet whisper. When I turned, Taehyung was still nestled under Hobie’s arm, but he had turned Jungkook’s wheelchair about to face them. It looked like he had tried with no success to get any sort of reaction out of his younger friend. I couldn’t guess whether the tear stains running beside his exaggerated frown was from his joyful reunion, or his empty one.

We were quiet as we rode the elevator up. Hobie was practically falling asleep where he stood, supported on either side by a careful Taehyung on his injured side, and Namjoon on the other. Jin’s knuckles were white with the death grip he had on Jungkook’s wheelchair, as the rest of us awkwardly silent until the gentle ping of the elevator signaled our