I was allowed to bring Yoongi home early the next morning. The American physician had given me a strict schedule for his physical therapy given the atrophy in his entire body. There was also a grocery bag’s worth of medication ranging from antibiotics to (non-narcotic) pain management. He was brought down to the parking lot in a wheelchair, despite his animated protests. He had been working on his strength and flexibility, and insisted on his ability to walk. Regardless, hospital protocol would not bend, so I was stuck with a silently brooding Yoongi as I walked at the nurse’s side, the slightly rough asphalt giving a rather rough ride on the chair, and I could see his seething contempt practically boiling over. When we reached my car, I thanked the nurse profusely for his help, hoping he would leave. To my disappointment, he stuck around to help Yoongi into the passenger seat of my car. One more thing to piss off Yoongi. At long last, we were left alone, and I tentatively slid into the driver’s side, the vehicle plunged into a stiff silence once I pulled the door closed. I stayed still and quiet for a moment, looking to him for a cue of some kind. He shifted uncomfortably in the seat, clutching his paper bag of meds in his lap. “So is this your car?” he finally asked, his voice still on edge, though he was clearly asking to dispel the awkwardness.

I relaxed some at the question, giving him a little smile as I started up the car. “Yeah,” I replied quietly, stifling a yawn. It was way too early for my tastes, and I hadn’t slept much in the hospital at Yoongi’s bedside. I was anxious to get back home. The rest of the boys would no doubt be waiting (or asleep in the living room) for Yoongi’s return, and I was looking forward to reuniting them. As I pulled the car into reverse, I paused for a moment, my foot on the brake, not moving. It was over. Yoongi was nodding off against the window already when I looked over at him. Just about every single one of his meds came with the warning: May Cause Drowsiness, so I couldn’t be upset at the lack of interaction. Still, I watched him fight the fatigue as the smile on my face spread. He was the last one. He was here, he was safe, he was alive. They all were. Perhaps a little worse for wear, but there it was. I felt nothing but relief as I allowed myself to ease off the brake pedal, backing out of my parking spot. The drive home was quiet, Yoongi asleep the whole way. It was all the same, anyway. We had spent a good amount of time the night before talking. To my relief, Han Geng had told Yoongi everything he knew about where we were living. Maybe even more than I knew myself. I was just glad I didn’t have to explain why we lived in a business high-rise refurbished as an apartment building full of people he recognized. Mostly we had just talked about the boys. I talked to him about how Namjoon had been held in a Chinese hospital, too, and how I had to live in that place alone for a while; about how Namjoon had been wrought with guilt, and had been pretty poor company. I told him how happy we had been when Taehyung, Jimin, and Jin had come home, but then how lonely I felt when they branched out. Yoongi had understood my selfishness. It was a simple thing, but it reminded me why Yoongi and I had grown close in the first place.

In turn, Yoongi told me about what it was like to be left behind. To struggle to survive without the supply drops we had all relied on. He even told a story about trying to hunt squirrels in the forest around the compound, only to fail miserably. They got lucky and found a few abandoned kills. Seemed strange for a predator to just kill something and leave it, but they took full advantage, as disgusting as they found it. The conversation turned dark when Yoongi talked about the second wave of rescue- about deciding who stayed behind. ‘It had to be Hobie’, Yoongi had groaned, looking away from me as he fidgeted in his hospital bed. He sighed heavily after a long moment of contemplation, ‘No, it could have been me,’ he had murmured. When I tried to protest, to tell him the choice was difficult enough, he interrupted me, ‘Well, look,’ he gestured at his own body vaguely as he caught my eye, ‘I might have made it back here faster if I had been the one to stay.’ I could tell he was slipping into dangerous territory, so I quipped that at least Hobie would never have been so clumsy as to break his own arm. Yoongi had laughed and agreed. Neither of us touched on the fact that Yoongi would have been tortured if he had been the one to stay with Jungkook. That conversation was unspoken, and would remain so.

I let him sleep the rest of the drive home, my own mind dangerously sluggish and heavy from the lack of rest. Thankfully, though, we arrived back at the tower in one piece. I parked in the little side lot, as usual, and got out, rounding the vehicle to get to the passenger side. I opened the door carefully, catching Yoongi’s shoulder as he threatened to tumble out of the vehicle. The movement caused him to stir. “What’s going on?” he mumbled, disoriented as he squirmed, righting himself in the seat, consciously hugging his sling-bound arm tighter against his chest.

“We’re here,” I said simply, holding his shoulder on his uninjured side, reaching across his lap to unlatch the seatbelt for him and taking his bag of medication from his lap. He was compliant, his eyes barely staying open as he stood carefully, leaning against me. I kicked the car door shut behind us, locking it with the fob before propping Yoongi up against my side. We began to walk, our steps incredibly slow and tiny. Even so, we made it to the lobby without incident, the entire building quiet and lifeless in the early morning light. Yoongi seemed wholly uninterested in his surroundings, his whole focus on putting one foot just slightly ahead of the other. The process was tedious, but I wasn’t about to rush the guy. Echoing footsteps from one of the hallways caught our attention, our slow march coming to a sudden stop. Yoongi and I looked in unison towards an approaching figure, and I was quick to recognize him.

It was Kai, the quietest of the trio of friends I (often forcibly) found myself spending time with. As much as I was reluctant, I did see all of them- Taemin, Ravi, and Kai- as friends, despite the situational nature of our company. “Zoey,” he called out, his voice slightly airy and soft, though his smile was bright against his lightly tanned skin. He was a morning person, unlike myself. It was no surprise to see him so chipper at such an unfortunate hour. I gave him a feeble wave in response as he approached us. “Suga!” he greeted cheerfully, the name causing my whole body to cringe. Yoongi could only nod sleepily in response. “I heard you were on your way!” Kai continued to speak brightly, “It’s good to see you. I’ll have to tell Chanyeol you’re back.” When Yoongi gave no response, he turned to me instead, undeterred, “I’ll see you later, Zoey.” He stepped forward, giving me an awkward hug with Yoongi still supporting himself at my side.

“Later, Jongin,” I gave my farewell, choosing to use his real name. Maybe if I used it, he would use Yoongi’s. I made a mental note to drop all ridiculous nicknames and stage names. It was a trend worth starting. Regardless of my ulterior motives, he seemed genuinely pleased to hear his given name, his smile spreading to the point of dominating his face. He stepped back and away from us, pivoting on his heel to continue down the opposite hallway, calling out a final good-bye.

I sighed slightly as I shifted, trying to get a better grip on Yoongi, only to find him looking right into my face. Startled, I froze, trying to read his blank expression. Finally, one corner of his mouth twitched upwards in a tiny smirk, “And you were jealous of my doctor?” he asked incredulously. I opened my mouth to protest, but I knew there was no use arguing the point. I simply rolled my eyes at him before facing forward, pulling him along. We made it to the elevator after what felt like a small eternity, and I was relieved that Yoongi leaned against one of the walls for the ride up, giving my side a rest. Soon enough, though, we began our slow march down the single hallway towards our apartment once the elevator reached its destination. Yoongi picked up his pace a little, anticipating our arrival.

The situation was all too familiar. There had been a rescue, some waiting, and now a reunion. And yet this time was so much different. It was Yoongi. And it was the last time. The inside of my chest squirmed with anticipation and anxiety as I reached out to open the door. It was still early, but there was no way Hobie and Jin had kept Yoongi’s return a secret. I pushed the door open carefully, Yoongi at my heels. The lights were on, but sleeping bodies were strewn across the furniture. From the looks of it, they had stayed up waiting, only to pass out on the couches in the living room. Carefully, I let Yoongi inside, shutting the door with a light touch to reduce the noise. Unfortunately, Yoongi was not on the same page. “Hey,” he practically shouted into the room, “Lazy pieces of !”

Rolling my eyes, I opted to stand back, letting the large bag of medication thump gently to the floor as I crossed my arm across my chest. “So much for being exhausted,” I mumbled as I watched the lifeless bodies around the room stir from the sudden noise.

“Who says I’m not?” Yoongi threw me a little smirk over his shoulder. “I could pass out at any minute,” he stated rather nonchalantly, “All the more reason to get the s up before I do.” He was right, of course, but I only shook my head at him. His attention was soon diverted, however, when Taehyung fell off of his place on the couch, scrambling to his feet.

Taehyung’s face was always exaggerated in some way, but the confused and delirious look on his face was nothing short of comical. His rust-colored hair was sticking up every which