White walls coupled by white tile floors. It was early morning late February. Christmas was long gone. Last year was long gone. Everything that happened during it was like a dream. A life-like dream that few knew of. That few knew had occurred. And the dream was reality for one specific person. One specific person who was one of the few who knew about the goings-ons of the dream behind it’s closed doors.

You.

You, as you walked down these white tile floors. You, as you walked by those whose pain ranged from mild to excruciating. You, as you held a stone cold expression on your face. You, as you prepped yourself for what you had seen for the past two months. Here, in this white walled, white tiled jail. It wasn’t in reality, but to some, it was. It was a prison. Some got to leave on good behavior, their bodies no longer worse for wear. Others, others were stuck here for an unspecified amount of time.

It was early morning late February. The days before Christmas felt warmer than these.

The days following when the werewolves left. The days following the ending of all conflicts. That’s what you had thought. That’s what you had thought and you realized now that were wrong to ever assume such a thing.

You stopped, your feet coming together where you stood. In front of a wooden door that separated the rest of this prison from the jail cell inside. And you reached out, knocking first. Knocking as you readied yourself for what you were about to see. Then, as no answer was heard from inside, you let your fingers slip around the handle of the wooden door and you opened it.

Someone was sitting inside, his legs crossed, and his back all that you could see as you looked through the doorway. You stepped inside, making your presence known to him. But he knew you were there. He knew you were there long before you stepped into the room and closed the door behind yourself. Long before you even knocked.

He turned his head to you, just enough for you to be able to see his profile. And he smiled before turning back forward. Forward towards what lay in front of him. “He went out for fresh flowers.” He answered your question before you could even ask it. A harmonious beeping in the background stayed steady. Slow, and steady. As it had been since December.

“You can take a nap. I’ll be here.” You replied as you set down the plastic bag in your hand filled with fruit for him on the sofa behind him.

He always took a nap. He always needed one. You had come here every weekend. And each time, he would give into his weariness. He was busy most of the time. He shouldn’t be here in the first place. But he wanted to be. Just like you wanted to be. Even if it didn’t change anything. You could only hope it would.

He didn’t turn to you. He simply said three words that told you his decision, “Then come here.”

You listened to him, not questioning him in the least as you grabbed a chair from the corner of the room and slid it towards him, beside his own. He breathed out, his relief made obvious through his features which relaxed on contact. Contact with his temple on your shoulder. It wasn’t long before you heard his steady breathing once he lulled himself to sleep.

It had been something he did as of late. For the past month now of the two months you had been coming here. You were uncomfortable at first with the closeness. But you had grown used to it now. You knew why he did it. So you continued to indulge him in it.

The door slid open without a single knock just then. You knew there was only one person who would enter without knocking first. As you heard the person speak, your guess was confirmed to be true.

“Again?” He asked as he caught sight of the two of you. He walked into the room, looking at the two of you from the front, “He’s taking advantage of you.”

You shook your head, “It’s fine.”

He sighed and he reached out with his free hand, ruffling at your hair. His other hand held flowers. Fresh flowers in a small vase. Peonies. Light red, soft pink, and vanilla white peonies. And he, after disheveling your hair to his liking, walked to the other side of the room and placed them on the windowsill.

He turned back to you, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, “Can I call next?” His eyelids drooped; it had been a long week for them. But things were calming down now for them. Things were calming down and starting next week, they told you they would no longer come here every night to stay until early morning.

Here, to this room, where Soryong would lay his head on your shoulder as he slept because he wanted to know you’d be there for her. Here, to this room, where Daeryong brought peonies because they sounded like her name even though she never liked flowers. Here, to this room, where you and these twins watched over someone as they lay in their bed. Unmoving for two months. Their steady heartbeat the background noise to this jail cell of theirs’. This jail cell that smelled of antiseptic iodine, latex, and freshly cleaned linen.

This jail cell in this prison. This white walled, white tile floored prison. This hospital.

This hospital room in this hospital where Tiffany Hwang lay. Unconscious. As beautiful as always. Her lively glow still resonating off of her skin as though she would wake up any second.

In a coma since December.

Since December when she was shot in the chest and went falling backwards, her head hitting the railing of the stairs, knocking her into the state she was now in.

Shot by the Mayor of Springfield, Bang Manshik.

Shot by the mayor whom Daeryong and Soryong tailed to Tiffany. Shot by the mayor who was taken away by them. Taken away to a place you don’t know of. A place you didn’t want to know of. And his wife took over as Mayor, his disappearance all but a mystery.

And Tiffany still lay here. Here after being shot by that vengeful man two months ago. And you came every weekend, because you could only hope that would change something. Because just like the two men in the room with you, you weren’t going to give up on her. Because just like her grandfather who had to leave due to business matters after coming to see her a few weeks ago, just that one time, you knew she would get better.

And you couldn’t help but every weekend, every Saturday and Sunday night, wish that you could see once more the fourteen werewolves who left. That they were by your side once more. You still had Ricky and Niel. Your mother had begun to soften up. But still, you couldn’t help but want them to be here right now. And that Sunday night, that day in late February, you found yourself thinking about them before you fell asleep, your head resting on Soryong’s own as Daeryong looked on with Tiffany’s heartbeat steadily beating in the background.  

A/N: I wasn't going to upload this early but since I finished it early and you guys are wonderful, here it is. This is really just a chapter to let you all breath out a sigh of relief. Did the chapter accomplish its mission? Are you all relieved? I'll see you all this weekend with a new chapter! Also, I want to add that it's great to see you all again! Love you guys!

Tiffany lives!