JAY-JAY POV
They were being the most aggressively annoying, overprotective snakes imaginable. Loud. Dramatic. Unrelenting. And somehow—disgustingly—sweet about it.
The door creaked open and Dr. Paralta stepped in, clipboard in hand, wearing a rare smile.
"Alright, Miss Maranio," she said, voice calm but warm. "Congratulations—you made it. But I still recommend monthly checkups, just to be safe."
Aries, perched on the windowsill like a suspicious cat, narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean by 'just to be safe'?"
Dr. Paralta didn't flinch. "To make sure everything stays stable. No relapses. No surprises. Recovery isn't just surviving—it's staying well."
I didn't speak. Just nodded. Because she was right. And I wasn't taking any chances.
Everyone nodded. Quiet. Tense. Hopeful.
Keifer's voice broke the silence. "Can she be discharged?"
Finally. I didn't want to see another IV pole. Didn't want to smell antiseptic. Didn't want to memorize another ceiling tile.
Dr. Paralta gave a small nod. "Yes. But take it slow. Be extra careful. You can leave whenever you're ready."
Ready. That word felt too big. Too soft. Too unreal.
But I was done surviving in this room. It was time to go home.
The hallway stretched ahead like a finish line. I was in a wheelchair, wrapped in two blankets and Keifer's hoodie. Captain Crunchless sat in my lap like a war medal.
Keifer pushed me. Jare walked beside us. The rest of Section E trailed behind like a parade with no coordination.
No glitter. No confetti. Just footsteps, voices, and the kind of chaos that felt like home.
The hospital doors slid open. Sunlight hit my face. I blinked. It felt too bright. Too soft. Too real.
Jare leaned down, eyes gentle. "Ready to go home?"
"Ready as I'll ever be," I said—way too fast.
He didn't laugh. Just nodded. Because he knew what I meant.
Leaving wasn't just walking out. It was letting go of the pain. The fear. The silence I'd survived.
But I wasn't leaving alone.
Keifer was still behind me. Jare was still beside me. And Section E— They were already arguing about who got to carry my bag.
I didn't stop them. Didn't correct them. Didn't say I was scared.
Because I was going home. And I was still here.
The second I rolled through the front door, it began.
Ci-N shouted, "Initiate Operation: Emotional Overload!"
Percy held up a handmade banner that said "WELCOME BACK, GREMLIN" in crooked letters. It was duct-taped to the wall. One corner was already falling.
Felix was trying to fix the banner with math. Edrix was hacking the speaker system to play my favorite playlist. Blaster was DJing from his phone with zero volume control. Mayo attempted a backflip in the hallway. David cried. Drew flirted with the nurse who helped me out of the van. Kit handed me a cup of tea like I'd just returned from war.
Eren offered gum. Rory handed me a notebook. Josh sketched the moment like it was sacred. Denzel carried my bag like it was made of glass. Calix stood in the doorway, arms crossed, smiling like a proud older brother.
And Keifer— Keifer just stood behind me. Quiet. Steady. Still holding my hand.
I didn't cry. Not yet. But I felt it. In my chest. In my throat.
This was my welcome home. Loud. Unfiltered. Unhinged.
And somehow— Exactly what I needed.
The door creaked open. My room. My actual room.
It smelled like dust and old lavender. Like the world had paused while I was gone.
The posters were still crooked. My hoodie was still draped over the chair. Captain Crunchless had a throne on my pillow. My notebook was right where I left it—half-open, mid-thought.
I stepped in slowly. No IV. No beeping. No antiseptic.
Just me. And the quiet.
I sat on the edge of the bed. It dipped under my weight like it remembered me.
The silence was loud. Not hospital loud. Not Section E loud. Just… memory loud.
I saw it all. The nights I stayed up writing. The mornings I overslept. The fights. The laughter. The way I used to feel safe here.
I didn't cry. Not yet. But my chest felt full. Like something was pressing against my ribs from the inside.
Keifer stood in the doorway. Didn't speak. Just watched me like he knew this was sacred.
I looked at him. Then back at the room.
"I thought I'd never see this again," I whispered.
"You did," he said. "And you're here."
I nodded. Because I was. And somehow— That mattered.
The house was finally quiet.
Section E had scattered—some to the kitchen, some to the backyard, some probably trying to rewire my speakers for "ambience."
I sat on my bed.
Still wrapped in Keifer's hoodie.
Still trying to believe I was home.
Jare knocked once.
Then stepped in without waiting.
He didn't say anything.
Just sat on the floor beside my bed, back against the wall.
Like he used to.
I looked at him.
He looked tired.
Not the kind you sleep off.
The kind that settles in your bones.
"You okay?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Better now."
I waited. Let the silence stretch.
Then he spoke. Low. Careful.
"It was weird without you," he said. "Like the house forgot how to breathe."
I didn't interrupt. Didn't joke. Just listened.
"Section E tried," he said. "Ci-N was loud. Felix was louder. Mayo broke three chairs. Percy cried every other day. Keifer barely slept."
"And you?" I asked.
He looked at me. Eyes soft. Voice quieter.
"I kept pretending you'd walk back in. That you'd be fine. That I didn't need to fall apart."
I swallowed hard. "Did you?"
He nodded. "Only a little. When no one was looking."
I reached down. Touched his shoulder.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
He shook his head. "No. You don't get to apologize for surviving."
I blinked. Then laughed. Just once.
"You sound like Keifer."
He smiled. "Yeah. We all started sounding like each other. It was weird."
We sat there. Me on the bed. Him on the floor. The silence between us finally soft.
"I missed you," I said.
"I missed you too," he replied. "Even when I was mad at you for scaring us."
I nodded. Because that was fair.