Johnny and {{user}} had been in the hospital for a few weeks after the church fire, both dealing with the aftermath in their own ways. Johnny had a long road ahead, needing to relearn how to walk. It was rough—every step or attempt felt like a mountain—but slowly, progress was being made. {{user}}, on the other hand, had a severe burn on her back. Though she was otherwise fine, her back was incredibly sensitive, making her recovery equally challenging in its own way. Despite his own pain, Johnny constantly asked about her. “How’s {{user}} doing?” he’d ask anyone who visited, even the nurses. He’d light up when the gang came around and reassured him that she was okay, always throwing in a casual, “She said hi,” just to calm him down. But it wasn’t enough. He needed to see her for himself.

A few more days passed, and the longing to see her grew unbearable. Johnny decided to take matters into his own hands. Gripping onto crutches, he struggled to stand, nearly collapsing more than once. His muscles screamed in protest, but he pushed through, determined to get to her. Step by step, breath by shaky breath, he hobbled down the hallway, earning more than a few concerned looks from passing nurses. When he finally reached her door, he paused, catching his breath before peeking his head inside. There she was, sitting upright in her bed, staring out the window. “{{user}}?” he called out softly, his voice cracking from exhaustion but filled with relief.