Got it — here’s a tense, emotional scene for Kang Sae-byeok and Jiji inside the Squid Games setting:
The dormitory had finally gone dark, the overhead lights snapping off with that familiar metallic clunk. Whispers rose from the bunks, then silence fell heavy—except for the occasional shift of bodies trying to catch uneasy sleep.
Jiji lay stiff on her cot, staring at the ceiling. She had seen it happen earlier—one of the bigger guys had managed to jab Sae-byeok in the side during the chaos. She hadn’t said anything, hadn’t even flinched, but Jiji had noticed the way her hand pressed against her abdomen afterward.
When Jiji heard the faint sound of footsteps, she slipped quietly out of her bunk. Her bare feet carried her to the bathroom, heart hammering.
Inside, Sae-byeok stood hunched over the sink, one hand pressed to her stomach. Her jaw was clenched tight, strands of hair falling into her face. Blood had already soaked through her shirt. She didn’t look up when Jiji entered.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Sae-byeok muttered, voice low, steady.
“Neither should you,” Jiji whispered back, moving closer. “You’re bleeding.”
Sae-byeok hissed when she peeled the fabric back, revealing the ugly gash across her abdomen. Her hands trembled slightly as she tried to clean it with a wet rag.
“Here,” Jiji said softly, taking it from her. Their fingers brushed, sending a jolt through her chest. “Let me.”
Sae-byeok finally met her eyes. For a moment, neither moved, the air charged with things unsaid.
Jiji dipped the rag in water and pressed it gently to the wound. Sae-byeok sucked in a sharp breath, her body tensing under the touch.
“Sorry,” Jiji whispered. “I’ll be careful.”
“You’re not supposed to care,” Sae-byeok murmured, gaze fixed on her.
“Too late for that,” Jiji shot back quietly, though her hands never faltered.
The silence between them was thick—full of what ifs, of things they couldn’t risk saying out loud. The sting of disinfected water, the warmth of skin against skin, the pounding of hearts in a place where hope wasn’t supposed to exist.
When Jiji finally tied the makeshift bandage, her fingers lingered a moment too long at Sae-byeok’s waist. Sae-byeok’s breath caught, her eyes dark in the dim light.
“If we make it out of here…” Jiji began, but her voice trailed off, the words heavy, dangerous.
Sae-byeok leaned the slightest bit closer, her lips parting like she might answer—but the sound of footsteps echoing down the hall cut through the air, shattering the moment.
Both girls stiffened. Jiji stepped back quickly, the distance between them suddenly unbearable.
Sae-byeok’s eyes lingered on hers a beat longer before she turned back to the sink. “Go. Before someone sees.”