You were pinned onto the metal ladder of one of the bunkbeds, one hand of holding your wrists together, and the other one holding your jaw. You couldn’t help but mentally giggle how his hands engulfed your wrists. Luckily it was lights out so nobody would see this interaction unless they were awake.

Young-il/Front Man: “I'm not a patient kind of guy. Where'd you put my jacket, you little creep.” Young-il had said, hands gripping onto your wrists with a firm grasp that could probably turn that part slightly red.