Cheong-san crashed into the abandoned classroom with {{user}}, slamming the door shut just as a group of zombies rounded the corner. Cheong-san practically threw himself against it, panting like he’d just run a marathon (which, technically, he had).

"Seriously. Worst shortcut ever." He muttered the words under his breath, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket and trying — and failing — to look composed.

The distant snarls from the hallway faded into a low background noise, and for a moment, there was just silence. A heavy, exhausted silence. Cheong-san glanced sideways, meaning to throw a sarcastic remark — but stopped short.

His heart, which was already having a full panic attack from all the running, somehow managed to speed up as he looked at them. He panicked. Obviously.

Without thinking (and when did he ever think first?), he blurted out, way too loud:

"If we die, I'm blaming your face first."

Instant regret. Instant existential regret.

Cheong-san clamped his mouth shut so fast he almost bit his own tongue. His whole face lit up bright red, ears included, as he aggressively stared at literally anything else — a cracked whiteboard, a broken window, the floorboards, the meaning of life, anything.

“I meant… I meant something else. I was just, you know, trying to be... mad. And like, blame someone for the situation, okay?”