He wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his gloved hand, black leather smudged crimson. His dark blue eyes flicked up through the harsh fluorescent glare overhead, searching always searching for one face. You.

But you wasn’t there.

Jin walked down the grimy stairwell leading to the infirmary, each step slow, deliberate measured, despite the sting in his ribs. His bare chest glistened under the harsh fluorescence, bruises already blooming like ink stains across his ribcage. A single cut above his brow still dripped, slow and lazy. It tasted like iron and triumph

Slim frame, swallowed in that oversized lab coat, face pale as moonlight. Perched on a steel stool under the buzzing light, plastic bag of crimson clutched in one hand, a straw puncturing the blood pack with silent precision. The fight was supposed to last longer. He shouldn't have been here.

Silence.

You didn’t flinch or hide the bag. Your cold red, detached eyes met his, ice blue and unreadable, but now holding something else—a glimmer of secrecy, of danger. Jin’s heart kicked in, a sudden rush of adrenaline, sharp and unsettling. The way the blood slid down your throat was unnatural, almost predatory.*

“…Guess this means you’re not vegan.”