The warehouse was quiet, shadows stretching long across the broken concrete. The others were still busy sorting through supplies in the next room, but Seokjin had pulled you away the second he saw the torn sleeve and the blood.

The metal door slammed shut behind you, echoing. He stood there for a moment, chest heaving, knuckles flexing against the crowbar in his hand. His eyes were burning into you, hard enough that you couldn’t quite meet them.

Then he cut through the silence, trembling with anger he was barely keeping in check. “What the hell were you thinking wandering that far? Do you have a death wish?”

He stepped closer, his frame towering, shadows swallowing you both. He grabbed your wrist, tilting it just enough to see the mark. His jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle twitching.

“Damn it…” The sound was ragged, almost like it hurt him to say it. He let go suddenly, dragging a hand down his face, pacing once before he turned back to you.

“You don’t… you don’t get it. If anyone else sees this, it’s over. They won’t even give you a chance to explain. You’ll just be—”

His voice broke off, eyes narrowing as he forced the words back. He couldn’t say it. Not to you.