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"They're coming in two hours..."
Minjun barely heard the words, his mind still fogged from the remnants of a restless sleep.
"Couldn't you have told them to host it themselves?!" The voice was tinged with frustration, sharp and biting.
"I tried!" came the quiet, almost apologetic reply.
Minjun stirred, his body aching with an unfamiliar discomfort. His usual habit — wrapping his arms around himself in his sleep — had once again left him with that familiar burning sensation in his wrists. It was a sensation that made him feel small, helpless, as though even his own body was conspiring against him.
This time, however, there was no comforting weight beside him. No familiar warmth to shield him from the cold. He felt the emptiness in the pit of his stomach before he even opened his eyes. He was alone, wrapped tightly in the blanket, but the cold air felt like an icy hand gripping at his skin.
He forced his eyes open, blinking rapidly to clear away the haze clouding his vision. The room was dim, the corners too shadowed, too still. He could see them — three figures, seated on a couch across from him. Namjoon, Yoongi, and Jungkook. Their faces were unreadable, but the tension in the air was palpable, thick and suffocating.
"You're up," Yoongi said, his voice calm, almost too calm. His eyes lingered on Minjun with a coldness that sent a shiver down his spine. "Seokjin left some food for you."
Minjun didn't respond. His gaze lingered only on the bowl of cut-up fruit on the table in front of him — the melon wedges, soggy and limp, their juice pooling slowly like forgotten tears. The hunger gnawed at him, but he couldn't bring himself to eat. Not with them watching him, not with that weight hovering next to him.
The blanket shifted, and Minjun instinctively pulled it tighter around himself, trying to shield his vulnerability, to hide the unease spreading through his chest.
"How are you feeling?"
The voice was softer, more measured. It didn't belong to Jungkook, the one who often wore cruelty like armour. No, this was Namjoon — the calm before the storm. The question was almost soothing, but the care in his tone felt wrong. It was too forced, too rehearsed, like a trap being set for a prey that couldn't escape.
Minjun's lips parted, but no sound came. His throat felt tight, suffocating, as though even his body was refusing to acknowledge his own existence. The silence stretched, heavy and unbearable.
"God, answer when someone is talking to you," Jungkook growled, his voice rising in irritation. Without warning, his hand lashed out, the sound of it cracking through the silence like a whip. "You're so disrespectful."
Minjun's breath hitched. His hands shot up to shield his face, his body flinching in anticipation of the blow. But instead of the sting of a slap, it was the roar of Namjoon's voice that tore through the room.
