jimin doesn’t know what’s happening, but he doesn’t like it.

it started with a minor headache-- he thought it might be because he had a concussion (which was likely, quite honestly, considering how hard he’d been hit in the head to be knocked out) or something, or maybe just the emotional and physical strain taking a toll on his well-being. by now, he’s just hiding, no longer certain it’s even safe to go out, from all the yelling and shouting and death.

it’s all gone to hell. it really has. and jimin just wants it to be over, trembling underneath a table he’d found. he remembers being taught a long time ago that tables could block debris from falling on your head during earthquakes, right? maybe he’d be safe here.

(he’s scared for his life.)

then comes the whispering-- just stay here forever, let them fight it out themselves, it’s none of your business. it’s too hard, too stressful. you have enough on your plate. just worry about yourself. it’s safe here, no need to ruin that. it’s maddening, while the world swims around him whenever he tries to peek outside, terror striking into his heart at the sign of anyone else, especially those with weapons.

maybe the voice was right. maybe he should just stay here and let them all fight it out for themselves.

then someone’s screaming down the corridor for help, and jimin startles in place, lucidity filtering into his thoughts for a brief moment.

no-- no, he wouldn’t just rot away. he wouldn’t let innocents suffer if he could help it. jimin grits his teeth and pulls himself out from under the table, despite all the scratching in his head insisting he goes right back inside. no.

his eyes are pulsing red as he rounds the corner, dagger in his hand, ready to fight if he has to in order to save anyone that needed him. someone needs his help, and jimin is tired of hiding.