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Summary
“Hyung, ow,” Jeongin says. He’d dropped to sit on his ass, his legs spread in front of him like a ragdoll.
Minho is crouching by his side in the next second, and he’s going to make a joke about make-up artists having to cover a black eye but his voice dies in his throat when he spots the trail of blood slowly and steadily leaking from Jeongin’s left nostril.