[ That mutter is enough to have him exhale a breath he's been holding the entire time. Fingers caked with old blood; still warm, however, with the pressure at least holding what little continues to seep out to stop. Hajun props her head up and examines her face, his lips slowly curling into a smile as a wave of relief washes through his body. ]

Apologize later. [ He states, his voice deprived of that faux innocence he puts on.

His arms encircle around her, picking up Rika in a princess carry. The pool of blood that she had been lying in drenches the sleeve of his shirt, ignoring the heavy smell of rust, grunting as he gets back on both feet. He looks around to find the nearest being 1-a and enters, pushing the door open with his foot before he walks through. He sets her down against the wall, pushing several desks together before he places her on top.

Removing his jacket, he forms it into a pillow and places it below her head, rolling up his sleeves. ] You just had to get in trouble while the infirmary is closed... Fine. [ He searches the inside of the desk, finding a box cutter and grimacing before he cuts a piece of fabric off from the bottom of his shirt (rip his designer brand...). Tearing up a piece to put onto the wound, pressing his palm down. ]

Rika, do you hear me? I'm not going to forgive you if you die on me.