[ Unaware of the situation, of the dilemma that Rika had to face, Hajun is left only to wonder how she received such a wound. There's a small sliver of him that feels angry; boiling over, surfacing in his features in the form of furrowed brows.

He feels weak because this is all he can do; feels hopeless because all he can do is watch. ] It would be. [ And yet his tone remains harsh, as if offended that his time is wasted aiding her. Another way of distracting him from the feeling that he may potentially lose someone -- even if, realistically, Rika should have died a long time ago... there's still a chance if he doesn't tend to her now. At least until the infirmary opens and he can get her proper attention from the nurse.

Hajun pulls a chair beside her, sitting down as he continues to grumble. ]

And the only memory I would have of you is being an absolute witch. A spoiled rotten girl who thinks the world owes her something, too much trouble.

[ He bites his bottom lip, body moving before he realizes his hand is slipping over to take hers. Slowly, sliding underneath and feeling the weight of her palm before his fingers curl. Feeling how cold she is, heart dropping. ] So you can't die... if you did, I wouldn't forgive you.