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It’s long enough for Jeongho to get the upper hand. He’s perched over me, knee on my chest.

I faintly hear Ana crying. She’s begging him to stop.

I try to tell her to get out, to get help, but I can’t breathe, let alone speak.

“You two are the same. Two lying, manipulative gijibes.” Jeongho lifts the shears. I grab his wrist, but the movement causes a stab of pain in my shoulder.

The sound of the door slamming open is quickly followed by someone shouting my name.

Jeongho and I look over at the same time. Just as Minseok launches himself at Jeongho.

Even with his weight removed, it hurts to move, but I have to get up. I see my discarded trophy and grab it with my good arm.

Minseok and Jeongho are tumbling across the floor, bumping into Ana, who lets out a scream. The sound has Jeongho glancing back, and I take my chance, pitching the trophy at him. It catches Jeongho in the temple. With a scream of pain, he pitches backward.

Surprised, Minseok turns to me, calling my name. But Jeongho rears up behind him, gripping the discarded pair of scissors.

“No!” I shout, but the warning is too late.

I watch Jeongho plunge the shears into Minseok’s back.

Ilet out a strangled scream as I hurry to Minseok, shielding him with my body. But it’s not necessary. Jeongho is staring at the bloody shears in his hand.

“Bl-blood,” he stutters out. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t do it!” He drops the scissors with a clatter. The moment they hit the ground I kick them out of reach.

Jeongho crumples into a ball, gripping his hair with his bloody hands, wailing that he did nothing wrong.

I turn to Minseok.

He’s holding his injured shoulder. Blood soaks through his jacket, dripping off the end of his sleeve.

I press my hands to the wound, and he grunts in pain.

“What do we do?” Ana asks with a whimper.

“Get help,” I say. “Find someone and call one-one-nine.”

She nods before racing out of the room.

“Should we tie him up or something?” Minseok nods his head at Jeongho, who’s still curled up in a ball, crying.

“No, he’s in too much shock right now to do anything.” I grab someone’s jacket and press it against Minseok’s shoulder as hard as I can, hoping it’ll stop the bleeding.

“Hey, maybe be a little gentler? I’ve kind of been stabbed,” he grits out.

I ignore him, pressing harder. “I have to put pressure on the wound. Just take deep breaths and try not to pass out or anything.”

“Sure,” he says weakly with a pained smile. “Anyone ever tell you you’re really pretty when you’re bossy?”

I’m surprised that he can still annoy me and make me laugh in a moment like this. But he does both. “Stop making jokes, it’ll just tire you out.”

“Impossible,” he quips. “I’m never too tired for a good joke.”

The jacket is now soaked through, and Minseok looks too pale, his eyes half-lidded like he can barely keep them open.

“Don’t go to sleep, okay?”

“I’ll try, but no promises.”