Taesu’s snap hit its mark. Jin could feel the look of hurt that flickered across his face before he could stop it. That… wasn’t fair. And Taesu knew it. He never checked on them because Abeoji wanted him to; in fact, the Collector couldn’t have cared less if they never spoke to one another again. He certainly used thier closeness to his advantage, but they’d developed thier bonds organically. Out of a desperate need for camaraderie and survival instinct. For Taesu to hurl that back in his face was a bit harsh. Jin didn’t respond.

The silence was heavy as it lingered between them like an uncomfortable humidity. Jin knew better than to react. He didn’t trust his temper around anyone and Taesu certainly didn’t deserve it. He was just exhausted, physically and mentally— like the rest of them. Jin felt a twinge of pity mixed with guilt wedge itself between his vertebrae.

Finally Taesu sat and the spoon moved. Jin watched with a hint of amusement as the slightest sip was brought to his lips and swallowed. The subsequent bark only made him grin. “My turn,” Jin responded as if he hadn’t just been kicked out. Again. He reached for the tray and picked up Taesu’s flat chopsticks. He helped himself to one piece of whatever banchan had been organized and made a noise of satisfaction. “It’s good,” he prompted. Then, picking up a second piece, he held it out on the chopsticks just in front of Taesu’s mouth to feed him. He sat, patiently.

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