It'll Be Okay
It'll be okay. It'll be okay. Medical technology these days is really advanced, after all.
Unlike the way she'd smiled watching me spiral into panic, she apparently didn't want me lying awake in the dark. At some point she'd set out a mood light, so when I opened my eyes, the world before me was at least faintly visible.
A cute yellow duck-shaped mood light. It was adorable.
Plastic wrap was layered over my collarbone. Unnie had sat me up as if she meant to wind it around my entire chest, then seemed to realize that even on a body as small as mine, wrapping it like a bandage would use an absurd amount — so she'd only stuck it over my collarbone.
It itched. I wanted to scratch it, but scratching meant punishment. That rule carried a weight far heavier than a simple don't scratch, so I clenched my teeth and endured the itch. I didn't even let my hand drift near it, terrified it might look like I was about to.
"..."
I tried to pull the blanket up, doing my best to ignore the handcuffs binding my wrists in front of me. My collarbone flared hot and stinging, so I only drew the covers as far as my chest and closed my eyes. Even shut, the warm yellow light seeping through my eyelids felt good.
Lying there with my eyes closed, I let my body settle — strangely exhausted despite having done nothing all day. Only then did my mind kick into overdrive. At first I kicked my legs under the covers, mortified by the embarrassing things I'd said to my senior. Then came the vague, sickening unease of knowing a tattoo had been carved into me that would never disappear unless something drastic was done.
My stomach hurt. It burned as if I hadn't eaten. After a wave of that pain rose through me, a sudden queasy lurch hit, as if I were about to throw everything up.
And it kept repeating. I'd eaten, so stomach acid shouldn't have been the problem. I lay there marinating in the physical discomfort, turning over why this was happening, until — ah. This is stress. Stress was the root of all illness; it had more than enough power to cause almost any disease. Simply staying in a bad mood long enough could weaken the stomach lining until holes opened in it.
Were holes opening all through my stomach right now? Of course they weren't the kind of holes the wind could whistle through, but still.
It seemed to be the stress of knowing a permanent mark had been left on me. I tried every way I could to turn my thoughts elsewhere, but it wasn't easy. Even when I managed to think of something else, the hot, prickling sensation on my collarbone would surge back and flood my head with stress all over again.
No. Think about something else. Something else. I gripped the blanket tight and tried to recall the YouTubers I'd watched before coming here. What kind of videos would be up by now?
I was sure I'd seen a video once about removing tattoos. The white scars left behind every time the laser scraped the ink away with that sizzling sound. Why did ink stay in the body forever? If I ever got out of here and started dating another girlfriend — despite all of my senior's schemes, she still hadn't managed to break me into a proper bitch — what excuse was I supposed to give?
Ah, no. I tried to lightly slap my own cheek, but my hands were linked together, so I could only manage one side.
Without thinking, my hand drifted toward my collarbone. I jerked it back in alarm. Then my arms felt too cold, so I shoved them under the blanket.
On my collarbone was written Inha's. Even as a couple's tattoo, the phrase felt like it crossed a line. Anyone seeing it for the first time would think something was off — that much was obvious. No matter that a little heart sat beside it, people didn't treat their lovers like property by stamping ~'s on them.
"Haa..."
My stomach was churning so badly I wanted to roll onto my side. I squirmed and turned, but the pain that had been a dull undercurrent flared sharper, so I settled back into my original position. The pet camera's head, which had been whirring faintly back and forth, suddenly stopped dead — and my body went rigid to match it.
Whether by accident or not, the microphone was on too. My senior's breathing came through, soft and close. A moment later, that distinctive little laugh of hers, and the pet camera started turning again.
...Right. I'd already taken my punishment. And for a while, at least, I could stop that garbage cycle of punishment breeding more punishment.
Starting tomorrow, I would set myself a goal: act the part of a lover, even a little, and somehow make life just a fraction more bearable.
Only until I was rescued. I only had to keep up the act until I was rescued. Coax her. Play cute. Hold out until then, and it would be over. I had no integrity, no pride left — nothing worth gritting my teeth over for the sake of dignity.
Just so my body could be a little more comfortable.
And if the police ever smashed through that door, I swore I would spit in her face no matter what — even if it meant I got punished for it too.
"I'm going to clean it, okay?"
"Y-yes...!"
I dabbed at her collarbone with light, tapping strokes, and Heeyeon's eyes flickered. Was she holding back the pain? Did it hurt that much? My own fingers were a little red and swollen from wiping her down, but it didn't seem like it should be that bad.
Then again, maybe Heeyeon was just the type to make a bit of a fuss about these things.
More than that — today she kept staring straight at me, somehow managing to drag the corners of her mouth upward. It felt like a special kind of day. Something about it sat wrong, a vague unease whose cause I couldn't pin down.
Still, seeing her smile was a happy thing. I set aside the towel — damp with sweat and now faintly stained pink — and turned Heeyeon around so I could wrap my arms around her from behind. That was the moment I regretted putting the tattoo on her collarbone.
Holding her like that, nuzzling my cheek against her hair, I caught that soft, sweet scent I could never get enough of. I drew in a deep, unnecessary breath, and Heeyeon started to lean forward a little, as if embarrassed.
"Nn."
I made the sound with don't packed into it. She flinched, then offered her back to me again — and that, too, was so lovely that I slid my hands forward and kneaded her chest and stomach. She'd reacted for a second when my hands first touched her, then gone still, and a competitive spark lit in me. I moved my hands lower. As sticky and lingering as I could make it.
"...Hnh...!"
Only then did she press her thighs together, trying somehow to keep my hand from getting in. I giggled and pushed deeper. Soft, hot — different from her belly or her chest — and I loved the feel of it.
If I put a finger inside, those soft vaginal walls would clamp down and squirm around it. Just thinking about it made my body run a little hotter, but I held myself firmly in check. I pressed into that drug-like flesh with my fingers, rubbing and rubbing over the hood of her clit.
Fondling that soft, dry skin with no moisture on it only made the urge to push inside worse — and yet I didn't want to take my hand away either. That kind of feeling.
Ah, so that's why there were those joke posts about stopping right before the main event with a guy being a crime, I thought. Even just looking at myself — if I were a creature taking orders from testosterone, I wouldn't have been able to hold back.
I just breathed out hot air through my nose in a soft hnn and kept fondling her like a texture toy.
Heeyeon didn't say a word the whole time I touched her, but between people who were close, that kind of silence felt familiar enough. I didn't mind.
Still, it had gone on a little too quiet, so I cleared my throat for no real reason and tossed out a line.
"Does your collarbone not itch?"
"...N-no..."
The voice that came back was so wet I thought — wait, is she crying? — and rested my chin on her shoulder to look at her. Her eyes were squeezed shut. When I let my gaze drift without any particular intent, the tips of her small but full breasts were standing out, peaked and tight.
"Oh my."
The words slipped out on their own. I'd been focused only on her clit for so long; when I shifted my fingers and brushed over her folds, she was already quite wet.
"Aha."
A smile spread across my face. Getting a partner worked up was always a pleasure, and I was so happy I wanted to thump someone on the shoulder. Unfortunately I didn't have a free hand, so I just bit down on the lovely line of her shoulder — that stretch of collarbone running to her deltoid — with my mouth.
"Hyeit...!"
She gave such a clear reaction that I thought — ah, this is it. I really can't hold back.
"Can I put a finger in?"
I lifted my mouth from her shoulder; spit glistened where I'd bitten. Heeyeon made a small uuuh sound, showed me her flushed ears, and nodded.
Savoring the joy that filled my chest to the brim, I brought my index finger — nails kept short ever since I'd met her — to her entrance. I pressed in as if parting her, and she pushed back with a springy resistance before slowly starting to take me. The way her pussy tried to force my finger out and still, lacking the strength, accepted it — it felt a lot like Heeyeon herself.
My heart was pounding too hard to smile. I just took her in with a blank face. I deliberately pulled the partially entered finger back out and pushed it in again. After a couple of repetitions I drove it all the way in, and the pressure, the heat — nothing else in any kind of skinship could give me this.
"Hyeik...!"
When my finger bottomed out, Heeyeon let out a moan thick with arousal. With the hand that, thanks to the tattoo, couldn't feel that soft pressure of her pussy — that pitiful hand — I squeezed her breast tight.
The urge to crush it until it burst made my heart race even faster. The same kind of feeling as wanting to hit something because it was too cute.
I can't hold back anymore— the me inside my head shouted, and I thought: wait. Do I even have to hold back? We've come this far.
"Heeyeon. I can do it, right? Yeah? Right?"
And there was no need to sit here fretting by myself, so I asked her.
"Hup— y-yes. I-it's okay..."
A smile bloomed. When I crooked my finger a little, Heeyeon bent her waist a little too.