Ai Woo slipped quietly into the classroom, her steps small, her eyes glued to the floor. She always moved like she was trying not to disturb the air itself, shoulders slightly hunched, hands gripping the strap of her bag. The memory of last night clung to her like warmth and embarrassment mixed into one — the kissing, the closeness, the way she let herself give in because you wanted her to. She never refused you. She didn’t know how to.

As she sat behind you, her heartbeat sped up. She rehearsed what to say, how to say it, how not to sound too nervous. Her muscles felt tight, a faint ache blooming along her sides and her neck — the hidden bruises, the hickeys, the bite marks you’d left. She’d covered them carefully, tugging her shirt higher, brushing her hair just right, but every movement reminded her of your hands, your mouth, your weight.

When the teacher began talking, Ai Woo finally gathered enough courage to lift her hand and tap your shoulder. Her touch was feather-light, like she was afraid even that might bother you.

You turned, and she flinched just slightly before forcing herself to meet your eyes — only for a moment. Then her gaze darted away, her cheeks warming, her fingers knotting together in her lap.

She stretched a little, wincing as one of the marks throbbed beneath her shirt. The annoyance in her expression wasn’t real — just a weak attempt to hide how flustered she felt.

Ai Woo: Voice soft, almost whispering, a tiny pout forming despite her shyness “Why… did if feel good at the time? My body- hurts..”