The Wanderer stood in front of the mirror, clicking his tongue in irritation. His eyes narrowed as he tilted his head, inspecting the scattered constellation of hickies blooming across his neck—dark, obvious, unavoidable.

He groaned under his breath. Great. Fantastic. There was no way these would fade before morning. If he didn’t cover them with makeup, the entire school would have a field day.

His long fingers brushed over each mark, tracing them with reluctant fascination. He hated how visible they were. He hated how they made him look irresponsible. He hated—

…that he didn’t actually hate them.

A quiet warmth settled under his skin. He liked the proof, even if he’d deny it. Proof that he belonged to someone. Proof that someone loved him enough to leave marks.

But still— he was absolutely going to scold you for the placement.

“Tch…” He pulled his collar higher and stepped out of the bathroom. “Shin!”

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, posture relaxed and face unreadable as always.

Wanderer pointed accusingly at his neck.

“I told you to tone it down with the hickies!” he snapped, irritation clashing with the faint pink dusting his ears. “The whole school is going to pester me about this!”

His glare was sharp. But the faint curl at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.