Ling didn't ask.
She caught Rhea's wrist mid-taunt and turned, grip firm—not bruising, but unarguable. The camp noise blurred behind them as she pulled Rhea straight toward her tent.
"Let go," Rhea scoffed, trying to twist free. "What is this, Kwong? Kidnapping now?"
Ling didn't slow.
Didn't answer.
She pushed the tent flap aside and guided—no, forced—Rhea in, then released her only long enough to shove her down onto the folded bedding.
"Sit."
Rhea laughed, sharp and dismissive, crossing her arms. "Or what? You'll glare me to death?"
She started to stand.
Ling's hand came down on the pole beside Rhea's shoulder with a hard thud.
The tent shuddered.
Rhea froze.
Ling leaned in, eyes dark, jaw tight, anger controlled but barely contained—like a blade kept just short of skin.
"Don't," Ling said quietly. "Push me."
Rhea opened her mouth with another retort ready.
Ling cut her off, voice low, dangerous. "Sit. Quiet. Now."
It wasn't loud.
That was worse.
Rhea stared up at her, defiance flickering—then something else slipping in beneath it. She sat back down slowly, lips pressing into a thin line.
Silence filled the tent, thick and charged.
Ling exhaled through her nose, then turned away just enough to grab the first-aid kit. When she turned back, her eyes went straight to Rhea's waist.
The blood stain had spread.
Ling's throat tightened.
"You're bleeding again," she said, clipped. "If you're trying to prove something, congratulations. You're proving you're reckless."
Rhea's chin lifted. "I didn't ask for your concern."
Ling knelt anyway.
She didn't touch yet.
"Good," Ling replied. "Because this isn't concern."
Her gaze lifted—steady, unflinching. "This is damage control."
Rhea laughed softly, bitter. "You hate me. Remember?"
Ling met her eyes.
"If I hated you," she said, calm and terrifying, "I would've let you keep bleeding."
She reached for Rhea's waist then—careful, precise—waiting just a heartbeat.
"Don't move," Ling said.
Not a request.
An order.
And for once—
Rhea didn't.
Ling worked slowly.
Too slowly for someone who ruled rooms with a glance—but this wasn't a room, and Rhea wasn't anyone else.
She unbuttoned the fabric carefully, fingers controlled, precise. When the cloth fell away enough to expose the piercing, Ling's breath stalled for a fraction of a second.
The jewelry had twisted wrong.
The skin around it was swollen, angry red, blood crusted where it had dried and then torn again. The metal was caught—embedded just enough to be a problem.
Ling's jaw tightened.
"Tell me if it hurts," she said flatly.
Rhea scoffed, though her voice came out thinner than intended. "You think I won't?"
Ling ignored that.
She cleaned the area first, gentle despite the tension in her shoulders. The moment her fingers brushed the skin, Rhea sucked in a sharp breath, body tensing.
"Don't flinch," Ling warned quietly.
"Then don't touch," Rhea shot back, but she didn't pull away.
Ling tried to rotate the piercing slowly, easing it back the way it should go.
It didn't move.
Rhea winced hard this time, fingers gripping the edge of the bedding. "Ling—"
"I know," Ling said, already adjusting, trying another angle. Slower. More careful.
Still nothing.
She paused, recalculated, then tried again—different pressure, different direction.
The piercing stayed stubbornly stuck.
Blood welled again, thin and bright.
Ling swore under her breath, a rare, ugly sound. "Damn it."
Rhea laughed once, sharp and pained. "Told you. It hates you as much as I do."
Ling didn't smile.
She leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing—not frustrated at Rhea, but at the situation. At herself.
She tried compressing the skin gently, then easing the metal free.
Nothing.
Tried warming it with a cloth.
Nothing.
Each failed attempt made Rhea's breath hitch, her face tightening despite her effort to stay composed.
Ling stopped suddenly.
Pulled her hands away.
Rhea blinked, startled. "What—giving up?"
Ling looked at her then—really looked. At the tension in her shoulders. The way her jaw was set to endure rather than admit pain.
"No," Ling said quietly. "I'm not hurting you just to prove I can fix everything."
Rhea swallowed, anger flickering—and something dangerously close to relief.
Ling straightened, grabbing fresh gauze. "It's embedded. Needs proper removal. Doctor. Today."
Rhea's chin lifted immediately. "No."
Ling's eyes hardened. "That's not a discussion."
"I said no," Rhea snapped. "I'm not letting the whole camp—"
Ling cut her off, voice low, absolute. "You're not bleeding out because of pride."
Silence slammed between them.
Ling secured the gauze carefully, firm but gentle, binding it so the piercing wouldn't move further.
When she finished, she didn't pull away right away.
Her hands hovered, then clenched into fists at her sides.
"You don't get to punish your body," Ling said quietly, anger finally bleeding through. "Not like this."
Rhea looked away first.
"And you don't get to care," she said.
Ling stood, towering now, control snapping back into place like armor locking shut.
"Good," she replied coldly. "Because caring would make this worse."
Then Ling went still.
For a long second, she said nothing—then, quietly, like a decision she hated making:
"I have to do this."
Rhea frowned. "Do what—"
Ling didn't answer.
She leaned forward instead.
Slow. Controlled. Intentional.
Rhea felt it before she understood it—warm breath against her skin, right above the piercing. Then Ling's lips pressed there, gentle, purposeful, nothing rushed or indulgent. Heat spread instantly, shocking after the cold, after pain.
Rhea's eyes went wide.
Her breath stuttered, then turned shallow, uneven. Her body went rigid, every nerve suddenly awake, screaming awareness.
"Ling—" her voice came out hoarse.
Ling didn't look up. Her focus was absolute, jaw tight, lips warm against skin only long enough to do what she intended—to warm, to soften, to reduce resistance. Her hands stayed steady, professional almost, even as her pulse betrayed her.
Rhea's fingers reacted before her mind could stop them.
They slid into Ling's hair.
Not pulling.
Just holding.
Anchoring herself.
Her grip tightened slightly, not to draw Ling closer, but to keep herself from moving, from flinching, from letting the sensation spiral into something she refused to name.
Her heart hammered painfully in her chest.
This wasn't desire, she told herself.
This was survival.
This was necessity.
But her body didn't care about excuses.
Every place Ling touched felt louder than it should have. Every second stretched too long. Heat pooled low, unwelcome and undeniable, and Rhea bit the inside of her cheek hard, forcing herself to stay still.
Ling finally pulled back—immediately, decisively—like she'd crossed a line and snapped herself back.
She adjusted the piercing again, carefully this time.
It moved.
Just a little.
Rhea gasped, head tipping back despite herself.
Ling froze instantly. "I said don't move."
Rhea let out a shaky laugh, eyes burning. "You're the one breaking all the rules."
Ling didn't reply.
Her face was rigid, controlled to the point of pain, ears faintly red—not from embarrassment, but from the effort of restraint.
She finished securing the area, hands withdrawing the moment she was done, standing up too fast, putting distance between them like it was oxygen.
"Done," Ling said flatly.
Rhea's fingers slid out of her hair slowly, reluctantly, curling into her own palms.
Neither of them looked at the other.
Because if they did—
One of them might admit that this wasn't just about a piercing anymore.