Ling's smile changed the moment she said it.
"My turn," she murmured, voice low, calm, too controlled. "To tug your piercing."
Rhea's reaction was instant.
"No," she said, too fast, cheeks warming despite herself. She turned her face away, jaw tight. "Don't even joke."
Ling noticed everything—the way Rhea's fingers curled into the bedsheet, the way her shoulders lifted like she was bracing for something she absolutely did not want… and very much did.
Ling leaned closer, not touching. Not yet.
"Shy?" Ling asked softly, almost amused. "You weren't shy five minutes ago."
Rhea shot her a glare. "That was different."
"How?" Ling tilted her head. "You pinched me. You kissed me so I couldn't make a sound. You enjoyed it."
Rhea swallowed. "That was teasing."
"So is this," Ling replied immediately. "I didn't say I'd do it. I said it's my turn to want."
Rhea turned back then, eyes sharp. "You enjoy watching me lose composure."
Ling didn't deny it. "I enjoy when you pretend you're not affected."
She reached out, stopped just short of Rhea's waist, deliberately hovering there. "Look at you," she added quietly. "You're already denying something I haven't even done."
Rhea crossed her arms, defensive. "I said no."
Ling nodded once, serious now. "Then it's no."
That surprised Rhea more than anything else.
Ling leaned back against the headboard, gaze steady. "But don't confuse denial with indifference," she continued. "I notice what makes you turn your head away. I notice what makes you quiet."
Rhea muttered, "You're impossible."
Ling smiled faintly. "And you're blushing."
Rhea glared again, but there was no heat in it this time. "Don't get ideas."
Ling lifted both hands in surrender, mock-innocent. "Relax. Fantasies don't need permission. Actions do."
She paused, then added, softer, more honest, "And I like that you trust me enough to say no."
Rhea didn't answer right away. She shifted closer.
"…Don't think this means you've won," she said.
The moment barely had time to settle before—
Knock. Knock.
Sharp. Familiar. Commanding.
Ling froze.
Rhea's spine straightened instantly, color draining from her face. "—That's her," she whispered.
Eliza's voice followed through the door, precise and unimpressed.
"Ling. Open the door."
Ling exhaled through her nose, eyes lifting to the ceiling like she was counting restraint. "She knocks like she owns the house," she muttered.
"She does," Rhea hissed. "Your house. Your rules. Your—" she cut herself off, panic slipping in, "—Ling, do something."
Another knock. Louder.
"Ling Kwong."
Ling shifted closer to Rhea, lowering her voice. "Don't move."
Rhea grabbed her wrist. "Don't you dare say that like you control the room."
Ling glanced down at Rhea's hand on her wrist, then back up at her face. Calm. Anchored. Dangerous.
"I do control this room," she said quietly. "But not her".
Eliza knocked again. "If you slept again that's unacceptable".
Ling raised her voice just enough. "I'm awake."
Silence. Then—
"Then open the door."
Ling leaned in close to Rhea, lips near her ear, breath warm but controlled. "Stay here. Don't speak."
Rhea swallowed. "Where?"
Ling gently guided her back two steps, positioning her out of direct sight, palm firm at her waist—possessive. "Behind the door. If she opens it wider, you move with it."
Rhea whispered sharply, "You plan under pressure disturbingly well."
Ling's mouth curved faintly. "I was raised by her."
She straightened, rolled her shoulders once, then unlocked the door and opened it just enough.
Eliza stood there, perfectly dressed, eyes sharp.
She paused.
Slowly, deliberately, she lifted a finger and pointed.
"Why," she said coolly, "You didn't do something to erase it?"
Ling didn't flinch. "It's just a mark."
"I can see that," Eliza replied.
Ling met her gaze evenly. "You already know."
A beat passed. Heavy. Evaluating.
Eliza's eyes flicked briefly over Ling's shoulder, scanning the room. Ling shifted half a step, blocking the line of sight without making it obvious.
Eliza noticed.
Her lips thinned. "You're hiding something."
Ling shrugged. "I'm protecting my peace."
Eliza laughed once, humorless. "You don't get peace by locking doors."
Ling smiled slightly. "I do."
Another pause. Then Eliza straightened.
"Breakfast?"
Ling's smile didn't fade. "I have done."
Eliza left.
The moment her footsteps disappeared, Rhea let out a breath she'd been holding too long.
"That," she said quietly, "was terrifying."
Ling closed the door and locked it again, leaning back against it. "She didn't see you."
"She felt me," Rhea replied. "Your mother senses threats like weather."
Ling looked at her then—really looked.
"You're not a threat," she said. "You're a complication."
Rhea crossed her arms. "That's worse."
Ling stepped closer, lowering her voice again. "You asked for breakfast adventure. Congratulations. You survived level one."
Rhea snorted despite herself. "And level two?"
Ling's gaze flicked to the door, then back to Rhea.
"Level two," she said softly, "is staying hidden all day without driving me insane."
Rhea arched a brow. "Bold of you to assume you're already not."
Ling smiled.
Rhea didn't give Ling time to breathe.
Rhea stepped forward and pinned Ling back against it, one palm flat beside her head, the other gripping Ling's wrist.
Ling blinked. "—Excuse me?"
"You," Rhea said, voice low and sharp, "hid me like contraband and think you're walking away?"
Ling's mouth twitched. "I saved you from my mother."
Rhea leaned in closer. "You enjoyed it."
Ling opened her mouth to deny it.
Rhea didn't let her.
She slid her hand under Ling's shirt and pushed the fabric up, slow, deliberate.
Ling stiffened. "Rhea—"
"There," Rhea murmured, eyes locking onto the faint but unmistakable mark just below Ling's ribs.
Ling groaned under her breath. "You pinched me."
"I marked you," Rhea corrected, smug now.
Ling tried to reach for the hem of her shirt. Rhea slapped her hand away lightly. "Don't."
Ling raised a brow. "You're very bossy for someone hiding in my room."
Rhea ignored that. She pulled her phone out with her free hand, angled it carefully.
"What are you doing," Ling asked, suspicious.
Rhea snapped a photo.
Ling's eyes widened. "Delete that."
"No."
Ling tried to grab the phone. Rhea leaned back just enough to keep it out of reach, still pinning her with her body.
"That's blackmail," Ling said.
Rhea smiled sweetly. "Insurance."
"Against what?"
"You denying me later," Rhea replied coolly. "You pretend things don't affect you. This does."
Ling looked at the phone, then at Rhea. Her voice dropped. "You're enjoying this too much."
Rhea shrugged. "You enjoyed watching me through glass."
Ling inhaled slowly. "Touché."
Rhea finally released her, letting Ling's shirt fall back into place—but not before brushing her thumb once, deliberately, over the edge of the mark.
Ling's breath hitched despite herself.
Rhea noticed.
She stepped back, satisfied. "Behave," she said lightly. "Before your mother notices you're glowing."
Ling scoffed. "I am not glowing."
Rhea held up the phone again. "Your waist disagrees."
Ling grabbed a pillow and threw it at her. "Menace."
Rhea laughed, turning toward the door. "Your menace."
Ling watched her go, fingers unconsciously lifting to her waist, jaw tightening—not in regret, not in shame—
but in the quiet, dangerous realization that Rhea wasn't just staying.
She was claiming space.