Episode 23: Marks
The next morning, I opened my eyes slowly.
When I looked beside me, Honoka was sleeping quietly in my arms.
Her bare skin pressed soft and warm against my chest, her cheek resting there, smooth and comfortable against me.
Her slender arms were curled around my waist, holding on.
I reached out gently and touched her hair.
Each time I drew my fingers through those soft strands, the afterglow of last night spread warmly through my heart.
The sweet scent of her, and the warmth I had held so close — both still vivid, still present.
“…mm…nn…”
Honoka let out a small, soft breath and pulled my arm closer.
The gesture was so endearing I found myself pulling her tight against me without thinking.
— It was then.
A faint heat, somewhere near my shoulder.
When I let my gaze fall, I saw that my skin was scattered with red marks.
Along my throat, my collarbone, my shoulder — everywhere Honoka had pressed herself close with such feeling the night before, the traces were left clearly behind.
I steadied my breathing quietly, and let my fingers drift slowly across my skin.
A gentle warmth seeped pleasantly into my fingertips.
— Proof that Honoka had wanted me.
I traced softly over the marks left in my skin.
A ticklish warmth spread through the depths of my chest, and happiness opened out inside me.
Just then, Honoka’s lashes stirred faintly.
Still half-adrift in sleep, she tightened her hold on my arm, as if confirming I was there.
Drowsy as she was, she pressed her face against my chest — too dear for words.
“…Good morning, Honoka.”
I stroked her hair and whispered it softly.
Honoka looked up at me with unfocused eyes.
Still a little sleepy, those wet, heavy-lidded eyes — sweet and melting.
“…Yuna…”
She called my name in a hoarse voice.
In that moment, her gaze fell idly to my throat.
“…oh…”
Honoka’s eyes moved over the red marks scattered across my skin.
A flush rose in her cheeks, and she blinked once, small and slow.
Her fingertips reached out tentatively, tracing along my collarbone with a certain hesitation.
Everywhere those fingers touched, where the heat of last night still lingered, a warm, ticklish sensation spread.
“…they’re there, aren’t they…”
The words fell quietly, small, and faintly apologetic.
That modest reaction was unbearably sweet.
“Mm, lots of them.”
I smiled and took her hand.
Then I guided it gently to my throat and held it there.
“You’re the one who put them there, you know.”
When I whispered it, her fingertips trembled slightly.
The fingers that had only grazed before began to trace slowly across my skin.
“…I’m sorry.”
Honoka tucked her face away, bashful, burying herself in the sheets.
I ran my fingers softly through her hair, and she squirmed with a ticklish sort of pleasure, pressing her face into my arm.
She stayed like that, face down, clinging to my arm.
“It’s all right, Honoka.”
I stroked her hair gently and whispered it.
Honoka lifted her face just slightly and looked up at me, shy.
“…I’m really sorry.”
I smiled at those words and rubbed her back, slow and easy.
“You don’t need to apologise. They’re proof that you loved me.”
Honoka gave a small nod and pressed her face into my chest again.
And just like that, the quiet time of morning flowed on between the two of us.