Purest Blue

The rain had stopped sometime in the night.

I didn't remember when I fell asleep. Only that I'd felt her arms around me for a while, warm and quiet, and her breath beside my ear, whispering something soft that I didn't catch.

Now, morning light slipped through the curtains like it always did, golden and calm.

I stirred slowly. My body felt heavier than usual—not tired, exactly, but like something clung to me. A warmth. A pulse.

I sat up, blinking through the morning haze.

The blanket slipped down my shoulder.

And I felt it—an ache at the side of my neck.

I reached up with my fingers and touched it gently.

It stung.

Confused, I padded silently to the bathroom and looked in the mirror.

The mark was there.

Red. Raw. Slightly swollen. Like a bruise, but sharper—almost too precise. And unmistakably… from lips.

Not just a kiss. Not like last time.

This one had depth. Intensity.

Almost bled.

I stared for a long time.

For a second, I thought—Did I scratch myself in my sleep? But I knew better. It was shaped too perfectly.

And I remembered her—Alisa—being there. Her arms. Her warmth. Her breath.

The way her lips had lingered on my skin days ago.

I didn't remember her doing this.

But I didn't doubt it.

A strange shiver moved through me—not fear, not discomfort. Just something unfamiliar. Like walking into a room where the air had changed.

I covered it with my collar and got dressed quietly.

As always, breakfast was waiting.

Alisa greeted me with her usual calm smile, dressed in her pale cream blouse this time, her silver hair braided delicately down one side.

"Morning, Noah," she said, setting a spoon beside my teacup.

"Morning," I replied, keeping my tone neutral.

Her eyes flicked briefly to my neck. Just for a second. The tiniest flicker.

But she said nothing.

Only poured my ginger-honey tea.

Like always.

Like everything was normal.

But when she set the plate down—a bowl of lightly salted congee and half a soft-boiled egg—I noticed her hands were trembling.

Just slightly.

School

The limousine dropped me off a few minutes late.

My uniform collar was stiff and high, deliberately buttoned to hide the mark.

Still, I could feel it beneath the fabric, burning faintly like a secret I didn't know how to carry.

First period was English Lit. No one said anything.

Second period, Biology—again, nothing.

But during break, as I leaned over to get a drink from the hallway fountain, my collar shifted.

I didn't notice it right away.

But someone behind me definitely did.

"Oh—uh, Noah?" came a hesitant voice.

It was Minoru, one of the friends Alisa had quietly approved last semester. Kind, observant, never too loud. He stood with his usual group—Aoi and Shun—near the lockers.

I turned. "Yeah?"

He tilted his head and offered a small smile.

"You, uh… you've got something on your neck. It's like, really red."

I froze.

"Oh?" I said, trying not to sound thrown. "Must've scratched it in my sleep."

Aoi frowned. "It kind of looks like—well…"

"Like a hickey," Shun finished bluntly.

Minoru elbowed him. "Don't be rude."

Shun shrugged. "I'm just saying."

I gave a small, awkward laugh. "That's… weird. I didn't think I moved much in my sleep."

"You okay though?" Minoru asked, looking a little more concerned now.

"Yeah," I said quickly. "It doesn't hurt. Just sore."

The bell rang, and the group started toward class.

But as I walked, I felt the weight of it. Not just the mark—but their eyes.

Their curiosity.

Their unspoken questions.

Afternoon

The ache never faded. I could feel it all day, no matter how I adjusted my collar.

Once, during Music class, I caught a girl named Sayo glancing at my neck more than once. She didn't say anything, but I saw the flicker of surprise, maybe even jealousy, in her eyes.

That made me feel stranger.

Not uncomfortable. Not embarrassed.

Just… aware.

Like I was carrying something private that didn't belong in the outside world.

A part of me wanted to forget about it completely.

A bigger part knew I couldn't.

Evening

When I returned home, Alisa was already waiting in the study.

She didn't mention the mark.

Didn't ask about school.

She only looked at me with the same gentle affection as always, and her hand reached out, brushing my hair back behind my ear.

"You're quiet tonight," she said.

"I'm just tired," I replied.

She nodded.

But I saw it in her eyes again—the flicker of something intense beneath the calm. Something deeper than love, or maybe so much love it turned into something else.

Her fingers hovered at my shoulder.

For a moment, I thought she might say something about the mark.

But she didn't.

Instead, she said softly, "You should go rest. I'll bring tea later."

Alone in My Room

I changed into my pajamas, touched the mark again.

Still tender.

Still there.

What confused me most wasn't what it was.

It was why it didn't scare me.

It should have. Maybe.

But instead, it made me feel—kept.

Like someone had placed a candle at my center and whispered, You're mine. You don't have to understand yet.

And maybe I didn't.

But I didn't pull away either.