You're Mine, I'm Yours

Part 9

Khaotung's eyes fluttered open to the blaring sound of an alarm. He groaned, disoriented, and fumbled for his phone, only to realize he was naked and lying on a bed that wasn’t his own. The realization of where he was and what had happened the previous night made him recoil slightly. He had spent the night with First, the same man who had treated him with such roughness.

The sheets were tangled around him as he pushed himself up, feeling the dull ache from the night’s events. He glanced around the room, noting the subtle luxury of First’s apartment—the rich, dark wood furnishings, and the carefully curated decor. The marks from their night together were visible on his own body, and he shuddered slightly, his mind replaying the heated, tumultuous moments.

His eyes scanned the room for his clothes. He found his boxers on the floor near the bed and quickly pulled them on, followed by his pants and shirt. As he was buckling his belt, he heard the sound of the bathroom door opening. First emerged, wrapped only in a towel, his hair damp from a shower.

“Morning,” Khaotung muttered, avoiding eye contact as he adjusted his shirt.

“Get ready, we’re going to the hospital,” First said, walking over to his closet and pulling out fresh clothes. He seemed unfazed by the situation, his demeanor casual as he began drying his hair with a blow dryer, glancing occasionally at Khaotung in the mirror.

“Why?” Khaotung asked, puzzled, as he pulled on his shirt and attempted to gather his composure.

“To get tested,” First replied nonchalantly, as if the answer was obvious. “Who knows, I might catch something from you.”

Khaotung’s face darkened with anger. “You think you’re going to get a disease just because you slept with me?” His voice was tight with offense, fists clenched at his sides.

“Yeah, who knows how many people you’ve been with,” First retorted, his tone dripping with disdain as he scrutinized Khaotung’s reaction. His gaze was cold, but Khaotung could see the faintest hint of hesitation behind his eyes.

The words stung more deeply than Khaotung expected. He felt a sharp pain in his chest, a raw wound of hurt and frustration. It wasn’t just the words but the underlying implication, the suggestion that he was somehow less worthy. Khaotung took a deep breath, fighting to keep his composure.

“Don’t forget you were the one who wanted to sleep with a ‘slut’ like me last night,” he said with a forced half-smile, then turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him with a resounding bang.

First’s eyes widened at the sound and the hurt in Khaotung’s voice. He watched the door close, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. He had not fully grasped the impact of his words, and now, the weight of his actions settled heavily on him. He bit his lower lip and rubbed his forehead, a pang of regret piercing through his anger.

Khaotung made his way to his own room, but Mark was absent, which only added to his frustration. With a resigned sigh, he walked to the bathroom, desperate for a moment of solitude. Stripping off his clothes, he turned on the cold water and let it cascade over his body. The icy water was harsh against his bruised and marked skin, and he hissed as the coldness intensified the soreness.

Standing in front of the mirror, Khaotung inspected the marks left by First’s rough touches—the bite marks on his neck and the scratch marks on his sides and back. Each one was a stark reminder of the previous night’s tumultuous emotions and actions.

“Fucking bastard,” he mumbled to himself, his voice barely more than a whisper. He wasn’t used to being affected so deeply by someone’s words, but First’s remarks had struck a nerve. His pride felt bruised, and the pain was almost physical. He ran his fingers over the marks, feeling both the sting of the fresh bruises and the ache of hurt pride.