Chapter 4: Lines We Can’t Cross

*[Oh ho, look who just stood up.]* *[Some people already have pictures in their head—tongue piercing, wow.]* *[So spicy~]* *[Derek also has a tongue piercing, hehe.]*

Derek's Adam's apple bobbed, his voice rough: "Are you sure?"

I wasn't sure at all.

I glanced away, suddenly fascinated by the chipped black paint on the counter, and fumbled for a way out.

So I changed the subject.

"Can I see your tongue piercing first?"

I'd noticed before that Derek had one, but never got a good look.

He paused, eyes searching mine, trying to figure out if I was serious or just messing with him.

Derek's breathing deepened.

He pressed the tip of his tongue against his cheek.

I couldn't help but wonder—would it poke?

Then, Derek slowly opened his mouth.

He stuck his tongue out just enough for me to see the shiny barbell glinting in the light. I tried not to stare, but it was impossible not to.

The visual impact was intense.

It was a contrast—his tough, inked-up look and the flash of steel in his mouth. My heart gave a funny little flutter.

Derek's looks were aggressive, and his gaze was full of dominance.

But right now, his actions and posture were like an obedient puppy.

As if, with just a look from me, he'd come running, tail wagging.

I half-laughed, half-melted. In that moment, he was all swagger and vulnerability at once.

He grinned, teasing, "So, what do you think? Hot, or too much?"

That illusion vanished as soon as he spoke.

His voice brought me back to earth. I swallowed and nodded.

I snapped back to my senses and nodded blankly.

"Looks good."

My voice sounded way too breathy, like I’d been caught doing something wrong.

"Very sexy."

Derek's eyes curved, his tone gentle: "But it doesn't suit you."

He watched me for a long moment, as if weighing whether to say more.

"A tongue piercing really hurts."

He said it softly, with the kind of protectiveness that made my chest ache.

"..."

Last time, I only pierced my left cartilage because it hurt so much.

"That's... a shame."

But I secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

It was as if the possibility had been offered and gently taken away, sparing both of us the awkwardness of admitting what we really wanted.

Derek looked like he saw through everything, but didn't call me out.

He straightened up, looking especially pleased.

His lips quirked in a half-smile, as if he’d just won a private bet with himself.

"Come here, I'll clean and disinfect it for you first."

His tone softened, more familiar now, and I felt myself relax, just a little.

I followed him over and sat down.

The vinyl of the chair squeaked under me. I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans, trying to act normal.

Just like last time.

But also, a little different.

Everything was the same—the hum of the fluorescent lights, the sharp tang of alcohol in the air—but the tension was new, electric.

For example—

"If you want to see me in the future, just come directly. Don't mess around with your own body."

His words were gentle but firm, almost scolding. I bit my lip, embarrassed and weirdly grateful.

"Okay."

My voice was quiet, but my heart soared. I found myself memorizing the shape of his hands as he prepped the tools.

Derek sat beside me, so I could only glance at him from the corner of my eye.

His well-defined hands, now in rubber gloves, methodically removed the earring, rinsed, and disinfected.

His movements were steady, practiced—he could have been a surgeon or an artist.

When rinsing the ear canal, he reminded me: "It might sting a bit. Bear with it."

"Mm."

I braced myself, jaw set, but the burn was less than I expected. Maybe because he was the one doing it.

But I didn't expect—

"Miss, you keep coming to see me. Aren't you afraid your fiancé will get jealous?"

My head snapped up. His tone was even, but there was something sharp underneath. He kept his eyes on my ear, but his hands stilled, knuckles white around the alcohol bottle.

"Huh?"

The topic changed so fast, I was stunned.

I could feel the tension tighten between us, a question hanging in the air that neither of us wanted to answer.

Derek, on the other hand, looked calm, his tone steady.

He kept his eyes on my ear, but his hands had stilled for a second, betraying his nerves. Only his cleaning movements were a bit rougher.

Was he... nervous too?

I tried not to flinch, but the touch was a little less gentle. My heart hammered—maybe I wasn’t the only one off balance.

Barrage: *[Derek's hand is shaking, his heart must be in his throat. He already doesn't dare see the girl because of his desire and real feelings. Just looking at her, he's about to lose control.]* *[If the girl didn't keep coming to him, he wouldn't even dare talk to her. Not to mention, her fiancé is some rich kid from New York, which makes him feel even more out of her league.]* *[Derek: I'm willing to marry her, even as the backup guy~]* *[We're all adults, enough with the bickering couple trope. We want to see an adult story—the girl making a move, not suffering.]*

The male lead... is that my so-called fiancé, Mason?

My thoughts whirled, suddenly self-conscious. Did Derek think I was just a spoiled kid playing with people's feelings?

"Actually, I don't..."

I started to explain, but the words felt too heavy. Before I could finish, my phone buzzed.

Halfway through my explanation, my phone rang.

Caller: Fiancé.