Hesse left a small “mark” on Yan Chuan’s wrist. After listening to what Yan Chuan said to him, this usually confident and flamboyant person revealed a fleeting expression of emptiness. His tone carried a hint of complaint, mixed with teasing, resembling a tipsy person speaking in a stammer.
Seizing the moment, Yan Chuan asked Hesse what he wanted to say just now. Hesse truthfully confessed. “Because I want to leave a little of my mark on you,” the handsome and fierce-looking young man with red-green eyes said, expressing something quite immature that did not match his demeanor: “So that everyone knows you belong to me.”
This sentence made Yan Chuan blush. For this… he thought Hesse had some important information about the Alcatraz prison to share with him. The topic naturally shifted to Hesse’s request. The light in his green eyes grew more eager.
Yan Chuan lowered his gaze and extended his wrist, already marked with a circle of red from being gripped tightly. “Let’s just forget about this,” he mumbled. “It’s what you just made; you can’t say it’s not acceptable?”
Hesse glanced at Yan Chuan’s slender, fair wrist, his gaze slightly moving as if he felt it wasn’t enough. Yan Chuan promptly stopped him, adjusting his sleeves and properly covering his wrist, allowing him to see nothing at all. Hesse displayed an expression of regret.
“I’m going to sleep,” Yan Chuan issued his final ultimatum. “The bed is too small; you should go to your own bunk to sleep.” What kind of situation was it for such a large person to occupy his bed?
Yan Chuan lay down in a flurry, covering his face with the blanket. Before Hesse could say anything, he closed his eyes. After the sparse sound of fabric rubbing, Yan Chuan suddenly felt a warmth on his wrist.
A wet, warm tongue licked across the circle of red marks left on his wrist, brushing against the fabric. Realizing what Hesse was doing, Yan Chuan widened his eyes beneath the blanket. What was he doing?
The inside of his wrist tingled as the red marks were carefully licked over, leaving a layer of moisture in the dim light. “Pervert…” he mumbled softly, trying to struggle, but his hair fell chaotically against his cheek, and the red-faced beauty cursed quietly.
Yet, the person being cursed did not mind this small act of resistance. Hesse had a clear objective. If he couldn’t kiss, then he would leave his “mark” in this way; the result would be the same.
With that thought, he gently bit into the delicate flesh on the inside of Yan Chuan’s wrist. His sharp canine teeth left a small bite mark on the snowy white skin.
***
The next day.
Around the afternoon, the guards who usually patrolled the hall were nowhere to be seen. The crowd began to stir, and a strange atmosphere faintly lingered in the air. Yan Chuan sensed it as well.
However, as one of Hesse’s followers, he did not directly perceive what the prisoners were chatting about. He simply felt a slight pain in his wrist, which had been bitten by Hesse before he honestly went to sleep.
The bite marks were engraved on the most sensitive part of his inner wrist, leaving two small dots on the fair flesh. Over time, the bite marks became redder and deeper. It didn’t hurt, except for a slight itch when touched.
Yan Chuan was feeling quite moody. Hesse had fallen asleep peacefully, leaving him in the upper bunk seething. He kept rubbing the spot where he had been bitten, still angry even in sleep. Was this person part dog? If he wouldn’t allow kisses, he resorted to biting instead?
Yan Chuan furrowed his brows and cursed a few times in his mind, maintaining a stiff face and not speaking to Hesse. He remained cold, while Hesse spoke to him in a gentle tone, apparently aware of how outrageous his behavior had been—truly deserving the label of “pervert,” resembling a strange action that defied logic.
During lunch, Hesse swapped his ribs with Yan Chuan’s and replaced the fruit he disliked. Only then did Yan Chuan reluctantly grant him a little favor.
“That night,” Yan Chuan pondered before asking Hesse, “Where will the ‘competition’ take place?” The space in Alcatraz prison for prisoner activities was limited, and there were no outdoor areas; could it possibly be in the hall?
Yan Chuan glanced around and noticed that the patrolling guards who should be present at this time were also absent. The hall was filled with prisoners dressed in uniform, and he could distinguish their different expressions from usual. “Right here,” Yan Chuan received a confirming answer from Hesse.
It was a place where prisoners usually gathered, also serving as a battleground for the “competition,” where the losers would be eliminated. The designer of this prison must have been adept at utilizing space. No wonder whenever he stayed in the hall, he could smell a faint hint of decay lingering around, particularly concentrated in one sunken area.
While Yan Chuan was contemplating who would moderate this next competition with the guards gone, a somewhat familiar tall man approached. He was a prisoner that used to be by the “boss’s” side.
Yan Chuan searched his memories for any information related to this face. He only recalled that Hesse’s relationship with their group was tense, given the ongoing dispute between the former boss and the current one.
Before he could think that much longer, the “host” spoke up. He stepped onto the stage, shouting in an exaggeratedly enthusiastic tone, “Hey! Let’s celebrate the return of the arena competition!”
It seemed the prison internally accepted the term “arena competition.” The host scanned the audience with his eyes, locking onto every wandering gaze, raising his voice, “I see something new, a fresh face! Thanks to the warden for bringing us more fun!”
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