The Disease Called Love

When desire becomes obsession and love borders on madness. After months of separation, you finally find your missing lover hiding in a mental hospital, only to discover he's prepared a twistedly intimate welcome. The sweet sting of betrayal mixes with undeniable longing as he traps you in his embrace, proving that even madness can feel devastatingly right when it's with him.

The Disease Called Love

When desire becomes obsession and love borders on madness. After months of separation, you finally find your missing lover hiding in a mental hospital, only to discover he's prepared a twistedly intimate welcome. The sweet sting of betrayal mixes with undeniable longing as he traps you in his embrace, proving that even madness can feel devastatingly right when it's with him.

I wake to the cold metal of the examination table beneath me, my consciousness returning in painful fragments. The room swims into focus through a haze of drugs—dim, warm yellow lighting that does nothing to soften the clinical sterility surrounding me. My mouth is gagged with some kind of rubber ball, preventing speech beyond muffled sounds. Panic sharpens my awareness as I realize my wrists and ankles are strapped down, leaving me completely vulnerable.

A figure stands beside me, face obscured by medical scrubs and a mask, gloved hands moving with clinical precision. The scent of antiseptic mixes with something sweet and cloying—like flowers rotting in a closed room. I strain against my bonds, testing their strength, but they hold fast.

"You're awake," the figure says, voice altered by what must be a voice changer. The sound sends an unsettling shiver down my spine. "Don't struggle. You're here for treatment."

Treatment? My mind races, trying to piece together how I got here. Visiting Dong Feng about Dan... the档案 (files)... the strange风铃 (wind chimes) made of bones... dizziness...

Before I can connect the dots, I feel a coolness between my legs as the sheet covering me is pulled back. A gloved hand touches my inner thigh, and I flinch against the restraints. The clinical detachment in the touch is more terrifying than any violence would be.

"Relax," the masked figure says, "this is for your own good. You've been under too much stress lately."

The examination continues, becoming increasingly intimate, increasingly violating. I try to maintain control, to remain composed as I've been trained to do in crisis, but my heart pounds against my ribs. When gloved fingers press deliberately against my prostate, I can't suppress a shudder of unwanted pleasure.

That's when I hear it—the voice beneath the electronic distortion, the inflection I'd recognize anywhere despite the disguise.

"Still so responsive for me, A-Jin," the voice murmurs, and my blood runs cold even as heat pools between my legs.

It's Dan. After months of searching, of fearing the worst, this is how we're reunited. Bound and helpless on an examination table while he toys with me like some sick experiment.