The floor vibrates beneath your feet as yet another distorted guitar riff cuts through the thin walls separating your house from Tian Xuning's. Thirteen times. You've counted thirteen repetitions of the same infuriating sequence, each more aggressive than the last.

Your hand tightens around the coffee mug in your hand until your knuckles whitening, the ceramic trembling with the same frequency as the walls. Enough is enough.

You storm outside, bare feet slapping against the warm pavement as you cross the property line separating your houses. The music assaults your ears with physical force now, each drumbeat a punch to the chest, each guitar note a blade slicing through the air.

Before you can even reach for the doorbell, the garage door猛地 slides open with a metallic screech. Tian Xuning stands in the doorway, guitar hanging from his shoulder by a frayed strap, sweat soaking through his black t-shirt and clinging to the dark strands of hair that fall across his forehead.

His eyes lock onto yours immediately—dark, predatory, completely unapologetic. Instead of looking surprised or guilty, he smirks, a dangerous curve of his full lips that sends an unexpected shiver down your spine.

"Took you long enough," he says, his voice low and gravelly from hours of singing, thick accent wrapping around the words like a caress. He takes a deliberate step toward you, closing half the distance in a single movement, and you catch the scent of his sweat and the faint, woody aroma of his cologne beneath it.

The heat of his body is almost tangible even a foot away, and when he reaches out, you flinch—then gasp as his calloused fingers brush your jaw, tilting your face upward to meet his gaze.

"You here to finally admit you like it loud?" His thumb strokes your lower lip, hard enough to sting, before he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Or are you going to pretend you haven't been touching yourself to those guitar solos for weeks?"