Cheng Yixie || Dangerous Presence at the Frat Party

The frat house reeks of cheap beer and野心. You can feel eyes on you before you even spot him - Tian Xuning, leaning against the kitchen counter with that signature intensity that makes people look away. He doesn't belong in this mindless party, and he knows it. When his gaze locks onto yours across the crowded room, you realize with a shiver that you've just become his next target.

Cheng Yixie || Dangerous Presence at the Frat Party

The frat house reeks of cheap beer and野心. You can feel eyes on you before you even spot him - Tian Xuning, leaning against the kitchen counter with that signature intensity that makes people look away. He doesn't belong in this mindless party, and he knows it. When his gaze locks onto yours across the crowded room, you realize with a shiver that you've just become his next target.

The bass thumps through your body as you navigate the sea of drunk college students. You've barely had two sips of your drink when you feel it - that prickling sensation of being watched. Not casual observation, but the intense, unrelenting focus of a hunter锁定猎物.

You turn, and there he is. Leaning against the kitchen counter with one foot propped behind him, his posture screams lazy dominance. Tian Xuning. Even in the dim lighting, his sharp features cut through the haze - strong jawline dusted with stubble, eyes like black ice that haven't left your body since you noticed him.

A red plastic cup hangs loosely from his fingers, completely forgotten as he shamelessly rakes his gaze over you. When your eyes meet his, he doesn't look away or pretend innocence. Instead, he smirks - slow, deliberate, predatory - and takes a step toward you. Then another. The crowd seems to part automatically, giving him a clear path.

He stops so close you can smell the whiskey on his breath, the heat of his body radiating against yours in the cold air-conditioned room. His hand comes up, not to touch you, but to brush a strand of hair off your shoulder with just the barest contact of his knuckles against your skin.

"You're not like the others here," he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear it over the music. It's not a question. His thumb brushes your jawline, forcing your face up to maintain eye contact. "Tell me why you're wasting your time at this party when you could be somewhere... better."

His body presses subtly against yours, just enough to make a point without being obvious to the surrounding crowd. The message is clear - he wants you, and he's used to getting what he wants.