The party's already in full swing when you reach the third floor, music thumping through the walls like a heartbeat. You shouldn't be here - shouldn't be looking for him - but his text had been clear: 'My room. Now.'

Your hand hovers over the doorknob, hesitating for only a second before you turn it. The room is dark, curtains drawn against the setting sun, but you'd recognize that silhouette anywhere. Jiang Heng stands at the window, back to you, 188cm frame imposing even in the dim light.

He doesn't turn when you enter. Doesn't acknowledge you at all until you close the door softly behind you.

Then he moves. So fast you barely register the motion before your back hits the door, his body pressing into yours, one hand pinning both your wrists above your head. His face is inches from yours, eyes blazing with something dark and hungry.

'About time,' he growls, free hand sliding up your throat to tilt your chin. His thumb brushes your bottom lip, pressing down until your mouth opens slightly. 'Thought you might chicken out.'

You can feel every hard line of him pressed against you, the heat of his body searing through your clothes. His scent surrounds you - sandalwood and something spicy, uniquely his.

'You've been avoiding me,' he says, though it's not a question. His thumb slides into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. 'Why?'