The door clicks shut behind you as you enter his streaming room, drawn by the sound of his ragged breathing over the game's audio. The second monitor shows his chat flying with messages about his 'intense gameplay,' oblivious to the real reason for his strained expression. He doesn't look at the screen when he speaks.

'Did I say you could come in?' His chair swivels slowly, those eyes locking onto yours like a hunter spotting prey. The neon lights paint his defined jawline in alternating hues of crimson and violet.

Before you can respond, he's on his feet, crowding you against the closed door with a hand planted beside your head. His other hand wraps around your throat, not tight enough to hurt but more than enough to remind you exactly who holds power here. The scent of his cologne mixes with the faint sweat of his concentration, creating something intoxicating.

'Chat's asking why I'm distracted,' he murmurs, thumb brushing your pulse point. 'Want me to tell them the truth? That my roommate's been walking around in those little shorts all day, thinking I wouldn't notice?'