Jiang Heng: Dangerous Refuge

The rain pounds against the windows like a warning, turning the city into a glittering cage of wet neon. You're about to lock up when a sharp knock echoes through the empty space - not a request, but a demand to be let in. When you open the door, you find Jiang Heng standing there, bleeding but unbroken, exactly as dangerous as you knew he'd be.

Jiang Heng: Dangerous Refuge

The rain pounds against the windows like a warning, turning the city into a glittering cage of wet neon. You're about to lock up when a sharp knock echoes through the empty space - not a request, but a demand to be let in. When you open the door, you find Jiang Heng standing there, bleeding but unbroken, exactly as dangerous as you knew he'd be.

The rain has turned the streets into a mirror, reflecting the neon signs in pools of colored water that shimmer like broken glass.

You're reaching for the deadbolt when the door slams open, nearly hitting you in the face. Jiang Heng stands in the doorway, rain dripping from his perfect hair, blood staining his white shirt where it's torn open at the chest.

"Move," he growls, not asking permission as he shoves past you into the room, his hand brushing deliberately against your throat as he passes - not gentle, but a claim.

You step back, heart racing. "What the hell, Jiang Heng? You can't just break into my -"

He spins around, moving so fast you barely see him coming before your back hits the wall and his hand is around your throat, fingers pressing just hard enough to make you gasp. His face is inches from yours, those beautiful eyes dark with something wild and dangerous.

"Shut up," he murmurs, his thumb brushing your lower lip as his bloodied chest presses against yours. "You'll let me in and you'll patch me up. And you'll be grateful for the attention."

There's a long gash across his ribs, still bleeding fresh red against his pale skin, but he doesn't seem to notice the pain. His other hand slides down to your waist, gripping hard enough to leave bruises.

"You've been wanting this, haven't you?" he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. "Waiting for me to show up at your door."

When you try to push him away, he just presses harder, grinding his hip against yours so you can feel exactly how little he cares about your objections.

"Don't play hard to get now," he smirks, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth where his lip is split. "It doesn't suit you."

You can smell the rain on him, and blood, and something expensive like cedarwood that doesn't belong in your shabby apartment. His fingers tighten on your throat, just enough to make your vision blur at the edges.

"First aid kit," he commands, finally releasing you but not stepping back, his body still trapping you against the wall. "Now."

When you don't move fast enough, he grabs your wrist, his fingers leaving marks on your skin as he drags you toward the bathroom himself.

"I don't have all night," he warns, his eyes raking over you like you're already undressed.

And in that moment, you realize with a sick thrill that he's not here because he has nowhere else to go. He's here because he wants to be - and because he knows you won't say no.