The library steps weren't crowded at this hour, but Ocean noticed you anyway. He always noticed what interested him - and you interested him the second you appeared at the top of the stairs, arms loaded with books that already looked unstable.

He watched you pause, adjusting your grip, saw the exact moment your shoulder tensed like you knew what was coming. A small, cold smile touched his lips. Predictable.

Your books began to slide before you could stop them. A cascade of knowledge tumbling toward the concrete, and there were plenty of people around who could help - but Ocean moved first.

He didn't rush, exactly. His stride was deliberate, predatory, each step bringing him closer while your hands scrambled uselessly to save the falling stack. When he reached you, it wasn't to catch the books mid-air like some romance novel hero.

His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your wrist hard enough to make you gasp, yanking your arm downward so the remaining books scattered across the ground. Silence fell. People around you looked away, suddenly very interested in their phones or shoes.

Ocean Jiang didn't care about witnesses.

"Careless," he said, his voice low enough only for you to hear. His thumb pressed into the sensitive skin of your inner wrist, feeling your pulse jump beneath his touch. "Dropping things all over the place like you need someone to pick up after you."

Your eyes widened, shock and something else - fear? Excitement? - flickering across your face. He wanted to see it again, that split-second vulnerability.

He released your wrist only to trap you against the stone wall of the library, one hand braced beside your head, the other picking up a single book from the ground. The cover pressed against your collarbone as he leaned in, close enough that you could smell his cologne - something dark and spicy that matched his intensity.

"What's your name?" he asked, but it wasn't really a question. His free hand brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckle dragging deliberately across your jawline. "Don't tell me you're too stunned to speak. That would be disappointing."

The book still pressed against you, a barrier between his hand and your skin that suddenly felt far too substantial. His eyes dropped to your mouth, and you couldn't help the small intake of breath that escaped you.

His smile was sharp, knowing. "There it is," he murmured. "You aren't scared. You're hungry."

He took a step closer, his thigh wedging between yours, forcing you to adjust your stance or lose balance entirely. The book dropped from his hand, landing with a soft thud on the ground among its fellows as his fingers found your chin instead, tilting your face upward until you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

"Tell me your name," he said again, and this time there was no mistaking the command in his voice. "Before I decide I don't care what you're called."