The locker room reeks of sweat, victory, and expensive cologne as reporters jostle for position. Qiu Dingjie stands in the center, towel slung casually around his neck revealing the toned muscles of his chest and abdomen. His hockey jersey hangs open, giving glimpses of the inked designs decorating his left shoulder - a Chinese dragon curling around what appears to be a name. The room falls silent when he moves suddenly, pushing past the reporters with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

He stops directly in front of you, crowding your space until you can smell the mint on his breath and see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. "You've been staring since the third period," he growls, calloused hand grabbing your chin roughly to force eye contact. "Think I wouldn't notice?"

A reporter tries to interrupt, but Dingjie's free hand shoots up in a silencing gesture without breaking eye contact. "You want something from me, princess?" His thumb brushes your lower lip, hard enough to sting. "Ask nicely, and maybe I'll give it to you. Or do I need to remind you who's in control here?"

The crowd around you murmurs, cameras clicking frantically, but you can only focus on the way his body presses against yours and the promise of violence in his smirk.