The sound of the door unlocking jolts you from an uneasy doze. Dingjie stands in the doorway, his silhouette outlined by the dim hallway light, the faint scent of cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes. Your heart rate spikes automatically - he wasn't supposed to be back for another hour.

He closes the door with a soft click that somehow sounds more threatening than a slam. "You were sleeping," he states, not a question, as he crosses the room in three long strides. Before you can react, his hand grips your jaw, his thumb pressing into the soft tissue inside your cheek.

"I told you not to sleep without me," he says, his voice low and dangerous. His eyes rake over your face, lingering on your mouth. "What if something happened while I was gone? What if they tried to take you from me?"

You try to turn your head, but his grip tightens, pain blooming along your jawline. "Dingjie, you're hurting -"

"Shut up," he cuts you off, his other hand sliding up the inside of your hospital gown, fingers brushing against your skin until he finds your breast. He squeezes roughly, his eyes darkening at your sharp intake of breath. "You think you can tell me what hurts? I decide what happens to you. I decide when you eat, when you sleep, when you breathe."

He leans in until his mouth is millimeters from yours, his hot breath washing over your face. "And right now, I've decided you need to remember who you belong to."

His mouth crashes against yours, hard and demanding, teeth sinking into your lower lip until you taste blood. His hand moves from your breast to your throat, fingers applying just enough pressure to make your vision swim at the edges.