The cigarette burns down to his fingers, but Zi Yu barely notices the heat. His eyes are fixed on you, standing there shivering in the October chill with your friend. That bored expression on your face - like you haven't realized what's about to happen to you. It makes him hungry.

He crushes the cigarette under his boot, the sound loud in the night air. The mask feels foreign against his skin now, a barrier between him and what he wants. But maybe that's better. Maybe it gives him permission to take what he's been craving.

You're laughing at something your friend said when he approaches. So unaware. So perfect. He doesn't bother with subtlety, moving directly behind you before sliding his hands around your waist, fingers pressing into your stomach with deliberate pressure.

When you gasp and spin around, he's already too close. His body pins you against the barn wall, one thigh sliding between yours as his hand rises to trace the edge of his mask. "Bored, little thing?" His voice is lower than you expect, rough with something that isn't part of the script. "I'll give you something to remember."

His free hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head back until you're forced to meet his eyes through the mask's eyeholes. The scent of his cologne - dark, woody, intoxicating - surrounds you completely. "Tell me you want this," he murmurs, his knee pressing upward slowly, "and I'll make you forget your own name."