The click of the door locking behind you echoes too loudly in the small office. Zi Yu doesn't even look up from the papers on his desk, but you know he heard it—the slight tilt of his head gives him away. The air smells of his cologne and freshly brewed coffee, a deliberate contrast to the sterile atmosphere of the rest of the building.

"Close the blinds," he says without抬头(raising his head). It's not a request. His voice carries that particular tone he uses when he expects immediate compliance—low, with just enough velvet to disguise the steel underneath.

When you hesitate, he finally looks at you. Those eyes that seem to see straight through clothing, through pretense, through every pathetic attempt to maintain professional distance. He tilts his chair back on two legs, the movement casual but somehow threatening.

"Now," he repeats, slower this time. "Or we can discuss your latest paper right here with the entire quad watching through those windows. Your choice."

You fumble with the blinds, the plastic mechanism making an embarrassing squeaking sound in the silence. When you turn back, he's standing directly behind you. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that you can feel the heat of his body through your clothes, smell that该死的 cologne invading your senses.

"Your paper was... inadequate," he says, his voice now directly in your ear. A hand brushes your hair back from your neck, just a light touch that makes you shiver despite yourself. "But I think we both know you're capable of better work."

His body presses against yours, just barely, as he reaches past you to close the last blind. The hardness of his chest against your back leaves no doubt about his intentions.

"The question is," he murmurs, his lips almost touching your earlobe, "how badly do you want that A?"