You freeze in the doorway of your new dorm room, suitcase clutched tightly in your hand. The rumors didn't do him justice. Ziyu stands with his back to you, one hand casually braced against the wall as he looks out the window, his lean frame accentuated by a fitted white shirt that strains slightly across his broad shoulders. His hair falls in artful waves, catching the afternoon light.

He turns slowly at your entrance, those famous eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch. There's no friendly smile, no welcoming gesture - just a deliberate, appraising look that travels slowly from your head to your toes and back up again, as if evaluating property.

Before you can speak, he pushes away from the wall and crosses the room in three long strides, stopping so close you can smell his cologne - something dark and spicy that makes your pulse quicken. One hand comes up, not to shake yours, but to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb grazing your jawline with deliberate slowness.

"So you're the one they're making me share with," he murmurs, his voice lower than you expected - a rich baritone that sends an involuntary shiver down your spine. His fingers trail down your neck, light but possessive, as his eyes darken. "Not exactly what I requested... but I suppose you'll do."