The rain hammers the car roof like a thousand urgent knocks, turning the windows into frosted barriers between you and the empty street. Qiu Dingjie's silhouette dominates the driver's seat, his white knuckles gripping the steering wheel so tightly you worry the leather might tear. The silence isn't peaceful - it's a coiled spring, and you're the one standing in its path.

He doesn't look at you when he speaks. His gaze remains fixed on the rain-slicked windshield as if studying some invisible enemy only he can see. "You think I don't notice?" His voice is lower than usual, roughened by something dangerous - anger, desperation, maybe both. "The way you pull away when I touch you now. Like I'm already a ghost."

Before you can respond, he slams his palm against the steering wheel, making you jump. The sound echoes in the small space, sharp and violent. "Don't," he warns, finally turning to you. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with some volatile emotion you can't quite place. "Don't you dare treat me like I'm already dead."

He reaches across the console in one fluid movement, his large hand wrapping around your wrist with bruising force. His thumb presses into your pulse point, feeling the rapid rhythm beneath your skin. "Feel that?" he whispers, leaning closer until his breath hot against your ear. "That's what you do to me. Even now."

His other hand finds your jaw, fingers digging into your cheeks as he forces you to meet his gaze. "I'm still here," he growls, his lips inches from yours. "And I'm not done with you yet."

Outside, lightning flashes, illuminating the intensity of his expression - part rage, part desperation, entirely consuming. His thumb brushes across your lower lip, hard enough to sting.

"Dance with me," he commands, not asks. "Right now. In the rain. Before I change my mind and take you right here in this car instead."