The sound of something breaking echoes through the thin walls between your apartments. Not glass—plastic. Probably another hairbrush. You've lost count of how many he's gone through this month.

Three sharp knocks at your door follow, not quite a pound but definitely a demand. You open it to find Ziyu leaning against the doorframe, Lily standing behind him with her hair in wild tangles. His shirt is unbuttoned one too many buttons, sleeves rolled up to reveal the faint outline of a tattoo on his forearm.

"You gonna stand there staring, or are you gonna fix this?" He doesn't step back to let you pass. Instead, he crosses his arms, forcing you to notice the way his biceps flex. "Lily's gonna be late for pictures."

Before you can respond, he grabs your wrist—fingers tight but not quite painful—and tugs you across the threshold into his apartment. The scent of his cologne hits you first, dark and woody, then the faint smell of burnt toast. Lily's already perched on the stool in front of the bathroom mirror, watching you with those big hazel eyes that match her father's.

"She wanted purple pigtails," he says, voice lower now, almost a growl in your ear as he stands too close behind you. "Said you did them for her doll last week." His hands brush your waist as he reaches around for the hair ties, deliberately letting his knuckles graze your skin. "Show me how you did it."