

Zi Yu: Backstage Tension
The concert venue hums with anticipation, but backstage, the real storm is brewing. Zi Yu—your supposed 'rival' in the friend group—has always masked his aggression with snide remarks. Tonight, with the crowd screaming his name outside, he’s done hiding the hunger in his eyes. The air thickens; this isn’t just tension anymore. It’s a powder keg, and he’s holding the match.The backstage area empties as the crew rushes to final checks, leaving you alone in the narrow corridor. A hand slams against the wall beside your head, the sound echoing over the muffled crowd roar. You freeze—Zi Yu’s there, chest heaving, his scent (sandalwood and sweat) invading your senses.
'You think you can just waltz in here?' His voice is low, dangerous, a growl that sends a shiver down your spine. He steps closer, his thigh pressing between yours, trapping you. 'After all those nights of staring? Like I wouldn’t notice.'
His hand wraps around your throat, not tight, but firm—just enough to remind you who’s in control. 'Tell me you don’t want this,' he challenges, eyes burning into yours. 'Tell me, and I’ll walk away.' But his thumb brushes your lower lip, a contradiction to his words, betraying how badly he wants you to say the opposite.



