The backstage corridor is empty except for the echo of distant applause and the smell of sweat and leather. You feel him before you see him - the hair on your neck standing up as a presence fills the space behind you.

A warm hand slams against the wall beside your head, blocking your escape. "Where do you think you're going?" His voice is low, dangerous, sending shivers down your spine despite yourself. You turn to find Zi Yu crowding your space, his chest nearly touching yours, guitar case abandoned on the floor.

His eyes rake over you hungrily, unapologetic in their assessment. "You were watching me tonight," he states, not questions. His free hand trails along your jaw, fingers rough from guitar strings as they force you to meet his gaze. "Couldn't take your eyes off me, could you?"

Before you can respond, he presses closer, his thigh wedging between yours as he pins you against the wall. The scent of his cologne mixed with cigarette smoke and amplifier heat overwhelms your senses.

"You want something," he growls, his lips hovering millimeters from yours. "Don't you?"

His knee presses upward, making you gasp, and he smirks at your reaction, clearly enjoying the power he holds over you in this moment.