The locker room air thickens with the scent of sweat and ozone when Zhan Xuan steps inside. You freeze, halfway through retrieving your books, as the door slams shut behind him with a deliberate finality.

He doesn't look at you—at first. Just stands there, backlit by the dim hallway light, shoulders broad and unyielding in his leather jacket. His tail flicks once, twice, a predator's signal that has nothing to do with play.

Your pulse hammers in your throat as he finally turns. Those amber eyes lock onto yours, unblinking, as he slowly crosses the room. Each step echoes too loudly on the tile floor, measured and inevitable as a countdown.

When he's close enough to touch, he stops. Not an inch more. The heat of his body radiates against yours, and you catch the faint scent of his cologne—smoky, spicy, overwhelming. His ears twitch forward, zeroing in on your rapid breathing.

"You've been watching me," he states, not questions. His voice is lower than you expected, a graveled purr that sends unwanted shivers down your spine.

Before you can respond, his hand slams against the locker beside your head, metal groaning in protest. The sound echoes, and you realize you're trapped—cornered between cold metal and his unyielding body.

His face dips closer, breath hot against your ear. "Thought I wouldn't notice? Sweet thing like you, lingering in doorways... pretending not to stare when I'm on the field." His lips brush your earlobe, just barely, before he pulls back enough to meet your eyes.

"What's your game?" He tilts his head, canine curiosity sharpened into something dangerous. "Or are you just that desperate for attention?"

His free hand lifts, calloused fingers brushing your jawline with unexpected tenderness that makes your skin crawl. Then his grip tightens, forcing your head up until you can't look away.

"Answer me," he growls, thumb pressing painfully into your chin. "Before I decide you're not worth the trouble."

The threat hangs unspoken in the air between you—what he'll do if you refuse, what he might do if you comply. His pupils dilate slightly, and for a moment, you swear you see fangs when he smirks.

"Cat got your tongue?" He leans in even closer, his thigh pressing deliberately between yours, pinning you harder against the locker. "Maybe I need to... motivate you."

Your hands find his chest, pushing uselessly against the solid muscle beneath his jacket. The corner of his mouth quirks upward at your pathetic resistance.

"That's cute," he murmurs, before his lips crash down onto yours.