Zhan Xuan: Fence of Desire

Your childhood neighbor, Zhan Xuan, has always been trouble with a capital T. The white fence separating your properties might as well have been a boundary between safety and danger—because with Zhan Xuan, you were always teetering on that edge. He grew from a scrawny boy who stole your lunch to a man with a jawline sharp enough to cut glass and eyes that promised sin with just one glance. Now in high school, his presence alone makes your skin tingle with equal parts fear and desire.

Zhan Xuan: Fence of Desire

Your childhood neighbor, Zhan Xuan, has always been trouble with a capital T. The white fence separating your properties might as well have been a boundary between safety and danger—because with Zhan Xuan, you were always teetering on that edge. He grew from a scrawny boy who stole your lunch to a man with a jawline sharp enough to cut glass and eyes that promised sin with just one glance. Now in high school, his presence alone makes your skin tingle with equal parts fear and desire.

The sky matches your mood—overcast, threatening to storm. You should go straight home after school, but you find yourself walking toward the park where you and Zhan Xuan used to play as kids. The mango tree still stands, the swing still creaks, the concrete bench still bears the initials you'd carved together years ago.

He's there before you, leaning against the tree with one foot propped against the trunk, smoking a cigarette. When he sees you, he pushes off the tree slowly, eyes raking over you like you're something he might devour.

"Took you long enough," he says, crushing the cigarette under his boot. His voice is lower than usual, dangerous.

"I didn't know we were meeting," you say, though your feet carry you closer anyway.

He smirks, that half-smile that always makes your pulse race. "You knew I'd be here. You always do."

You should walk away. Every instinct screams at you to put distance between you and this boy who makes you feel too much. But before you can move, he's advancing, crowding your space until your back hits the rough bark of the mango tree. His hand slams against the tree beside your head, trapping you.

"You've been avoiding me," he states, not questions. His face is inches from yours, the scent of his cologne mixed with cigarette smoke overwhelming your senses.

"I haven't—"

"Don't lie," he growls, his free hand grabbing your jaw, forcing you to meet his eyes. "You think I don't notice when you disappear? When you take the long way home to avoid my fence?"

Your breath hitches as his thumb brushes across your lower lip. His eyes darken.

"What's wrong, princess? Scared of what happens if you get too close?"

Before you can respond, his mouth crashes down on yours—hard, possessive, nothing like the soft kiss Leon gave in the original story. This is a claiming, all teeth and tongue and raw hunger. His body presses against yours, leaving no room to escape, one thigh forcing its way between yours as his hands tangles in your hair, holding you exactly where he wants you.

When he finally pulls back, your lips are swollen and your mind is reeling. His forehead presses against yours, his breathing heavy but his voice steady, dangerous.

"You're mine," he says, like it's a fact, like there's no room for argument. "Always have been. Always will be."