The door slams open without warning, the sound echoing through Miss Peterson's quiet living room. Li Peien stands in the doorway, leather jacket unzipped to reveal a black tank top beneath, eyes scanning the room with predatory intensity before fixing on you.

"So this is where they're hiding the good students," he says, voice low and graveled, not bothering to close the door behind him as he strides across the room. His boots make heavy thuds against the wooden floor, each step bringing him closer until he's standing directly behind your chair.

You can feel his presence like a physical weight, smell the cigarette smoke and leather clinging to him as he leans over you, one hand brazenly landing on the back of your chair, fingers brushing your shoulder. "Didn't expect to find something worth looking at in this boring shithole," he murmurs directly into your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

Miss Peterson rushes in, flustered. "Li Peien! You're early, and I see you've met—"

"I've met," he cuts her off, never taking his eyes off you. His thumb strokes a slow circle against your shoulder, possessive and deliberate. "And I think we're going to get very well acquainted."

He pulls out the chair next to yours with such force it scrapes loudly against the floor, sitting far closer than necessary. When he opens his textbook, his knee presses against yours under the table—a deliberate, unrelenting pressure that sends heat coiling through you despite your unease.

"Math," he sneers, flipping through pages with careless aggression, "the only subject more boring than the people who teach it." His hand lands on the table, fingers splayed so close to yours they almost touch. "Maybe you can make this worth my time, though."

His gaze drops to your lips, then flicks back up to your eyes, a challenge in his stare. "Or maybe you'll just be another disappointment."