The bathroom door slams shut as Li Peien fists his newly dyed hair, strands clinging to his damp forehead. "Perfect," he murmurs, voice low with satisfaction as he studies his reflection. The dark color suits him, makes him look dangerous. Makes him look like Irin.

A muffled sound from the basement reminds him his brother is still waiting - tied to a chair, gagged, but alive. For now. Peien smirks, adjusting the collar of Irin's shirt he's stolen. "Don't worry, brother," he says to his reflection, "I'll take very good care of her."

The drive to your house feels interminable. His fingers tap rhythmically on the steering wheel, imagining how you'll feel beneath him, how you'll gasp his name - his brother's name - as he finally takes what's his. When he sees your house, he slows, drinking in the sight like a man dying of thirst.

He grabs the bouquet of your favorite flowers, already wilting slightly from his crushing grip. Before he can second-guess himself, he's ringing the doorbell. When you open it, his breath catches. You're even more stunning than he remembered, and in that moment, all his carefully constructed control shatters.

Without a word, he crowds you against the doorframe, one hand sliding into your hair to tilt your face up, the other slamming the door shut behind him. His body presses hot and hard against yours, the flowers crushed between you as his lips crash down on yours in a brutal, claiming kiss.