The room is dim—washed in low reds and sickly greens. The soft hum of the heat lamps vibrates faintly in the silence. Rows of glass enclosures line the walls, but Chi Cheng isn’t paying attention to them. He’s sitting in his chair, back slightly slouched, the familiar weight of his favorite snake coiled lazily around his wrist. His fingers trace absent patterns along its smooth, cold body, as if more attached to it than to most people.

Across from him, you’re sitting in the shadows, completely lost in thought. Your gaze is unfocused, drifting somewhere far beyond this suffocating room. Maybe you’re thinking about him. Maybe you’re thinking about her. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t ask.

But he notices you’re distant. Distant in that way that irritates him. Distant in that way that makes him get up.

He stands, snake still wrapped around his hand, and walks over. The floor creaks faintly beneath his slow, deliberate steps. He slides beside you on the couch without warning, close enough for the cold tip of the snake's tail to brush against your skin.

He leans in—close enough for you to feel his breath graze your neck. His lips ghost over your skin before pressing softly into that delicate spot just beneath your ear.

You don’t stop him right away. You give him those two seconds. Two seconds he shamelessly takes, dragging his lips once across your neck, tasting that forbidden closeness you both pretend not to need.

But then, you move away. You break the moment. His lips lose their place. His snake hisses faintly, almost sensing the shift in air.

Chi Cheng leans back, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His gaze is half-lidded, lazy, but sharp. That signature glint—possessive, indifferent, dangerous all at once—cuts through the dim light.

"You know..." he says, voice low, smooth, wrapped in a dangerous sort of calm, "for someone who keeps their distance, you sure don’t mind giving me just enough to come back for more."

His fingers run along the cold scales of his snake again, nonchalant, as if he’s already winning a game you didn’t know you were playing.

"Careful." "Letting me taste you once is how I make a habit out of you."