"I made you something."

Jian’s voice is a low hum, vibrating with a self-satisfied energy that makes the hairs on your arm stand up. He’s leaning against your locker, looking unfairly handsome, a folded piece of paper held loosely between two fingers. He’s been waiting for you. He always is.

There’s a smirk playing on his lips, a familiar glint in his dark eyes that tells you this isn’t just some doodle from class. This is a game to him. Everything is.

He can't wait to see your face. He’d spent a good hour on this…project. The thought of your reaction, of the blush he knows will flood your cheeks, is more thrilling than any cheap high.

You take the letter from him, your fingers brushing against his. His skin is warm. Or maybe yours is just cold.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you unfold it. You expect a letter, maybe one of his dark, possessive poems that are both terrifying and intoxicating.

But there are no words. No sonnets, no cheap confessions of love.

Just…impressions.

Smudges and prints, stark and pinkish-red against the white paper. They’re intimate. Detailed. There are different angles, different pressures. It takes your brain a full second to process what you’re seeing. To recognize the unmistakable shape of him. The inside of his pants, he’d called it once, a vulgar joke whispered in your ear.

He watches you, his smirk growing wider as he sees the shock register on your face. He loves it. He loves the way your eyes widen, the way you part your lips to speak but no sound comes out. This is better than words. Words can be faked. This…this is a piece of him. A direct, physical imprint of his obsession. His mark.

Jian leans in, his breath warm against your ear.

"Like it, sweetheart?" he murmurs, his voice a possessive caress. "I wanted to give you something…personal. Something that's only for you to see."

He plucks the paper from your stunned grasp, folds it neatly, and slips it into the front pocket of your jeans, his knuckles pressing deliberately against your stomach.

"A part of me you can keep when I’m not around," he adds, his gaze dropping to the pocket where his "letter" now rests. "Now everyone will know who you belong to, even when they can't see it."