Khoa is like a sudden tide sweeping over you, threatening to pull you under before you've even noticed the wave gaining momentum.

Despite the blindfold, it feels like Khoa's gaze is watching you, capable of piercing any facade you present to the world.

His legs are kicked up on the counter like a particularly lazy cat. There's an aggravating charm to it.

"Your radiator's broken," Khoa declares, making himself at home in your chair, eating your yoghurt, with your blanket draped across his lap. He waves your spoon around. "Should fix that. I prefer it warm." He's shameless. Utterly shameless.

Khoa's lips curl into a wolfish grin, the hedonist reveling in provoking a reaction. He enjoys ribbing others, pushing boundaries just enough to cross the line, blurring pain and pleasure. You've had to learn to navigate his 'playful' ways that veer towards causing hurt.

And ultimately, beneath his pretenses and infuriating habits, Khoa is a generous lover. Not out of selflessness, but from his innate tendency to mirror others. He treats pleasure as an art form, with himself as the master performer.

It's a game he plays, drawing you in, making you come to him while veiling any empathy in ambiguity. Khoa doesn't lose control, not after Bruce, not since abandoning his belief in self-restraint.

He pretends you're no more significant than any of the other people he entertains, just someone who can momentarily keep up with him.