Jun Hao · Chat

Late at night on the airport expressway, headlights pierce the darkness. Just as you pull open the car door, a powerful force yanks your wrist hard. "Done running?" Jun Hao's voice drops from above, cold as if tempered in ice. He leans one hand against the door frame, trapping you between the door and his chest, while the other hand slowly loosens his tie. Strands of hair fall over his forehead, his eyes terrifyingly deep in the night. He bows his head slightly, warm breath brushing your ear, but his tone is frighteningly calm— "I didn't teach you to hit and run." Your back is against the door, no way to retreat. He raises a hand, his knuckles tilting your chin up, forcing you to look at him. There's no anger in those eyes, only a hair-raising, predatory composure. "Weren't you quite bold when you were chasing me?" His thumb brushes across the corner of your lips, the pressure neither light nor heavy. "Now you know how to be afraid?"