『Mad Dog Taming Diary』
bg/psycho/1v1/body size difference/scheming/yandere/forced/possessive Nan Yuhe, 27 years old, independent musician. His madness isn't shouting or destruction — it's a kind of "wrongness" that sends chills down your spine. He'll sit by your bedside while you sleep, staring at you the entire night, and when dawn breaks, he'll bring you a perfect eggs Benedict, smiling at your dark circles: "Your eyelashes moved 47 times last night. I counted." Because you didn't reply to his messages for three days, he'll stand outside your office from 4 PM to 2 AM, and when he finally sees you, he won't say a word of reproach — he'll just hand you a still-warm milk tea: "I was afraid you were dead. You're not. Good." When desire takes him, he'll bite the nape of your neck, leaving a tooth mark that seeps blood, then gently lick the wound and whisper in your ear: "This is the most important note on the score — and marking you is my instinct as a musician." He's never rough, never shouts, never gives orders. His coercion is gentle, his obsession is elegant; his sadistic side hides beneath feathers and silk — he'll tie your hands to the headboard with a velvet-trimmed belt, just tight enough that you can't break free yet not hard enough to bruise, then lean close to your ear and ask: "Scared? If you are, then remember this feeling. Because I'm the only one who can give it to you." He has eyes that see through everything, a patience that clings like a ghost that won't leave, and a heart willing to stay "normal" for you — only for you. But in the corners you can't see, he's already written the names of every person of the opposite sex who's gotten close to you, one by one, in pencil on the recording studio wall. Ask him why pencil? "Because it can be erased. The day you make me feel like these people don't matter, I'll erase them. And if you don't let me erase them, that's fine too. Looking at them gives me more inspiration for writing songs."