The weekend studio was dimly lit, cloaked in the quiet hum of fluorescent lights and dust particles dancing in morning sunbeams. Rui stood adjusting a spotlight—focused, precise, calm only on the surface. He didn't look behind him, even when the door opened. Even when he felt the shift in the air.
"You keep turning your back to me," came Li Chen's voice, smooth and unreadable.
"I don't like distractions," Rui replied, fingers tightening slightly around the light stand.
"But you keep distracting me."
There was the soft sound of footsteps, each one slower than the last. Rui didn't turn, but his jaw tensed. He could feel Li closing in.
Then—just as Rui reached for the tripod—Li's fingers brushed the back of his neck. The contact was light, deliberate, grazing the mole he hated people noticing.
Rui snapped. "Touch me again and I'll leave."
Li didn't flinch. His voice was low, like smoke curling through glass. "Then you'll lose your partner."
A pause. Rui's chest rose and fell faster now.
"Stay still, Rui…" Li said, softer, more dangerous. "Or I'll do it again."
Then he walked away, slow and satisfied.
Rui exhaled sharply, his hands slightly trembling as he reached for the camera again.
---
The café buzzed with conversation and the clink of glass. Rui arrived late, hoodie up, hair tousled, a storm in his eyes. His friend group had already gathered—Xia Zhi flipping through brochures for the college fair, Tang Wei gossiping, Gao Yuan doodling beside his cup, and Lin Qi watching everything quietly.
"You look like you got hit by a train," Xia said, raising an eyebrow.
"Or something much more fun," Tang added with a sly grin.
"Shut up," Rui muttered, sliding into his seat.
Lin Qi didn't laugh. His eyes narrowed.
He leaned in slightly, voice low. "Did he touch you again?"
Rui didn't answer. Just bit into his sandwich and kept his eyes on the table.
But his silence spoke volumes.
---
That afternoon, Rui sat in the campus library, helping a girl from his art class with her composition sketches. She was sweet. A little too interested. She smiled too much, leaned in too close.
"You draw really well," she said. "Can I see more of your sketchbook sometime?"
"Maybe," Rui replied, noncommittal. "I need to clean it up first."
She reached out, fingers grazing his hand in what might've been an accident—but wasn't.
"You're too modest," she teased. "We should hang out. Just us."
Before Rui could respond, a shadow fell across the table.
Li Chen stood there, calm as ever, eyes dark with something cold and unreadable.
"There's no us," Li said coolly. "He already has someone."
The girl blinked, confused. "Excuse me?"
Li slid into the chair beside Rui, too close, too casual.
"He's mine," he said simply. "So next time, keep your flirting to yourself."
"I didn't mean—" she began, flustered.
"You did." His voice was sharp enough to cut skin.
She gathered her things quickly and left, her face red.
Rui turned to him, furious. "What the hell was that?"
"She was getting too close," Li said.
"That's not your call to make."
Li leaned in, voice like silk over knives. "It is. Because you're mine. Whether you like it or not."
Rui yanked his arm away, breath caught.
"I'm not," he snapped, rising from his seat and walking away.
Li didn't follow. But he didn't stop watching him, either. Not for a second.
---
Under the tall tree on the quad, Rui sat with his friends again, legs crossed, face tight.
"What's with the storm cloud now?" Xia Zhi asked, biting into an apple.
"Let me guess," Lin Qi said. "Li again?"
"He told some girl I was his," Rui muttered. "In front of everyone."
Gao Yuan almost dropped his drink. "Wait… what?"
Rui stared at the ground. "He said it like it was fact."
Lin's smile vanished. "That's not normal. Be careful."
---
The gym was dim, smelling of sweat and metal. Li Chen's fists slammed into the punching bag with perfect rhythm—sharp, brutal.
"You're spiraling," Han Zheng said from the ropes.
"She touched him," Li growled.
Han frowned. "He's not your property."
Li paused. His eyes narrowed, locked on some distant image in his mind.
"He will be. Or no one else gets him."
He pulled out his phone, flipping to the hidden album in his gallery. Photos of Rui—unapproved, taken during their shoots. Candid. Vulnerable.
He stopped on one: Rui under sunset light. Head tilted, neck bare. The mole glowing just under the soft orange hue.
Li zoomed in.
"Mine," he whispered.
---
Rui escaped to the rooftop that night, sketching the sky, trying to calm the mess inside him. The stars above were faint, blurry behind city smog.
His phone buzzed.
Li Chen:
> "Look up."
And when Rui did—he was already there.
Leaning against the edge of the wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"Stalking me again?" Rui asked, voice dry.
"No," Li replied. "Just making sure you're not smiling at someone else tonight."
"You're seriously messed up."
Li shrugged. "But you keep letting me near you."
Then, without warning, Li stepped forward and leaned in—closer than ever.
He kissed Rui.
Not on the lips.
But just under the ear.
Right where that cursed mole lived.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't soft. It was a claim.
Rui gasped and shoved him back hard. "I told you—don't touch me there!"
Li's voice was calm. Too calm. "Then stop acting like you want it."
Rui stormed away, blood rushing, heart thundering.
But he didn't go far.
From behind the stair rail, he watched as Li remained on the rooftop, staring at the sky like he'd forgotten Rui had even been there.
---
Elsewhere, life went on.
Tang Wei tried flirting with a hot law department guy. It failed miserably. Rui teased him for once—just enough to make Tang roll his eyes and laugh.
Gao Yuan handed Xia Zhi a soft watercolor painting. She teared up and hugged him. He froze, awkward, but let her hold on.
Lin Qi smiled at his phone—texting someone Rui didn't know. Rui noticed. He didn't ask.
And somewhere in a house far from campus, Li's younger sister watched her brother flipping through those same hidden photos.
"My brother's staring at that guy again," she thought, unimpressed. "Should I tell Dad?"
She decided to wait.
---
That night, Rui lay in bed with his sketchbook open on his chest.
He drew a hand. A jawline. The curve behind an ear.
Then he blacked it all out with thick, angry strokes.
His phone buzzed again.
Li Chen:
> "Still mad?"
"Or just missing me?"
Rui didn't reply.
But he stared at the message for a long, long time.
Too long.