His nose twitched before he could stop it, the delicate motion so small it might have gone unnoticed by anyone who was not paying close attention, yet the surprise behind it settled deep in his chest. The scent drifting toward him was soft and elegant, something like violets crushed beneath warm fingers and incense curling through a quiet temple, fragrant and refined in a way that felt strangely, impossibly safe. Yao Ziyang's eyes widened and his breath caught as the fashionable inmate approached him, despite every instinct that told him drawing attention in this place was dangerous.
For one reckless second, he almost said what he was thinking aloud, only to catch the words at the back of his throat before they could betray him. No one else would understand, and even if they heard him, they would only think he had gone strange from fear, stress, or the lingering shock of being thrown into the spotlight of the prison's cafeteria. There was no way they could know, not in this world, where no one had names for the invisible pull between certain bodies, certain scents, certain souls.
Because in this world… no one knew.
They did not have a name for the way some people moved like magnets through a room, nor for the way a person could stir instinct before thought had time to intervene. They did not understand how someone's presence could make the air feel thick, warm, and charged, as though the world itself had leaned closer to listen. Yao Ziyang had not understood it either until that fever—his heat—had cracked something open inside him and awakened a truth buried somewhere far deeper than memory.
But now, standing face-to-face with this radiant man who wore danger and elegance with equal ease, he felt that truth with aching clarity. Beneath the gloss, the confidence, the sharpened beauty, there was something familiar, something that answered the same buried call inside him.
'This one… is like me. An Omega!'
The man smiled at him with an expression that was equal parts warmth and appraisal, as if he had already measured Yao Ziyang's worth and found it more interesting than expected.
"You're standing like a stunned lamb…"
He said, voice velvety, every syllable sliding through the noise of the cafeteria as smoothly as silk over skin.
"Not smart. This place smells weakness like blood."
Yao Ziyang blinked, jolted out of that strange, scent-drunk recognition and back into the reality of eyes watching him from every corner.
"I—um, I was just looking for directions."
Even to his own ears, the excuse sounded thin, too fragile to survive in a place where even hesitation could be treated like an invitation. The man did not blink, and somehow that made his smile feel sharper without making it any less beautiful.
"Sure you were. Come."
Then he extended his hand as though this were a parlor, a stage, or a private salon rather than a prison cafeteria full of hungry eyes and unspoken threats.
Yao Ziyang hesitated only for a moment before taking it cautiously, his fingers closing around the offered hand with the wary gentleness of someone touching something precious but potentially dangerous. The contact was unexpectedly grounding, warm in a way that had nothing to do with ordinary body heat, and for a brief dizzy second it felt like touching someone from a forgotten memory.
"What's your name?"
The man asked, guiding him a few steps away from the still-watching cafeteria crowd.
"…Ziyang…"
He murmured, still half distracted by the scent clinging to the other man's skin and the strange steadiness of his hand. Then, realizing the answer was incomplete, he lowered his gaze slightly and added.
"Yao Ziyang."
His voice came out softer than he intended, but the man's expression only brightened, as though the name itself had pleased him.
The man's eyes gleamed with unmistakable satisfaction, and he gave a small nod as though he had just confirmed an excellent piece of gossip.
"Lovely name. I'm Pookie."
He said it with such effortless confidence that, for one suspended moment, Yao Ziyang almost accepted it as truth. Then curiosity overcame caution, and Yao Ziyang gave him a puzzled look, unable to stop himself.
"That's really your name?"
The question was innocent enough, but the faint disbelief in it made Pookie's smile turn almost wickedly amused.
"No…"
Pookie replied with a wink, his lashes lowering in a way that made even denial feel theatrical.
"But it's the one that stuck."
Somehow, coming from him, that explanation sounded perfectly reasonable, as though names were merely accessories one wore until a better one became fashionable.
They sat together at an empty table tucked into the corner, positioned just far enough from the nearest clusters of inmates that their conversation would blur into the general noise of the cafeteria. The air seemed calmer there, almost refined, as though Pookie carried some private atmosphere around him and had allowed Yao Ziyang to step inside it. Around them, the eyes of the other prisoners remained present but distant, their attention checked by the silent arrangement of Pookie's people lingering nearby.
Yao Ziyang's eyes subtly scanned Pookie again, taking in his poise, his scent, and the deceptively lazy way his voice slipped beneath a person's guard before they even noticed. There was grace in him, but not softness; there was beauty, but not helplessness.
'Wow, another omega! But… he doesn't even know.'
But Yao Ziyang did, and that knowledge settled inside him with a strange, aching warmth. For the first time since awakening to his own nature, he did not feel like the only Omega stranded in a world that had no way to recognize him. Sitting beside Pookie, surrounded by prison noise and predatory stares, he felt something dangerously close to relief.
Once Pookie dragged Yao Ziyang back to his table, he practically pushed Yao Ziyang to sit next to him, not letting go until he was sure his men of guards had shifted into place with smooth, practiced efficiency. Their presence formed an invisible fence around the corner table, keeping the less desirable inmates at a distance without needing to raise a voice or make a scene. Pookie only released him when he was satisfied the message had been delivered clearly enough for even the slowest man in the room to understand.
Pookie tapped one manicured finger against the table, the neat click of his nail somehow cutting through the cafeteria noise with delicate authority. He gave Yao Ziyang another slow, thorough once-over, and this time there was no mistaking the glittering interest in his eyes.
"Seriously though…"
He breathed.
"You are gorgeous. Do you even know that? Like a jewel."
Yao Ziyang blinked, caught completely off guard by the bluntness of the praise and the unembarrassed intensity with which it was delivered.
"Um…"
The sound came out helplessly, not quite a word and not quite a defense, while heat crept up the back of his neck.
"I mean it. Gorgeous…"
Pookie repeated, gesturing at his face with the conviction of an artist discussing a masterpiece that had been neglected by an incompetent curator.
"That skin? That bone structure? That pouty little mouth?"
He shook his head in disbelief, as though the universe had committed a crime by allowing Yao Ziyang to sit there looking so unpolished.
"You could be the number one beauty in this entire ward with just the tiniest bit of polish."
Yao Ziyang flushed and looked away, scratching the side of his cheek as if he could physically scrape off the embarrassment.
"That's… nice of you to say. But I'm not really interested in being known for that."
He meant it, too, though his denial came out softer than he intended, partly because Pookie's praise had hit somewhere awkwardly sincere beneath his skin. Pookie hummed, neither offended nor deterred, his expression turning knowingly indulgent.
"That's fine, sweetheart. Totally understandable. But you did want to impress the boss of this place—Dong Yingming, right?"
The name landed between them with the precision of a needle, and Yao Ziyang's jolted before he could control the reaction. His blush deepened at once, blooming so quickly across his face that pretending indifference became impossible. Pookie noticed, of course, and his smile sharpened with delighted understanding. He leaned in, voice dipping to a playful whisper.
"Then maybe a little training wouldn't hurt. I hear he's pretty… let's say, bigger than average. I used to run the biggest red light district this side of the nation, you know. I've trained girls, boys, and beauties in between."
Yao Ziyang's head tilted, his confusion briefly overpowering both embarrassment and caution.
"…You ran what?"
He asked it with such honest bewilderment that Pookie's pride seemed to grow even brighter.
"Mmhmm…"
Pookie nodded proudly, as if confessing to a distinguished professional accomplishment rather than an entire empire of illegal commerce.
"And in here? I run a little something-something too. The unofficial official red light district of First Prison. Discreet, classy and very… educational."
Yao Ziyang was blinking too fast now, the pieces of that sentence connecting in his mind one by one with increasingly alarming clarity.
"Wait, that's in here?"
He could not help glancing around as though the prison might suddenly reveal hidden velvet curtains, coded doorways, and an entire economy operating beneath the gray institutional surface. Pookie waved a hand with airy dismissal, clearly untroubled by Yao Ziyang's astonishment.
"Honey, men have needs, and where there's need, there's commerce."
He said it like a natural law, no different from gravity or weather, and somehow that made it even more difficult to argue with him.
Yao Ziyang's surprise lasted only a few seconds before an uncomfortable fragment of the original novel surfaced from the back of his mind, cold and blunt in the way poorly written exposition often was. He remembered the line clearly now:
"...after being locked up for a long time, in order to satisfy their needs, they would lay their hands on people of the same sex."
At the time, when he had first read it, the sentence had seemed like nothing more than a throwaway attempt to make the prison arc feel darker and more depraved, one of those casually cruel details meant to emphasize how lawless First Prison really was.
But now that he was actually here, sitting in the middle of this suffocating place where desire, violence, hunger, and desperation all seemed to rot together beneath the same concrete roof, the existence of a red light district no longer felt unbelievable. If anything, it made a grim sort of sense, because where there were needs people were ashamed of, needs people were willing to pay for, and needs people would hurt others to satisfy, someone clever enough would eventually turn that chaos into structure. Compared to the horrifying alternative implied by the novel, Pookie's "unofficial official" operation almost sounded less like a scandal and more like an entire hidden ecosystem built for survival, profit, and control.
Still, what Yao Ziyang could not understand was Pookie himself. There had never been anyone like him in the novel, no dazzling inmate with manicured nails and enough influence to keep dangerous men at bay with a single glance. The fact that such a memorable person had never been mentioned at all made Yao Ziyang's stomach tighten slightly, because in a story he had supposedly read, an existence like Pookie's should not have been invisible unless the novel had skipped far more than he realized.
Then, to Yao Ziyang's astonishment, Pookie reached beside him into his sparkling pink-and-black tote bag, rummaging with the grave concentration of a priest searching for a sacred relic. After a moment, he produced a small, expensive-looking tube that caught the cafeteria light with a glossy flash.
"Here!"
He said, handing it over with the ceremony of a royal bequest.
"Limited edition cherry blossom pink gloss. Imported with extra shine and moisturizing. Costs a fortune outside. In here? Nearly impossible to get without very good connections."
Yao Ziyang stared at the tube resting in Pookie's hand as though it might evaporate if he breathed too hard. In this place of metal trays, stale food, rough uniforms, and watchful brutality, the lip gloss looked absurdly luxurious, a little fragment of another world smuggled into prison by sheer audacity.
"You're giving this to me?"
He asked, still not reaching for it immediately, because gifts in prison could not possibly be simple.
"Mm-hmm…"
Pookie sang, pushing the tube closer with the bright generosity of someone who enjoyed making grand gestures.
"Call it an offering of friendship. And a small push toward your… personal development."
His smile was sweet enough to seem harmless, if not for the knowing glint tucked behind it. Yao Ziyang's fingers finally closed around the tube, but his suspicion remained alive beneath the flicker of reluctant fascination.
"That obvious?"
He asked, the words escaping before pride could stop them.
"Honey, you have 'pure virgin' basically tattooed on your forehead like an advertisement. I just want to show you how to handle it."
Pookie said it without cruelty, though that did not make it any less devastating. If anything, the casual certainty made Yao Ziyang want to disappear beneath the table and take the cherry blossom pink gloss with him.
Yao Ziyang ran his fingers along the smooth plastic tube as though he were testing whether it was real. It felt cool, sleek, and luxurious against his skin, a ridiculous little treasure in a place designed to strip everything soft and beautiful away. He bit his lip before remembering what he was holding, his thoughts already beginning to run wild despite himself.
'Training, huh…?'
He did not exactly need to impress Dong Yingming in that way—not really—or at least that was what he tried to tell himself as his gaze lowered to the lip gloss in his hand. He knew what he was doing, his past life's experience, and instinct had filled in many of the gaps that ordinary experience had left untouched.
But then again, his mind could not help drifting back to the first time they met, when the novel's villain backer had stood at the edge of his bed with his muscled torso bare. That image had imprinted itself on Yao Ziyang with humiliating clarity, especially the vivid and memorably apparent silhouette of his cock, the feel of its raw heat between his cheeks. The memory returned with such force that a blush rushed across his face all over again.
Yao Ziyang's face burned, and he lowered his head slightly, as though the table could hide the direction his thoughts had gone. He had not been able to peek again since last night, but the first impression had already seared itself into memory too deeply to forget. Massive. Heavy. Dangerous.
He shifted in his seat, suddenly aware of his own body in a way that made the prison uniform feel too soft against his skin.
'My toy still hasn't arrived yet. I'll need to prepare properly soon…'
He thought.
'This body's new to all of this. I don't want to embarrass myself.'
Pookie, blissfully unaware of the exact shape of Yao Ziyang's thoughts—or perhaps entirely aware and simply polite enough not to say so yet—was already digging through his bag again.
"Let me touch up your face a bit. I think I have the perfect shimmer blush for your complexion…"
His tone had become brisk and professional, as though Yao Ziyang had been accepted as his latest project and there was no longer any room for negotiation.
But then—Yao Ziyang froze.
It was subtle, so subtle that anyone else would have dismissed it as a draft, a passing movement, or a stray prickle of nerves beneath the skin. Yet the change moved through him like a hooked thread drawn tight along the back of his neck, making his fingers tense around the lip gloss. The air had shifted.
A scent followed that shift, low and sharp beneath the cafeteria's muddled layers of sweat, metal, food, soap, and human restlessness. Most people would not notice it, or rather, they could not notice it consciously, even if some primitive part of them reacted all the same. But Yao Ziyang could, and he did.
That unmistakable blend of burning spice, sandalwood, and something deeply carnal curled beneath his ribs with immediate, terrifying familiarity. His pulse kicked hard once, then again, as awareness lit through him faster than thought. Dong Yingming.
'He's close!'
Yao Ziyang sat straighter before he even realized his body had moved, his spine lifting as if some invisible hand had hooked beneath his ribs and pulled him upright. His breath hitched faintly, quiet enough to vanish beneath the cafeteria's noise, yet the sharp little catch of air felt thunderous inside his own chest. His fingers curled over the lip gloss, gripping hard enough that the pressure grounded him for only a moment before his instincts flared wide awake, his inner omega stirring violently at the raw, unmistakable signature of that alpha pheromone.
He did not need to turn around, did not need to search the crowd, and did not even need to see his face to know who had entered the range of his senses. The scent had reached him first, cutting cleanly through the stale cafeteria air, through food grease and sweat and disinfectant, through every lesser human smell that had been muddling his nose since he arrived.
'He's here. He's nearby.'
Pookie noticed none of it, still absorbed in the glittering chaos of his tote bag, his brows drawn together in mild frustration as he rummaged past glosses, compacts, folded tissues, and whatever other treasures he had somehow managed to smuggle into prison. He had pulled out a compact mirror instead of the item he wanted, and he frowned at it with theatrical disappointment.
"I know I had the coral shimmer somewhere… or maybe I lent it to Big Mei last week…"
But Yao Ziyang was no longer listening, because the entire cafeteria seemed to fade around the edges as his attention sharpened toward that scent. His heart thudded hard against his ribs, too fast and too loud, each beat blurring the line between excitement, fear, and anticipation until he could no longer tell one from the other. He only knew that the man he was supposed to be with, the man he had already decided he would be intimate with tonight, was somewhere in this large cafeteria, close enough for his pheromones to curl beneath Yao Ziyang's skin like a command.
Yao Ziyang's pulse quickened as his eyes began to move through the room with growing urgency, darting from table to table, face to face, shoulder to shoulder. He scanned the crowd almost desperately, his gaze slipping past inmates hunched over trays, men laughing too loudly, guards pretending not to watch too closely, and clusters of prisoners arranged according to power, fear, and usefulness. The scent was getting stronger now—more distinct, more concentrated, more unmistakably him—and it dragged Yao Ziyang's attention across the cafeteria like a chain pulled taut.
And then—there. He found him.
Across the room, near the far corner of the cafeteria by the vending machines, Dong Yingming stood beneath the dim, unforgiving glow of the fluorescent bulbs overhead. Even in prison clothes, even surrounded by noise and grime and dull institutional colors, he radiated the same magnetic dominance he always did, as though command was not something he performed but something his body naturally imposed on the space around him. His caramel-toned skin looked almost golden under the harsh lighting, his tall frame and broad shoulders giving him an effortless physical authority while his lean silhouette remained deceptively relaxed against the side of the vending machine.
He had his arms crossed, posture casual but not careless, and he was speaking quietly with another man as though the rest of the cafeteria did not exist. They stood close enough that the conversation seemed private, almost intimate from where Yao Ziyang sat, and Dong Yingming was nodding slightly, his lips curled into a faint, rare smile. That smile, subtle as it was, struck Yao Ziyang with far more force than it should have.
Yao Ziyang froze.
The man beside Dong Yingming was unfamiliar, lean and slightly older—or perhaps merely carrying himself with the slippery confidence of someone who had survived by knowing exactly how to make himself pleasant to powerful people. He had sharp cheekbones, a slick smile, and an ease in his posture that made Yao Ziyang's stomach twist without warning. He was too close, too comfortable, and when Dong Yingming said something, the man chuckled softly and leaned forward just a little, just enough to enter Dong Yingming's space in a way that felt intolerable.
That was all it took.
Yao Ziyang's entire body stiffened, the change so sudden and complete that it felt as though every muscle had locked around a single violent impulse. Something deep inside his chest cracked and splintered clean through, releasing a dark, possessive heat that unfurled low in his belly with terrifying speed. His breath caught painfully in his throat, his eyes widening as his pupils dilated sharply, and the noisy cafeteria narrowed down into one unbearable scene: Dong Yingming smiling faintly at another man who had dared to stand too close.
He could no longer hear Pookie rummaging through his bag, nor the scrape of trays, nor the distant bark of laughter from a table nearby. Blood rushed in his ears with such force that it swallowed everything else, leaving only the sight of that stranger leaning into Dong Yingming's space and the brutal, instinctive rejection that rose in response. Jealousy surged inside him, dark and consuming, a sharp and violent emotion that came so suddenly he had no time to soften it into something rational.
He wanted that stranger gone. Dead, even.
'Get away from Dong Yingming. Get away from my Alpha. Get away from him!'
His instincts screamed, wild and wordless beneath the fragile layer of his human thoughts. The force of it shook him, because he had known desire and curiosity, he had known hunger and fear, but this was different, something older and more primal clawing up from inside him with no patience for manners, logic, or restraint.
'He's mine. Mine. Mine.'
Yao Ziyang's slender hand tightened around the lip gloss tube Pookie had given him, his fingers curling with such silent force that the muscles along his wrist began to tremble. He did not notice the strain at first, did not notice how hard he was squeezing, because his entire world had narrowed to that distant corner of the cafeteria where Dong Yingming was still standing too close to another man. His heart pounded furiously, each beat feeding that dark, possessive heat coiling inside him, until even the smooth plastic beneath his palm became nothing more than something caught between his instincts and the violence they wanted to commit.
He squeezed harder, tighter, his gaze locked across the room while his knuckles gradually paled. The tube began to bend beneath the pressure, but Yao Ziyang remained unaware, his mind still trapped inside the sight of that stranger's slick smile and the faint curve of Dong Yingming's lips. He only realized his hand had begun to ache when something fragile gave way beneath his fingers.
CRACK—
The lip gloss tube burst between his fingers with a sharp, ugly pop that cut straight through the table's small pocket of conversation. Tiny shards of plastic bit into the soft flesh of his palm, and the warm, sticky gloss spilled down between his fingers in a glossy pink smear. A thin line of blood followed almost immediately, bright against his pale skin as a sharp sting finally tore him out of the jealous haze.
"O-Ow—"
Yao Ziyang gasped softly, blinking down at his hand as though he could not understand what had happened. The spell broke with the lip gloss, and all at once the cafeteria noise came rushing back in—the clatter of trays, the low murmur of voices, the distant scrape of chairs across the floor. He opened his fingers slowly and stared at the ruined tube in his palm, realizing with a sinking burst of embarrassment that the delicate, luxurious little gift had shattered simply because he had gripped it too hard.
The cherry blossom pink gloss had spilled over his fingers in a glossy, expensive-looking mess, streaking across his skin and blending with the thin crimson line where a jagged shard had nicked him. It looked almost pretty for one terrible second, pink and red glistening together beneath the fluorescent lights, before the sting sharpened again and made his fingers twitch. His throat tightened as shame joined the lingering heat of jealousy, because the broken tube suddenly felt like evidence of something he did not want anyone else to see.
Beside him, Pookie turned sharply at the sound, his attention snapping away from his makeup bag with startling speed. His eyes caught the glint of red on pale skin, and for a moment he went still—truly still, without the fluttering gestures, without the practiced teasing, without the bright surface charm he wore like perfume. He looked at Yao Ziyang's face first, then at the broken lip gloss in his trembling hand, and something unreadable passed across his expression before concern softened it.
"Oh, sweetheart! You alright?"
Pookie reached for him instinctively, his manicured fingers moving toward Yao Ziyang's injured hand with surprising gentleness. His voice remained light, but the alertness in his eyes had sharpened, as though he had just seen more than a simple accident.
"Yao Ziyang?"
Yao Ziyang's lashes fluttered, and the sound of his name brought another flush of humiliation crawling up his neck. He turned his trembling hand quickly, hiding the cut beneath the table even though the slickness of blood and gloss on his fingertips had already betrayed him. Yao Ziyang forced a smile, embarrassed and slightly shaken, murmured.
"I—I'm fine, Sorry, Pookie, I—I broke it…"
The words came out too quickly, tripping over one another as he tried to cover the panic still twisting inside his chest. He kept his injured hand tucked low, fingers curled in a way that only made the sting worse, while his other hand pressed awkwardly against the edge of the table.
"I wasn't paying attention. I don't know why I—Sorry…"
Pookie blinked slowly, and that calm, measuring look made Yao Ziyang feel even more exposed. Yao Ziyang forced a weak smile, but it trembled at the corners, unable to hold steady beneath the weight of everything he was trying not to admit.
"It was really nice of you to give it to me. I didn't mean to—"
Pookie exhaled gently, and just like that, the dangerous flicker of silence smoothed back into composure. He waved him off with easy elegance, though his gaze lingered a second too long on Yao Ziyang's tense expression and the way his shoulders had not fully relaxed.
"Don't worry about it, Honey, it's fine. It's just lip gloss. Seriously, don't sweat it. I have another one—actually, now that I think about it, there's a different shade that'd suit you much better anyway…"
As if the matter were settled, Pookie turned back toward his makeup bag and began rummaging again, the faint clink of compacts and tubes filling the pause between them. He moved with deliberate casualness now, perhaps too casual, giving Yao Ziyang the courtesy of pretending the broken gloss had not revealed anything strange at all.
"I've got another shade in my stash that'll probably go even better with your undertones anyway."
Yao Ziyang hesitated, his mind still roiling with jealousy, embarrassment, and the persistent tug of Dong Yingming's scent. His throat tightened as his gaze flicked toward the far side of the cafeteria again, despite his attempt to stop himself. Dong Yingming was still there, still talking to that unknown man, still oblivious to the emotional turmoil raging across the cafeteria as if Yao Ziyang's instincts were not trying to claw their way out of his skin.
He tried to steady his breathing, but the attempt only made him more conscious of how uneven it had become. His Alpha remained across the room, broad-shouldered and untouchably calm, while that stranger continued occupying space far too close to him.
"…Thanks, that's kind of you, Pookie…"
The softness of his voice did not match the sharpness tightening beneath it.
"But… I think I'd rather have one that's Yingming's favorite color."
Yao Ziyang whispered, voice tighter than intended, and the moment the words left his mouth, he looked away sharply and pressed his lips together as though he could trap the jealousy before it became any more obvious.
Pookie blinked once, and the stillness returned for half a heartbeat.
"Oh? Dong Yingming's favorite color?"
The question sounded innocent, but there was something far too knowing in the slight lift of his tone, as though he had just watched a spark catch fire and was deciding whether to warn anyone before it spread.
Yao Ziyang straightened with sudden purpose, the hesitation draining from his posture as quickly as it had come. He wiped his injured hand discreetly against his pant leg, ignoring the sting and the sticky smear of gloss and blood left behind, because the pain felt unimportant compared to the need now burning through him.
"Yeah. I want to… make sure it's a color he likes."
Pookie arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow, his expression hovering somewhere between amusement, concern, and devious curiosity. The look said he had opinions, many of them, but he chose ignorance for the moment.
"Hmm… You know, I actually don't know his favorite—"
Yao Ziyang seized the opportunity immediately, already rising from the table before Pookie could finish deciding whether to stop him. His chair scraped faintly against the floor, the sound too small to matter and yet loud enough to feel like a declaration.
"Then I'll go ask him myself."
Before Pookie could say anything else, before he could even blink past the sudden shift in Yao Ziyang's expression, the boy had already turned away from the table. The broken gloss tube remained abandoned beside Pookie's makeup pouch, cracked plastic glistening with pink shimmer and a faint smear of red, while Yao Ziyang strode across the cafeteria floor with swift, focused steps. He was halfway toward Dong Yingming before even his own surprise seemed to catch up with him, his wounded hand curled tightly at his side as though pain had become something secondary to the possessive urgency driving him forward.
Pookie stared after him, his lips parting slightly as his carefully painted expression faltered into genuine surprise. His eyes followed Yao Ziyang's retreating figure with mild astonishment, watching the tension in his shoulders, the sharpness in his gait, and the strangely fragile fury that clung to him like heat beneath glass. There was something different about the way the boy moved now—no longer merely soft, startled, and pretty, but shaken into something sharper, something possessive enough to make even the air around him seem less harmless.
'He's got claws after all…'
Pookie's gaze softened, though not with pity exactly, because pity felt too simple for what he was seeing. There was a sweetness to Yao Ziyang, yes, but beneath it was an instinctive claim taking shape before Pookie himself seemed capable of understanding it.
'Poor thing doesn't even realize how much he's already been claimed—and how much he's claiming back.'
Then something else caught Pookie's eye, and the faint amusement on his face stilled by a fraction.
It began as a familiar prickle at the back of his neck, the kind of sensation that came from being watched by someone who knew too well how to make attention feel like fingers against the skin. Pookie turned his gaze only slightly, not enough to make it obvious, and soon spotted him lounging near the back of the cafeteria by the vending machines.
Liu Zhihui. Pookie's boyfriend.
Liu Zhihui looked far too comfortable, which, in Pookie's experience, usually meant trouble had already begun blooming somewhere behind that mischievous, calculating smile. He sat at a distant table with one elbow propped lazily near his tray, his dark eyes locked onto Yao Ziyang as though the boy had just become the most entertaining thing in the room. With a slight tilt of his head in Yao Ziyang's direction, he murmured something slyly into the ear of one of his trusted gangmates.
The gangmate's expression shifted at once, amusement darkening into interest, and Liu Zhihui nudged another inmate beside him with the kind of casualness that fooled only people who did not know him. He whispered something into that man's ear as well, and the other inmate chuckled darkly, his gaze sliding toward Yao Ziyang like a wolf scenting easy prey. Liu Zhihui smirked, and that single curve of his mouth was enough to tell Pookie that whatever he was planning was almost certainly unwise.
Pookie jaw clenched before he inhaled slowly to steady himself, letting the breath pass through him until his expression smoothed back into something composed. A faint sigh left him afterward, touched with resigned irritation, because Liu Zhihui was clearly up to something—something dangerous, possibly cruel, and definitely unnecessary. Pookie could always tell; he knew his man well enough to recognize trouble when it was still only an idea sharpening behind his eyes.
'Oh, he's definitely planning something…'
But this time, instead of rising from the table, instead of snapping his fan open, crooking a finger, or sending one of his own people to cut the foolishness off before it began, Pookie stayed seated. His lips pursed faintly as he turned back toward his compact mirror and makeup pouch, his expression unreadable beneath the careful angle of his lashes. There were moments to interfere, certainly, but there were also moments when interference only softened a lesson that someone desperately needed to learn.
'Not my circus, not my monkeys.'
He reminded himself gently, though the reminder did not quite erase the faint edge of annoyance beneath his composure. Besides, Yao Ziyang was walking straight toward Dong Yingming, and there were very few boundaries in First Prison more dangerous to test than anything connected to that man. If Liu Zhihui chose to challenge that boundary for the sake of curiosity, ambition, cruelty, or entertainment, then perhaps he would finally discover that even clever men could miscalculate when they mistook another person's patience for permission.
"I warned you once…"
Pookie muttered the words under his breath, not loudly enough for anyone else to hear, and certainly not loudly enough to reach Liu Zhihui across the cafeteria. His voice was soft, almost affectionate, but there was a blade hidden beneath the velvet of it.
"Don't bite off more than you can devour."
With that, he took out a brush and palette as though nothing in the world required his concern, sweeping a delicate shimmer blush onto his cheekbone with the steady precision of someone preparing for a performance. The movement helped settle him, and by the time the fine powder caught the light against his skin, his posture had straightened once more into effortless elegance. If the cafeteria wanted a spectacle, then Pookie was at least going to watch it properly.
'Let the prince handle himself for now…'
Pookie crossed his legs elegantly, then put away the blush palette and took out another lip gloss, this one glossier, deeper, and far more dramatic than the shattered cherry blossom pink he had offered Yao Ziyang. He uncapped it with unhurried care and began thoughtfully applying it to his lips, watching the unfolding drama from behind lowered lashes. There was no need to rush, no need to meddle, and no need to waste good makeup on panic when the next few minutes promised to be so deliciously revealing.
'It might just be a very interesting show. After all, what comes next… might finally show what kind of beauty Yao Ziyang truly is.'