I let the door swing shut behind me with a heavythud.
At the sound of the door slamming, he finally looks up.
His eyes meet mine in the mirror. Dark, heavy-lidded, and completely void of the fear that usually flashes across a freshman’s face when I corner them. He doesn't jump. He doesn't scramble to bow. He just holds my gaze in the glass, water dripping from his long, pale fingers into the basin.
I hold the stare. I widen my stance, letting my pheromones roll off me in a thick, musky wave.Choke on it, pretty boy.I want him to flinch. I want him to look away first.
He turns off the tap. The silence stretches, broken only by the hum of the ventilation and the aggressive thumping of my own heart—from anger, obviously.
"Can I help you?"
His voice is deep. Annoyingly deep. It vibrates in the tiled room, calm and flat, like he’s asking a telemarketer to take him off the call list.
I let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. The audacity is actually impressive.
"You really think you're a big deal, don't you?" I sneer, stepping further into the room. I cross my arms, flexing mybiceps so the fabric of my shirt strains. "Walking around here like you own the place. Ignoring everyone."
Donghwa reaches for a paper towel, drying his hands with agonizing slowness before he finally turns around.
I hate him immediately. I hate that I have to tilt my chin up just a fraction of an inch to look him in the eye. I hate the effortless way his black turtleneck hangs off a frame that hasn't seen a bench press in its life yet still looks broad.
He arches a single, perfect eyebrow.
"Have we met?" he asks.
My jaw tightens so hard my teeth ache.
"No," I spit out, stepping into his personal space. "We haven't. Because you think you're too important to follow basic protocol. You think you're too good to come and respectfully introduce yourself to your seniors? It’s called manners, freshman. Maybe your rich daddy forgot to buy you those."
I’m looming over him, waiting for the apology. Waiting for the scramble.Oh, I’m sorry Sunbae, I didn't know.
Instead, the corner of his mouth quirks up. It’s barely a smile. It’s a smirk. A lazy, arrogant little tilt of the lips that makes me want to punch the mirror.
"I don't really subscribe to that whole 'respect your elders' nonsense," he says, his voice smooth, bored. He tosses the crumpled paper towel into the bin without looking. "Respect is earned. And you haven't done anything impressive yet."
I let out a scoff so harsh it practically echoes off the tile.
"Just listen to you," I snap, shaking my head like I can’t believe the sheer volume of bullshit coming out of his mouth. "I could tell you were insolent from the second I laid eyes on you in that lecture hall. You walk in there, chin up, looking down your nose at everyone, just letting your pheromones bleed out into the air like you’re the only Alpha in the zip code."
I take another step closer, invading his bubble. I want him to feel the heat coming off me. I want him to choke on the pheromone boosters I spent a fortune on to make sure everyone knows exactly where I stand on the food chain.
"It’s arrogant," I hiss, jabbing a finger toward his chest, stopping just short of poking that expensive black fabric. "Walking into a room full of your seniors and scenting the place up without even asking permission? It’s disrespectful. It’s messy."
Donghwa doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even blink.
Instead, he shifts his weight, leaning back against the wet edge of the sink like he’s lounging on a patio chair. He crosses his arms over his chest, his biceps flexing just enough under the knit fabric to annoy me. He looks comfortable. He looks bored.
"You’re one to talk," he says, his voice deadpan.
His dark eyes flick over me, slow and assessing, landing on my neck where my scent glands are currently working overtime.
"You’re currently pumping so much pheromone into this room that even a beta would probably pass out if they walked in right now," he points out, sounding mildly disgusted. He wrinkles his nose, just a fraction, like he’s smelled something rotting in the trash. "It’s thick. Desperate. Makes me wonder..."
He tilts his head to the side, looking at me with this maddeningly calm expression.
"Are you trying to compensate for something?"
My blood runs hot, a flush creeping up my neck that has nothing to do with the humidity. My hands curl into fists at my sides.Compensate?Me? I’m Oh Sihwan. I’m the guy on the brochures. I’m the guy who benches three-fifteen.
