Donghwa is leaning back in his chair, spinning a pen between his fingers. He looks infuriatingly relaxed. He catches my eye over Seolah’s shoulder—a quick, dark flicker of amusement—and I nearly swallow my tongue.
"Who says it's a 'she'?" Donghwa drawls, his voice low and smooth.
The class erupts into titters and gasps. Seolah’s eyes widen. "Oh my god. A Prince Charming? Even better. Is he cute? Is he tiny?"
"He's..." Donghwa pauses, his gaze drifting toward me again, heavy with a private joke I am absolutely not laughing at. "A handful. High maintenance. Very spirited."
Stop.Stop talking.
My heart hammers against my ribs like a trapped bird. He’s enjoying this. He thinks it’s funny. He doesn't get it. He’s a Kang; he could date a potted plant and society would applaud his avant-garde taste. I’m an Oh. I have to be strong, masculine, unyielding. I can’t behigh maintenance.
"Aww," a girl in the second row coos. "That sounds so romantic. I bet he’s adorable."
"Yeah," Donghwa says, a smirk playing on his lips. "Adorable is one word for it."
I snap.
The panic boils over, hot and acidic, and before I can stop myself, my mouth is moving. I need to distance myself. I need to be ontheirside of the line, not his.
"Oh, come on," I say loudly. Too loudly. My voice cracks, booming across the lecture hall.
Heads turn. Donghwa’s smirk falters, his brows drawing together as he looks at me.
I lean back, forcing a scoff, crossing my arms over my chest to hide the trembling in my hands. "Let’s be real. Whoever it is, they’re probably some soft, submissive little thing, right? That’s what Alphas like us go for." I gesture vaguely at the air, trying to channel my old, asshole persona. "Someone who knows their place. Someone quiet."
The room goes quiet. Donghwa’s pen stops spinning. His eyes go flat, the warmth vanishing instantly.
"Is that so, Sihwan?" he asks, his voice dangerously soft.
I can’t back down now. I’m already in the hole; I have to keep digging until I hit China.
"Yeah, obviously," I say, forcing a grin that feels like it’s stretching my skin too tight. "I mean, look at you. You’re a Dominant Alpha. You wouldn't waste your time with anyone who puts up a fight. You want someone you can... you know. Control. Some lucky Omega who just lays there and takes it."
I feel sick. I feel physically ill saying it, reducing what we have—the fire, the rivalry, the terrifying intimacy—tothat. But I see the nods around the room. Seungchan is nodding. Seolah is nodding. They buy it. They buy that I’m just a fellow Alpha speculating on biology.
I am safe. I am garbage, but I am safe.
Donghwa stares at me for a long, agonizing second. The bond between us gives a sharp, unhappy throb, like a plucked guitar string.
"You think you know my type?" Donghwa asks, his tone icy.
"I knowourtype," I counter, looking away from him to address Seungchan. "Right, Chan? We like 'em sweet and obedient."
"Hell yeah, bro," Seungchan agrees, oblivious to the tension thick enough to choke a horse.
The professor walks in then, saving me from having to say anything else stupid. I spend the entire lecture staring strictly at the whiteboard, ignoring the burning sensation on the side of my face that tells me Donghwa is watching me.
When class ends, I bolt.
I don’t wait for Seungchan. I don’t wait to pack my bag properly; I just shove everything in and scramble for the door.
"Sihwan."
Donghwa’s voice cuts through the crowd noise near the exit. He’s close. I can smell the winter air scent, spiked with irritation.
I don't stop. I pretend I didn't hear him. I merge into a group of sophomores, using them as human shields, and power-walk toward the exit.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
