I spent Sunday at the gym, benching until my pecs screamed, trying to push the image of them leaving the party together outof my head. It didn't work. The weights just felt heavier, and my mood got darker.
Whatever happened between them on Saturday night, it ends now.
I check my reflection in the darkened window of the coffee shop. My hair is perfect, waxed back to show off my forehead. My biceps are threatening to tear the seams of my navy polo. I look expensive. I look like a winner.
"Order for Sihwan!"
I stride to the counter, ignoring the beta barista who blushes when our fingers brush. I grab the drink. It’s a masterpiece. A Venti Caramel Macchiato with extra drizzle and whipped cream. It’s basically liquid diabetes, but it looks impressive, and Omegas love sweet things. That’s, like, Omega Dating 101.
I march toward the lecture hall, the cardboard cup burning my hand. This is a tactical strike. Donghwa might have had one lucky night because he’s "mysterious" and "new," but I have stamina. I have persistence. And I have eight thousand won worth of caffeine and sugar.
The lecture hall is buzzing, but I spot him immediately. Heesung is in the third row, looking predictably gorgeous even under the harsh fluorescent lights. He’s scrolling on his phone, looking a little tired.
Perfect.
I slide into the seat next to him, making sure to spread my legs just enough to assert space without being a total asshole. I let my pheromones leak out—just a hint, warm and inviting.
"Morning, superstar," I say, voice dropped an octave. I set the coffee down in front of him like I’m presenting a diamond ring. "You looked like you needed a pick-me-up."
Heesung jumps a little, blinking up at me. He sniffs the air, his nose wrinkling slightly before he offers a polite, practiced smile.
"Oh. Hi, Sihwan-sunbae." He looks at the massive cup. "That’s... big."
"Go big or go home, right?" I wink. "Figured you might be dragging a bit this morning. After the weekend and all."
I watch his face closely, looking for a blush, a hickey, a guilty look—anything that confirms he spent the last thirty-six hours in Donghwa’s bed.
Heesung takes the cup, his manicured fingers brushing against my knuckles. I feel a jolt of satisfaction that has nothing to do with static electricity and everything to do with the way his eyes light up.
"Caramel? You remembered," he purrs, taking a sip. A little hum of appreciation vibrates in his throat, and I mentally high-five myself.
Boom. Headshot.
"I have a memory like a steel trap when it comes to important things," I say, leaning back and draping my arm over the back of his chair. I’m claiming territory here. I’m practically peeing on the furniture, metaphorically speaking. "Besides, you looked like you needed something sweet to wash the taste of a bad weekend out of your mouth."
Heesung giggles—actually giggles—and leans into my space. The scent of peaches and cream spikes, sugary and inviting. "You’re terrible, Sunbae. My weekend wasn'tthatbad."
"Wasn't it?" I challenge, dropping my voice to a low rumble. "I didn't see you at the club on Sunday. Figured you were recovering from... boredom."
Heesung bites his lip, looking up at me through his lashes. He’s eating it up. My ego inflates like a balloon. I knew it. Whatever happened with Donghwa was a flop. The kid probably has the personality of a wet napkin once you get past the brooding artist act. Heesung is back where he belongs: basking in the glow of a real Alpha.
I’m just about to suggest dinner—somewhere expensive, somewhere public—when the atmosphere in the room shifts. It’s subtle, like a sudden draft in a warm room. The chatter dies down a decibel.
I don't even have to look to know who it is. The air suddenly smells crisp, like ozone and expensive ink.
I look up, keeping my arm firmly around Heesung’s chair, and lock eyes with Kang Donghwa. He’s walking up the aisle, backpack slung over one shoulder, looking effortlessly disheveled in a black button down.
I grin at him. A wide, shark-like grin.Look at this, rookie. Look at who’s winning.
I expect him to scowl. I expect him to falter, to see Heesung leaning into me and turn tail to find a seat in the back row where he can sulk and write poetry about rejection.
Instead, Donghwa stops at our row. He looks at me, then at Heesung, and then... he smiles.
I don't like it. It’s small, bemused, and infuriatingly calm. It’s the look you give a toddler who’s proudly showing you a drawing of a horse that looks like a potato.
"Morning," he says, his voice cool and deep.
Before I can tell him the seats are taken, he drops his bag and slides into the empty chair on Heesung’sotherside.
