I catch Heesung in the library. This is a tactical error on my part because I hate libraries—they make me sneeze—but sacrifices must be made. Heesung is sitting in a secluded corner near the Art History stacks, looking delectable in a fuzzy pink sweater.
I grab a random book off the shelf—The Architecture of Brutalism, whatever that means—and slide into the seat across from him. I make sure to flex my forearm as I set the book down.
"Studying hard or hardly studying?" I whisper, flashing the smile that my mother paid an orthodontist the price of a small sedan to perfect.
Heesung looks up, his eyes brightening. "Sihwan! You scared me." He puts his pen down, giving me his full attention. "I’m just trying to finish this essay on color theory. It’s exhausting."
"Color theory?" I lean forward, invading his personal bubble just enough to let my spiced rum scent drift over. "I could help. I have an eye for aesthetics. Everyone says so."
Heesung giggles, twirling a pen. "Do they?"
"Absolutely. For example," I lower my voice to a husky murmur, "I think you’d look incredible in—"
"Royal blue," a voice says from directly behind my left ear.
I nearly jump out of my skin. I whip around, and there he is. Donghwa. He’s leaning against the bookshelf casual as you please, holding a stack of photography journals. He’s not even looking at me. He’s looking at Heesung.
"Royal blue," Donghwa repeats, his voice calm and bored. "It contrasts well with your skin tone. Pastels wash you out."
Heesung’s mouth drops open slightly. "That’s... exactly what the professor said on my first critique."
I bristle. "I was literally just about to say that," I lie through my teeth. "Obviously."
Donghwa finally glances at me. His eyes flick to the book under my hand. "Brutalism? Interesting choice, Sunbae. I didn't take you for a fan of raw concrete and utilitarian philosophy."
I look down at the book. "I like... big buildings," I say intelligently.
Donghwa’s lips twitch. He pulls a chair over—dragging it loudly against the floor, shattering the silence—and sits at the head of the table. "Mind if I join? I need to review these."
He doesn't wait for an answer. He just opens a journal. And just like that, the air in the corner changes. My warm, spicy scent is suddenly suffocated by that crisp, cold ginseng smell of his. It’s oppressive. It’s heavy.
Heesung immediately shifts his body toward Donghwa. "What are you reading, Donghwa?"
"Film exposure techniques," he says, not looking up. "Boring stuff. You wouldn't like it."
"I might!" Heesung chirps, leaning in.
I sit there for twenty minutes, staring at a picture of a concrete block, while Heesung watches Donghwa read.
Wednesday
I change tactics. If I can't beat him intellectually (which is bullshit, I’m very smart, I just don't apply myself to useless things), I’ll beat him physically.
I spot Heesung sitting on a bench near the campus fountain, eating a sandwich. I’ve just come from the gym. I’m wearing a tight tank top that leaves nothing to the imagination. My pump is immaculate. My veins are popping. I look like a Greek god who listens to too much EDM.
I stride over, wiping a bead of sweat from my forehead in what I hope is a cinematic way.
"Heesung!" I call out, jogging the last few steps so my pecs bounce a little.
Heesung looks up, mid-chew. His eyes widen as they sweep over my arms. "Oh. Wow. Hi, Sunbae. You’ve been... working out?"
"Just a light session," I say, propping one foot on the bench next to him. I lean down, letting the pheromones roll off me in waves. "Gotta keep the engine running, right? You eating alone?"
He swallows. "Yeah. My friends are in class."
"Perfect." I grin. "I’m starving. Maybe I can join you? I need protein."
Heesung smiles, shifting over to make room. "Sure! I have extra kimbap if you want—"
