"A lounge in Gangnam," he repeats, testing the words. "Sounds tempting. Very... aggressive."
"I get what I want," I say, holding his gaze, pouring more pheromones into the air until the betas across the table start coughing and shifting uncomfortably. "And I think you’d look good in the passenger seat of my car."
Heesung smiles, a coy, cat-like expression that makes my chest tighten. He leans in, and for a second, I think I’ve got him. I think he’s about to say yes.
Instead, he checks his phone.
"It does sound fun, Sihwan," he says, standing up gracefully. He moves like water, smooth and effortless. "I'll definitely... think about it."
He grabs his bag, slinging it over one shoulder.
"Wait, you're leaving?" I sit up straighter, the spell breaking. "The night’s just starting. We haven't even done shots yet."
"Beauty sleep," Heesung says with a wink. He leans down, just for a second, and whispers near my ear. The scent of peaches spikes, sweet and dizzying. "Thanks for the entertainment, Sihwan. You’re very... spirited."
And then he’s gone.
I sit there, blinking, as he weaves through the crowd, heads turning to watch him go.
"Dude," Seungchan says, sliding into the seat Heesung just vacated. He looks at me with wide eyes. "Did you just get rejected?"
"No," I snap, straightening my jacket and glaring at the empty spot where the peach scent is slowly fading. My heart is hammering a little too fast, equal parts annoyed and turned on. "He said he'd think about it. That's basically a yes."
"Right," Seungchan says, sounding unconvinced. "Totally."
I watch the door swing shut behind Heesung. He didn't submit. He didn't swoon. He called mespirited.
I grin, grabbing the bottle of soju.
"He's playing hard to get, Chan. And I love a chase."
The empty chair where Yoon Heesung sat feels like an insult.
I stare at the vinyl cushion, half-expecting it to still be indented with the perfect curve of his ass, but the material has already bounced back. Just like he bounced.
"Spirited," I mutter under my breath, testing the word. It tastes weird. Like kale. Or unsweetened almond milk. It’s a word you use for a golden retriever that jumps on guests, not a Dominant Alpha who just dropped a pheromone bomb strong enough to make a beta pass out.
"You okay, bro?" Seungchan asks, waving a piece of lettuce in front of my face. "You look like you’re trying to do long division in your head. It’s hurtingmybrain just watching you."
I blink, snapping back to reality. I grab the bottle of soju and refill my shot glass to the brim, the liquid surface tension threatening to break.
"I’m fine," I say, my voice tight. "I’m just... calibrating."
"Calibrating?"
"Yeah. He’s high-maintenance, Chan. You don't catch a marlin with the same bait you use for a goldfish." I down the shot. It burns, scrubbing the lingering taste of confusion off my tongue. "He didn't say no. He just didn't say yesimmediately. There's a difference. It’s a negotiation tactic."
Seungchan nods slowly, though his eyes are glazed over. "Right. Totally. Negotiation. Like when I try to negotiate with the vending machine and it eats my money."
"Exactly," I say, ignoring the terrible analogy.
I run a hand through my hair, checking the reflection in my empty glass. Still perfect. The scent of peaches and cream is fading, replaced by the overwhelming smell of charcoal smoke and cheap cologne from the table over.
It’s annoying. My pheromones usually hit like a freight train. I pay good money for the boosters I layer under my natural scent, a combination designed to trigger biological compliance. Heesung should have been blushing. He should have been stammering. He shouldn't have looked at me like I was a particularly amusing exhibit at the zoo.
Maybe he’s on suppressants? Strong ones? Or maybe his nose is broken. Yeah, that’s probably it. A tragic nasal deviation.
"Excuse me...Oppa?"
