This. This is the natural order of things. Me in the center, everyone else orbiting.
The song ends on a high note—literally. I hold the final, wailing crescendo of the rock ballad until my lungs burn and the speakers crackle, striking a pose with one hand in the air and the other gripping the mic like a weapon.
The room erupts. Seungchan is howling, slamming his hand on the table so hard the empty beer cans jump. The girls are clapping, their eyes sparkling in the strobing disco lights.
"King shit!" Seungchan yells, tossing a piece of popcorn at me.
I grin, breathless and sweating, soaking it in. This.Thisis the fuel I run on. Not the confusing, dark, suffocating intensity of a silent apartment, but this loud, bright, adoration. I bow dramatically, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand before tossing the mic onto the sofa.
I drop down between the two fashion majors—Hyesoo and... Soojin? Yeah, Soojin. The leather couch makes a rude noise as I land, but I ignore it, spreading my legs wide in a classic power stance.
And the best part? No pain. My hips don't scream. My lower back feels loose and limber. The universe has forgiven me. The glitch in the matrix has been patched.
"You have such a good voice, oppa," Hyesoo says, leaning in close. She’s wearing a fuzzy pink cardigan that looks incredibly soft, and she smells like artificial strawberries and vanilla body spray.
Usually, I’d play it cool, make them work for it. But tonight, I’m starving. Not for food, but for validation. For proof. I need to remind myself of what I am.
I drape my arm along the back of the booth behind her, letting my hand brush her shoulder. "I have many talents," I say, flashing my best, practiced smirk. "Singing is just the tip of the iceberg."
Hyesoo giggles, hiding her mouth behind her hand. Soojin, on my other side, touches my bicep, her fingers lingering on the muscle.
"You’ve been working out more, haven't you?" Soojin asks, her voice dropping an octave. "Your arms are huge."
"Always on the grind," I lie smoothly. I haven't been to the gym in four days because I couldn't walk without waddling, but she doesn't need to know that. I flex slightly under her touch, watching her eyes widen.
See? This is how it works. Alpha. Omega. Simple geometry.
I take a swig of my beer, letting the cheap, fizzy alcohol wash away the last lingering anxiety in my chest. What happened with Donghwa was a fluke. A biological misfire. It was just... too much adrenaline. Too much competition. We got caught up in the moment, wires got crossed, and things got weird. It happens. Probably.
It doesn't mean anything. It definitely doesn't mean I’minto itor anything insane like that.
I look at Hyesoo. She’s pretty. Soft. Submissive. Exactly what I need. I need to be on top. I need to be the one in control, setting the pace, making someone else gasp. I need to overwrite the sensory memory of being pinned down with the reality of conquering someone else.
It’s the perfect palate cleanser. Like eating a cracker after a bad oyster.
"It's getting kind of hot in here, isn't it?" I ask, leaning closer to Hyesoo. I lower my voice, letting a little bit of my pheromones leak out.
Hyesoo’s eyes dilate instantly. She shivers, her scent spiking in response.
The air shifts. It’s subtle at first, a change in pressure, like the moment before a thunderstorm breaks. Hyesoo’s eyes are blown wide, her pupils swallowing the iris, and I can feel the heat radiating off her skin. She’s responding to me. She’s opening up, her biology answering my call just like it’s supposed to.
"Oppa," she breathes, leaning in until her nose brushes the collar of my shirt.
Then, she lets it go. Her scent glands flare, releasing a concentrated burst of pheromones meant to hook me, reel me in, and drown me in desire.
I brace myself for the rush. I wait for that familiar, heady jolt of lust, the darkening of my vision, the primal urge to grab her and bite.
Instead, my stomach drops through the floor.
It winds me like a physical slap—a wave of cloying, suffocating sweetness. Artificial strawberry. Burnt sugar. It’s not enticing; it’s thick and oily, coating the back of my throat like cough syrup.
I flinch, my head jerking back instinctively.
"Sihwan?" Hyesoo blinks, confused, her hand tightening on my arm. "What’s wrong?"
"Nothing," I choke out. My voice sounds wet. "Just... strong."
She giggles, taking that as a compliment. "I wore it for you."
