"Morning, Sihwan-oppa!"
I flash a grin at a group of freshman girls huddled near the vending machines. They giggle, clutching their iced coffees like lifelines.
"Ladies," I drawl, letting my voice drop an octave.
I flare my pheromones just a little. It’s a heavy scent, expensive. I spend a fortune on boosters to make sure I smell like a CEO’s office and not just sweaty gym socks. It works. I see their noses twitch, cheeks flushing pink.
God, I love college.
I check the time on my phone. Ten minutes late. Perfect. Walking in early is for betas who are worried about their GPA. Walking in late is a statement.
I push into the lecture hall, letting the heavy door slam shut behind me. The chatter in the room doesn't stop, but heads turn. I soak it in, strutting down the center aisle. I keep my chest puffed out, shoulders back. I’ve been hitting the bench press hard all summer, and I want every single person in this room to know it.
And then, what do you know, there he is, Yoon Heesung.
He’s sitting in the third row, bathed in a beam of sunlight like he’s posing for a skincare commercial. He’s wearing a soft, cream-colored sweater that looks like it costs more than my tuition, and he’s flipping through a textbook with these delicate, manicured fingers.
The air around him smells like peaches. Ripe, sugary peaches and heavy cream. It’s so sweet it almost makes my teeth ache.
Target acquired.
I pick up my pace, bypassing the empty seats in the back. My friends—Seungchan and the rest of the guys—are waving me over to the back corner, but I ignore them. I’ve got bigger fish tofry. If I’m going to run this campus, I need the queen bee. And Heesung? He’s royalty.
The universe clearly wants me to win.
I spot the empty chair right next to Heesung and practically thank the gods of geometry. It’s the only open spot in his row. Fate? Destiny? No, just my lucky day.
I saunter down the aisle, making sure my strides are long and leisurely. I hook my thumb in the pocket of my jeans, flexing just enough so the fabric of my shirt pulls tight across my chest. I drop my bag onto the floor with a heavythudand slide into the seat like I own the place.
"Is this seat taken?" I ask, though I’m already settling in, spreading my legs wide enough to encroach on his personal space. Just a little. Just enough to let him know I’m here.
Heesung looks up from his textbook. He blinks those long lashes at me, a slow, languid movement.
"Oh. Hello again, sunbae," he says. His voice is soft, polite. The perfect amount of deferential.
"Sihwan," I correct him, flashing my best grin—the one that usually gets phone numbers dropped into my hand within thirty seconds. "We met last night. Remember? You broke my heart by leaving early."
I lean back, draping my arm over the back of his chair. It’s a power move. It opens up my chest and, more importantly, lets my scent roll off me in waves. I push it out intentionally, letting the heavy pheromones flood the space between us.
Usually, this is the part where an Omega gets a little flushed. Maybe they shift in their seat, their breathing hitches, or they start unconsciously leaning toward me. Biology is biology.
Heesung just smiles. A small, polite thing.
"I needed my sleep," he says, turning his attention back to the open book in front of him. "8 AM classes are brutal for the complexion."
I blink. That’s it? No stutter? No blushing cheeks?
"Right," I say, recovering quickly. I lean in closer, resting my elbow on the desk, invading his line of sight. "Well, you look fresh. Peaches and cream, literally. You smell good, Heesung-ah."
"Thank you," he hums, turning a page. He doesn't look up. "It's a new body wash."
He’s playing hard to get. I respect the hustle. It makes the game more interesting. If he fell into my lap immediately, I’d be bored by lunch.
Before I can try another line, the cavalry arrives.
"Sihwan! There you are!"
Seungchan’s booming voice rattles my eardrums. A second later, a massive hand claps onto my shoulder, nearly driving me into the desk. I wince, shoving him off.
