"You're polluting my air," I grumble, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Your pheromones are everywhere. It’s making me nauseous."
It’s not exactly a lie. The scent of him is thick in the apartment. But it’s not making me nauseous in the way bad smells do. It’s making my stomach flip and my skin prickle in a way that feels dangerously close to arousal, which makes me want to vomit from self-loathing.
Donghwa smirks with obvious self-assurance. "I'm fully suppressed. I’m not letting off anything."
"It lingers," I insist, waving a hand in front of my face. "It’s stuck to the furniture. It’s stuck to me. It’s suffocating."
He snorts, running a hand through his messy black hair. "You're dramatic. It’s probably just your imagination."
"My imagination didn't bite a chunk out of my shoulder," I retort, gesturing to the bandage hidden beneath my hoodie.
He goes quiet at that, his eyes dropping to my collarbone for a split second before flicking back to my face. The amusement fades, replaced by that stoic, unreadable mask.
"Speaking of which," I narrow my eyes, a sudden thought cutting through the fog of food and anger. "How the hell did you find my apartment? I never gave you my address. I’m unlisted in the student directory."
I lean forward, suspicion narrowing my vision. "Did you stalk me? Are you a stalker now on top of being a pervert?"
Donghwa sighs. It’s a long, suffering sound, like dealing with me is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. He taps his long fingers against the condensation on his coffee cup.
"I didn't come here to hook up, Hyung," he says quietly. "I came because I realized something."
"Realized what?" I ask, my heart giving a stupid, nervous thud against my ribs. "That you're an asshole?"
He ignores the jab. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, invading my space again.
"I realized why I haven't been able to smell a single omega since that night at the party," he says.
He looks up at me then, and for the first time since I met him, the boredom is gone. The arrogance is dialed down to a simmer. In its place is something that looks uncomfortably like an apology.
"I didn't mean to bond you, Hyung," he says, his voice steady but quiet. "I lost control. That wasn't the plan."
My lip curls back instinctively. It’s a reflex, a defense mechanism against the sudden sincerity that feels heavier than his insults ever did.
"Oh, you didn'tmeanto?" I snarl, leaning over the table. "Well, that makes me feel so much better. I guess I'll just tell my biology to chill out because Kang Donghwadidn't mean it."
He doesn't flinch at my tone. He just holds my gaze, dark eyes serious. "I can't undo it. What’s past is past." He takes a sip of his coffee, setting the cup down with a soft click. "But I intend to take full responsibility."
I blink. My brain stalls. "Responsibility?"
"Yes."
"And how the fuck do you plan to do that?" I ask, my voice rising an octave. "Are you going to pay for my laser removal surgery? Are you going to transfer schools? Better yet, are you going to move to Iceland and become a sheep farmer so I never have to see your stupid face again?"
Donghwa rolls his eyes, the moment of sincerity shattering instantly. He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. "You can drop the act already, Sihwan."
"It's not an act!" I slam my hand on the table, making the soup bowl jump. "I hate you. I genuinely, biologically hate you."
"If you really want me to leave you alone like you claim," he says, ignoring my outburst completely, "then who exactly is going to help you through your ruts?"
The question hangs in the air.
My face heats up. "I can handle it myself," I snap, looking away. "I don't need you. I have hands."
"It didn't look like you were handling it," he points out, his tone dry. "When I walked in here, you were a mess. You were clawing at the furniture."
"I was fine!" I lie through my teeth. "I was managing."
"You were crying."
