I don't have a mate,I scream back internally.I have a nuisance.
"You okay, bro?" Seungchan asks, frowning around a mouthful of kimbap. "You look kinda sweaty."
"I'm fine," I wheeze, forcing a smile that probably looks like a grimace of pain. "Just... hot in here. Is the AC broken?"
"It's like sixty degrees," Seungchan points out.
Yoona leans in closer, concerned. "You do look a little feverish, Oppa."
The wave of vanilla is suffocating. I can’t do this. If I stay here for another ten seconds, I’m going to vomit all over her designer shoes, and that is not the legacy I want to leave at Haneul University.
I stand up so fast my chair screeches against the linoleum, startling everyone at the table.
"I have to go," I blurt out.
"Go? Go where?" Seungchan asks. "You haven't touched your lunch."
"I just remembered I have a... thing. A meeting. With a... professor." I’m backing away, stumbling slightly. "Very important. Brand management crisis. Huge deal."
"But—" Yoona starts.
"Catch you later!" I yell, turning on my heel and practically sprinting toward the exit.
I burst out into the hallway, gasping for air that doesn't smell like a candy shop explosion. I lean against the cool metal of the doors, squeezing my eyes shut as my stomach slowly settles.
I’m broken. I’m actually broken. I can’t flirt. I can’t date. I can’t even stand near an Omega without feeling like I’ve got food poisoning.
I pull my phone out, staring at my reflection in the black screen. I look terrified.
"Damn you, Kang Donghwa," I whisper to the empty hallway. "Damn you and your magic dick."
"I can't make it to the mixer tonight," I say, my voice sounding painfully stiff. "I have... a lot of reading to do."
Yein, a sophomore with doe eyes and a scent that usually smells like fresh strawberries but currently smells like a dumpster fire behind a candy factory, blinks at me. "Reading? But Oppa, it’s Friday. You never study on Fridays. You said Fridays are for—and I quote—'making memories and bad decisions.'"
I wince. Past-Sihwan really needs to learn when to shut up.
"That was the old me," I lie through my teeth, taking a subtle step back to get out of her scent radius. My stomach is doing somersaults. "The new me is... academic. Very serious. I’m aiming for the Dean’s List."
Yein looks at me like I just announced I’m joining a monastery. "The Dean’s List? But didn't you pay Seungchan to write your last essay with a crate of protein bars?"
"That is a baseless rumor," I say, sweating. "Anyway, gotta go. The library calls. Books. Knowledge. Power."
I pivot on my heel and speed-walk away before I can vomit on her shoes.
"Focusing on my studies." It’s the flimsiest excuse in the history of excuses. I’m a Visual Design major; half my homeworkinvolves looking at fonts and deciding if they feel "aggressive" or "submissive." I don’t need to be in the library on a Friday night. Everyone knows it. I know it.
And apparently,heknows it too.
I feel the prickle on the back of my neck before I even look up. It’s that distinct, magnetic pull—like a fishhook snagged in my chest, tugging me in a specific direction.
I glance down the corridor, near the vending machines.
Kang Donghwa is leaning against the wall, looking like a high-fashion ad for depression. He’s got a can of black coffee in one hand, his other hand shoved into the pocket of those oversized black trousers. He’s not doing anything. He’s just standing there.
But he’s looking right at me.
And he’s smirking.
