Seunghyeon held his phone between his shoulder and ear as he ripped open another sugar packet and poured it into his burnt coffee, wishing he could pick one up from the cafe instead of the instant machine on campus.

“What about Yoonah? Wasn’t she looking for a job?” Taeyong asked through the phone.

“No, she’s got a TA job this semester,” Seunghyeon explained. “Don’t you want someone who can speak English?” Seunghyeon adjusted his portfolio bag on his shoulder. Recently, more foreigners have been visiting the cafe. Luckily the three of them knew English, thanks to Daehyun.

“You’re right,” Taeyong sighed. “Well, just ask around. I’ve got to go. I’ll see you later.”

“See you,” Seunghyeon said and hung up. Sighing, he tucked his phone into his jacket pocket and with his coffee ready, he braced himself. He pushed the doors open, the frigid air attacking his exposed skin.

Grumbling, he scurried to the next building over, scanned his key card and stumbled in. Sighing, he dragged his boots on the mat and headed through the corridor, the low whirring of pottery wheels echoing through the ground floor.

The Senior Arts Building housed studios for each discipline in the Visual Arts Department. Pottery on the ground floor, Western Art on the second and so on. Every time he climbed the stairs, his mood lifted. He deserved this after three years in a cramped, dingy studio.

Seunghyeon headed up the large staircase, the familiar smell of paint thinner filling the second floor. He unlocked his studio with his key card and pushed his way inside. There was nothing that could ruin his senior experience.

Before Seunghyeon could process what was happening, a tennis ball banged against his hand, the sheer force knocking the coffee out of his hand, spilling onto the floor and his platform sneakers.

“Fuck!” Seunghyeon jumped back, rubbing his precious wrist.

“Oh my Gods! Are you okay?” Yoonah asked, jumping up from her stool.

“I think I’m okay. But my coffee...” Seunghyeon glared at the other two in the room, zeroing in on the most obvious suspect.

Nam Kwangsun shrugged, running his hand over his short, kinky hair. “Oops, sorry kitten,” he said, with the same seriousness as someone who’d dare to wear neon army pants with a matching t-shirt and think it was a look.

“You owe me a coffee,” Seunghyeon scolded, balling his hands into fists. “And don’t call me kitten!”

“Calm down, it’s not a big deal,” Kwangsun insisted, offering his obnoxiously bright smile.

Seunghyeon frowned harder.

“Actually, I threw the ball.”

Seunghyeon looked over at Jeanie, who sheepishly waved her hand. Aside from being another alpha, she was decent. Except when Kwangsun was with her. Kwangsun made her as careless as he was.

“Why don’t I get a mop and help you clean up, yeah? Sorry, Seunghyeon,” Jeanie said as she got up.

Seunghyeon stepped back as she hopped over the puddle, giving her a nod as she offered him another apologetic smile. At least she had the decency to help.

Seunghyeon picked up the abandoned cup and lid, shaking them out before tossing them into the trash. He stepped around the puddle to Yoonah as she held her iced coffee to him. “You can have a sip of mine.”

“Thanks, Yoonah,” he leaned over, sipping through the straw as she held the cup. He squeaked, his teeth tingling from the iciness.

“Too cold?” Yoonah asked, giggling when Seunghyeon nodded.

“You know,” Kwangsun started and Seunghyeon rolled his eyes. “I would’ve let you take a sip of mine,” Kwangsun continued.

“As if I’d accept anything from you,” Seunghyeon said with a dead stare. Yoonah and Seunghyeon have been friends since first year, and Kwangsun was the opposite.

“Suit yourself,” Kwangsun said and swivelled around back to his canvas, sitting up straighter as he took a long sip of his coffee. His Adam’s apple bobbed and Seunghyeon followed the line down to his broad chest, the t-shirt snug. Kwangsun smacked his lips and smiled, his teeth brighter in contrast to his burnt umber complexion.

How obnoxious.

Seunghyeon tore his gaze away. “Could you stop? Seriously, why’re you always in my face?”

Kwangsun’s laugh made Seunghyeon grind his teeth. “You just make it so easy.”

Of course, it’s easy to annoy someone when you look down at them. “I should kick your ass and teach you a lesson.”

“Oh ho ho. I’m so scared. I’m quaking,” Kwangsun teased, shaking his hands. He leaned back against a table. “You’re all talk, Seunghyeon. I’m the only one who sees right through you. You’re just a fussy kitten.”

Seunghyeon scoffed. Everyone believed he was capable of bashing in an ex-boyfriend’s cars and throwing a good punch. Except for Kwangsun. The only person he wished feared him.

“Don’t call me kitten,” Seunghyeon repeated.

“I will when you stop acting like one.”

Seunghyeon glared at him, his eyes desperate to glow to prove how serious he was. His scent changed for a split second, going heavy and cutting through the air.

Kwangsun and Yoonah snapped their heads up, staring at him. Seunghyeon tore his eyes away. It wasn’t his fault for losing control, that’s how annoyed he was.

Yoonah cleared her throat and stood up. “Um, I’m going to go help Jeanie,” she said and rushed out the room, hoping over the spill. Seunghyeon sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He’d apologize to her later.

“Don’t you worry about picking fights, Seunghyeon?”

“Huh?”

Kwangsun shrugged. “Picking a fight with me won’t make you number one,” he said and smirked, exposing his canine. “You should just focus on your art.”

Seunghyeon’s blood boiled and he clenched his fists, forcing every fibre of his being to hold back his scent. How dare Kwangsun act so high and mighty and tell him what to do? 

Growling, Seunghyeon ran both hands through his hair. A few strands of hair stuck to his fingers and he groaned. Gross. Seunghyeon took a deep breath. “Urgh, I’m going to wash my hands,” he muttered.

“Why don’t you use the sink?” Kwangsun suggested, pointing to the sink across the room.

“Why should I? I’m not even talking to you!” Without waiting for an answer, he spun around and swung the door open.

He gasped, coiling back midstep before causing another fatal collision.

“Good morning, Seunghyeon.”

Seunghyeon stumbled back another step, his way blocked by Professor Lim. Their advisor. As much as he wanted to get away from Kwangsun, it didn’t mean he was willing to face her. “Ah, good morning, professor.”

“You’re just the person I wanted to see,” she said, her subtle crow’s feet emphasized with her amused smile.

“Right,” Seunghyeon greeted with a curt smile. More than Kwangsun, he didn’t want to see her. He crossed his arms, rubbing his bicep, cooling himself down. The last thing he needed to do was snap at his professor.

She stepped forward and Seunghyeon stumbled back into the room, brushing his fingers against his collar under the weight of her seemingly serene smile. “Kwangsun, can you come here too?” she said, gesturing him over.

“Uh, of course.” Kwangsun joined them, stuffing his hands into his pockets, shoulders slumped.

Seunghyeon smirked. He wasn’t so carefree and confident now.

“You two are the only ones who haven’t given me a proposal for your final projects,” Professor Lim said, jumping right into it.

Seunghyeon frowned. “That’s not true. I’ve already sent two.”

“And neither idea was good.”

Kwangsun stifled a laugh and Seunghyeon drew in his shoulders. She didn’t have to put it like that.

“You shouldn’t laugh. At least he’s sent something, Kwangsun,” she pointed out.

Kwangsun pressed his lips together and averted his eyes, shrugging. “I just— I haven’t found the inspiration.”

“You’ll be dead before you find the right muse,” Seunghyeon said, rolling his eyes.

“I won’t,” Kwangsun scoffed.

“But I might.”

Seunghyeon sucked in his lips, staring at Professor Lim. She gave them an impatient look. “Look. Both of you are the best students in the department,” she said. “And both of you excel with oil paintings, that’s why I’m rushing both of you. I want you two to have enough time to create masterpieces. Understand?”

Taking a deep breath, Seunghyeon straightened up. This was the last chance to take the number one spot from Kwangsun with his best painting yet. The rejected proposals discouraged him, but Kwangsun hadn’t even sent one in yet, so in a way, Seunghyeon was ahead of him. Right?

“Um, professor,” Seunghyeon started. “Could you maybe”— he waved his hands— “elaborate on what you want from me?”

“Same as my email,” she said with a smile. “Something fresh. Many of your artworks have the same theme and tone, I want you to expand your portfolio. That goes for everyone, I want you both to break your artistic boundaries.”

“Right,” Easier said than done. “I’ll come up with something more unique then,” Seunghyeon said.

“Same,” Kwangsun added and smiled his obnoxiously wide smile. “You can count on us, professor.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” she said and when the door closed behind her, Seunghyeon groaned and looked over. “You can count on us? You sound like those baby tv-show hosts,” he said. “And could pass as one too,” he muttered as he pushed past him.

Kwangsun chuckled as he sat back down. “You’re just mad because your ideas got rejected. Twice.” He laughed and Seunghyeon gripped the door handle. “But that’s okay, kitten. You just got to think of an idea that’s not so dark and graphic.”

“At least my art has more depth,” he snapped. “And you have to come up with a real idea instead of just painting rainbows and people holding hands,” he said with a mocking pout. “So sad.”

“Is that elitism I hear?”

“Aye, we go to SSNU, we’re allowed to be a little elitist.”

Kwangsun whistled as he sucked in. “I don’t know if you’re ‘a little’. I mean, still can’t forget the scene you made last year. Yelling at your boyfriend in the middle of campus, then dumping him. Was it like he didn’t buy you the right gift or something? That’s cold, kitten.”

Is that what people really thought happened? Couldn’t people just mind their own business before making stuff up?

The urge to correct him sat on the tip of his tongue, but the words dissolved into a growl. “Don’t call me kitten.”

Seunghyeon stormed out and once alone in the empty hall, he aggressively ran his fingers through his hair. “Asshole,” he muttered, stomping his way down the stairs.