The air conditioning in the faculty lounge was cranked to its maximum, cycling a frigid, mechanical draft through the small space. Yet, it remained powerless against the scent—a thick, cloying aroma of scorched orange and bitter caramel that saturated the oxygen like a physical weight.
Silas Shen's slender fingers were locked onto the edge of the leather sofa, his knuckles a translucent, deathly white from the sheer force of his grip. He tilted his head back, his neck cords straining like a piano wire pulled to the snapping point. He forced every broken breath to stay trapped in his throat, muffled into a series of low, rhythmic groans that tasted of copper and iron.
"…Get out." Silas ground the words through his teeth, each syllable sounding as if it were being chiseled out of a block of ice. "Hunter Huo… take your medicine… and get out."
"Professor, you don't even have the strength to stand up straight. Where exactly am I supposed to go?"
Hunter Huo remained half-knelt before the sofa, his movements agonizingly methodical. He didn't pounce or tear at Silas as the professor had feared. Instead, he calmly rummaged through the first-aid kit, pulling out a roll of medical gauze and a bottle of dark amber iodine. He gripped a cotton swab, his long fingers steady as he pressed it directly onto the chemical burn at the nape of Silas's neck.
"Sss—!" Silas recoiled, a violent shudder racking his frame. Involuntary tears gathered in the corners of his eyes and traced a path down his pale cheeks, disappearing into his hair.
"Does it hurt? Good. It should." Hunter's voice was a whisper, carrying a terrifying, silken tenderness. He leaned in closer, his nose ghosting over the curve of Silas's feverish earlobe. "If my scent is so disgusting to you, why did you use such a self-mutilating method to wash it away? What are you so afraid of, Silas? Are you afraid you can't leave me, or are you afraid… that you've been addicted to me for a long time?"
"Don't flatter yourself." Silas snapped his eyes open, the bloodshot clarity in them burning with a defiant, sub-zero light. "That was a standard decontamination procedure following a laboratory accident. Classmate Huo, spare me the self-important Alpha possessiveness. It only makes me feel… revulsed."
Hunter's fingers tightened abruptly, the plastic stem of the cotton swab snapping in two with a sharp crack.
The facade of fake tenderness shattered instantly, replaced by a raw, jagged malice. He surged to his feet, slamming his hands onto the sofa on either side of Silas's head, caging the weakened professor between the leather and his own broad chest.
"Revulsed?" Hunter let out a short, harsh laugh. With a sudden, violent intent, he unleashed a crushing wave of Searing Sun pheromones.
It was the unfiltered pressure of a top-tier Alpha—a psychological sledgehammer that slammed into Silas's crumbling defensive perimeters.
Silas let out a muffled groan, his pupils blowing wide and unfocused as his body instinctively curled inward. It was the primal submission of an Omega facing an apex predator. His gland, triggered by the overwhelming threat, began to frantically secrete soothing fluids in a desperate attempt to pacify the Alpha's wrath.
"If you're so revulsed, then why is your body begging me?" Hunter leaned down until their noses brushed, their breaths tangling in a frantic heat. "Professor Shen, look. Your collar is damp. Is that the scent of silver fir, or… is that the sweat you're shedding for me?"
He reached out, his fingertip moving with agonizing slowness to flick open the top button of Silas's tightly fastened collar.
"Hunter… Huo…" Silas's hand shook as he grabbed Hunter's wrist, his strength as futile as a moth beating against a glass jar. "Don't make me… utterly despise you."
Hunter's hand went still.
He stared into Silas's eyes—eyes that, even at the edge of a total breakdown, maintained a frantic, crystalline dignity. The sight fueled the fire in Hunter's gut. He wanted this man; he wanted to tear the white lab coat to shreds and watch him weep for mercy. But more than that, he wanted Silas's soul.
If he bit down now, he would gain a temporary plaything, but he would lose the man forever.
"Despise me?" Hunter suddenly laughed, a sound of manic self-derision. He violently shoved himself away from Silas and stood up, smoothing out his rumpled varsity jacket with a cold, detached air. "Fine. Professor Shen, since you're so noble, let's see how long your 'logic' lasts."
He grabbed a handful of gauze from the kit and wrapped it haphazardly around Silas's neck in two thick loops. The movement wasn't an act of care; it was rough, tightened with a force that felt more like a noose than a bandage.
"I won't mark you. I won't touch you." Hunter walked to the door, his hand gripping the handle. He looked back over his shoulder, a cruel, triumphant smile stretching across his face. "But I won't take my pheromones back, either. You'll stay in this room, soaked in my scent, until dawn. I want to see if tomorrow morning you'll still want to talk about 'lab accidents,' or if you'll be on your knees begging me for a kiss."
SLAM!
The lounge door was hurled shut and the lock turned from the outside with a heavy, final thud.
Silas slumped onto the sofa, his lungs heaving as he gasped for air. The lingering orange scent in the room felt like hundreds of tiny, invisible serpents slithering over his skin, burrowing into his pores to trigger a deep, hollow longing. He gripped the gauze around his neck, his nails sinking into the fabric until they drew blood from the skin beneath, using the sharp physical pain to battle the rising, suffocating void of his own desire.
"…Bastard."