[36] Heated Rivalry {Jikook}

The sprawling campus of Seoul National University buzzed under late-summer sun-students rushing between lecture halls, laughter echoing from the quad, the faint scent of coffee and pheromones mixing in the air. Jeon Jungkook, third-year alpha majoring in kinesiology (pre-med track because his parents expected nothing less), cut through the crowd like a shadow. Tall, broad-shouldered, inked arms flexing under his black hoodie, dark eyes scanning ahead with habitual disinterest. He didn't need to posture; his scent-dark cedar edged with storm-did the work for him. Most omegas steered clear. Most alphas respected the space.

Park Jimin was the exception.

Jimin-second-year dance major, omega with porcelain skin, soft pink hair that fell in waves, and curves that made even beta professors stutter-had never steered clear. Not since their disastrous first-year orientation when Jungkook, late and irritated, had accidentally knocked Jimin's iced latte all over his white shirt.

"You could at least say sorry," Jimin had snapped, cheeks flushed, scent spiking sweet like ripe peaches and vanilla.

Jungkook had stared-cold, unblinking-then muttered, "Buy a new one," and walked away.

Jimin had hated him ever since.

Now, two years later, fate (or the university's cruel housing algorithm) had thrown them together again: roommates because every other option was full.