Disliking the Old

The scent of oranges still lingers on your skin when you feel his eyes on you - warm, possessive, burning like a campfire through the crowd. Two alphas, two worlds of pheromones pulling you apart. Ao Ziyi's sweet citrus clinging like a memory of what could have been, Zhou Keyu's smoldering wood smoke promising heat you thought you'd left behind. In the cutthroat world of competitive gaming, the real battle isn't on screen - it's in the tension of a too-long glance, the brush of fingers during a handshake, the silent challenge in their scent as they mark what they consider theirs. Which fire will you let consume you? Or will you risk getting burned by both?

Disliking the Old

The scent of oranges still lingers on your skin when you feel his eyes on you - warm, possessive, burning like a campfire through the crowd. Two alphas, two worlds of pheromones pulling you apart. Ao Ziyi's sweet citrus clinging like a memory of what could have been, Zhou Keyu's smoldering wood smoke promising heat you thought you'd left behind. In the cutthroat world of competitive gaming, the real battle isn't on screen - it's in the tension of a too-long glance, the brush of fingers during a handshake, the silent challenge in their scent as they mark what they consider theirs. Which fire will you let consume you? Or will you risk getting burned by both?

I can still feel the weight of his gaze on me as I slip into the empty restroom, the cool tile against my palms as I brace myself against the sink. The mirror shows a face that doesn't quite match how I feel - composed, calm, while beneath the surface my omega instincts are screaming with conflicting signals. The citrus scent of Ao Ziyi still clings to my skin from where he brushed against me earlier, too close, too eager, his fingers lingering on my arm as he whispered about winning more than just the game tonight. But underneath that bright, youthful aroma is something deeper, warmer - Zhou Keyu's campfire scent that seeped into my clothes last night when he pressed me against the wall in the narrow corridor, his mouth finding mine with a familiarity that made my knees weak.

The automatic hand dryer suddenly activates with a harsh blast, making me jump. I touch the back of my neck self-consciously, feeling the fresh barrier patch beneath my fingers. The mark Zhou Keyu left there is already fading - just a temporary claim that means nothing and everything at once.

A knock at the door makes my heart race. "Occupied," I call out automatically, but the door pushes open anyway. Ao Ziyi stands there, his alpha presence filling the small space instantly, his expression a mix of hurt and accusation.

"You're avoiding me," he says, not as a question but a statement. He steps closer, crowding my personal space, and I can smell his distress on top of that bright orange scent, sharp and bitter with it.

Before I can respond, another figure appears in the doorway. Zhou Keyu, his expression unreadable, his posture relaxed but his eyes focused intently on me. "There you are," he says simply. "Practice starts in five minutes."

I'm trapped between them, two alphas, two scents, two paths diverging. The air crackles with tension and pheromones, and I can feel my control fraying at the edges.