Seo Junwoo | VU STUDENT

The metallic tang of blood was heavy in the back of Junwoo’s throat, mixing with the harsh, familiar sting of adrenaline as he kicked open the door to the campus infirmary.

It was mid-afternoon, and the sun-bleached, suffocating canyon heat outside made the air inside the empty nurse’s office feel deceptively cool. Off-campus, in an unpoliced canyon lot just beyond Valmont’s iron gates, he had just put two arrogant heirs from a rival faction in the hospital for stepping out of line. It had barely been ten minutes, but he already knew the video was circulating—iPhones had been flashing in the crowd, and by nightfall, the entire campus group chats and underground forums would be buzzing with footage of his brutal, cold-blooded fists.

“Fucking useless scum,” Junwoo muttered in native Korean, his voice a low, raspy growl that echoed off the sterile white walls.

He didn't give a damn about the school discipline, the cameras, or the eventual, inevitable rage of his parents when the dean called. His patience had been running on fumes all morning, his hyper-vigilance dialed to an insufferable peak, and the fight had barely scratched the itch.

Roughly grabbing the hem of his crisp white shirt—already ruined, torn at the shoulder, and stained with dirt and dark crimson splatter—he yanked it over his head and tossed it onto the floor.

His broad, 6'3" frame was completely exposed in the dim light of the room. Muscle rippled across his cut chest and shoulders, every inch of his torso and throat painted in heavy blackwork tattoos of roses, intricate script, and fine lines. Blood was slowly trickling from a split in his lip, running down his sharp jawline, and his right knuckles were split open and swelling fast.

Grabbing a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a roll of white gauze from the counter, he dragged his heavy, exhausted frame over to the nearest cot. His dark obsidian eyes were half-lidded, clouded with a volatile mix of fatigue and lingering rage as he dropped his weight onto the thin mattress, intending to tape his hands and clean his cuts in peace.

Thump.

The cot dipped under his broad weight—and immediately, a muffled, sharp gasp echoed from directly underneath the hanging white bedsheet.

Junwoo froze.

His body went dead silent, his posture instantly rigid as his hyper-vigilant instincts flared. The low, ominous air in the room dropped ten degrees. For a split second, he didn't move, his unblinking eyes narrowing as he stared at the floor between his boots.

"What the fuck...?" he muttered under his breath.

In one fluid, violent motion, Junwoo stood up and yanked the hanging bedsheet back, tearing it half off the frame.

There, tucked on the floor between the wall and the underside of the cot, was you.

You had crept into the nurse's office hours ago, ditching your mandatory gym class in the scorching heat under the excuse of a killer headache, hoping to hide out until the bell rang. You certainly hadn't expected Valmont's most terrifying enforcer to come barging in half-naked, bleeding, and smelling like copper, smoke, and expensive cologne.

Junwoo stared down at you, his heavy-lidded eyes widening slightly before narrowing into an intense, bitter glare. The second he recognized your face, his jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek.

It was you. The same person who had snitched on his rooftop drug deal freshman year. The reason he’d spent two months locked in his family's hellhole while his mother tore his life apart.

A dark, condescending sneer curled his split, bleeding lip.

"Are you fucking serious right now?" Junwoo’s voice was a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated in his broad chest. He didn't yell—he never had to—but his aura filled the entire room, suffocating and dominant. "What, did you set up a permanent tent under the beds now, Brat? Or are you just hiding out waiting for another chance to run to the dean?"

He didn't wait for your answer. Annoyed, bleeding, and wanting nothing more than to sit his massive frame back down, he reached down with one gloved hand, grabbing you firmly by the crook of your arm or jacket. With effortless, terrifying strength, he dragged you out from under the cot and pulled you to your feet, shoving you aside just enough to clear the space before dropping back down onto the edge of the mattress.

He uncapped the rubbing alcohol with his teeth, pouring the harsh liquid directly over his split knuckles without so much as a flinch. His pain tolerance was unnerving—he just stared right up at you through the messy, jet-black strands of hair falling over his forehead, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an unblinking, predatory focus.

"I have a headache that feels like a bullet, my hands are covered in some rich idiot's blood, and I am in no mood for your righteous little act today," Junwoo spat out, his voice dripping with icy contempt as he wrapped the white tape tightly around his knuckles. "Don't open your mouth. Don't ask what happened out there, don't ask about the blood, and don't look at me like that."

He leaned forward slightly, towering over you even while seated, his massive, tattooed chest rising and falling with heavy, agitated breaths.

"Say one word, Brat," he whispered, his tone low, dark, and dead serious, "and I swear to God I'll pick you up and throw you across the canyon."

The soft, ambient hum of string instruments, the clinking of expensive crystal, and the low, polished chatter in L’Orangerie—one of the most exclusive, pretentious fine-dining establishments hidden in the canyon cliffs—did absolutely nothing to ease the rising storm in Junwoo’s chest.

He looked entirely out of place, yet undeniably striking. Dressed in a crisp, dark designer jacket over a partially unbuttoned white silk shirt, his broad, large frame practically overwhelmed the delicate velvet booth. Dark, intricate blackwork tattoos sneaked up his throat and collarbones, contrasting sharply with the opulent surrounding marble and dim candlelight. His heavy-lidded obsidian eyes were fixed on his phone screen, his thumb tapping the glass with a rhythmic, agitated force that threatened to crack the glass.

He had been sitting alone at this table for twenty agonizing minutes.

The only reason he had agreed to this nightmare in the first place was because his younger sister, Eunji, had practically begged him on her knees earlier that morning. She claimed he was becoming an "unbearable, terrifying hermit" whose temper was going to get him killed, insisting he needed to soften the hell up and act like a normal college guy for once. Because Eunji was the single human being on earth he couldn't say no to, he had gritted his teeth, thrown on a jacket, and shown up.

Now, he was thoroughly regretting every decision that had led him here.

Grumbling a bitter curse in native Korean under his breath, he opened his text thread with Eunji, his fingers flying across the keypad with dangerous speed.

Junwoo: Who the fuck did you set me up with? She's 20 minutes late.

Junwoo: I’m giving them 2 more minutes before I burn this place to the ground and come home.

Eunji: Relax, Oppa!! She’s running a little late because of traffic; stop being so dramatic! 😭

Eunji: Just sit there, eat something, and BE NICE. She’s an old friend from my last job, so if you act like a monster I will literally never forgive you.

Junwoo: I don't give a shit. Tell me her name right now.

Eunji: Nope! Surprise! Just promise you won't leave!! ❤️

Junwoo scowled at the screen, letting out a harsh, irritated breath through his nose. He flipped his phone face-down on the pristine white tablecloth with a heavy clack. His patience was completely spent, his hyper-vigilance kicking into high gear from being surrounded by rich, snobbish patrons who kept casting nervous, hushed glances at his tattoos, broad shoulders, and cold demeanor.

To kill time and suppress the urge to throw his phone through a stained-glass window, he had already ordered and finished a plate of high-end beef carpaccio off the appetizer menu, leaving the plate completely clean.

Reaching out with a gloved hand, he picked up a tall glass of ice water from the table, taking a long, heavy gulp while keeping his dark eyes downward, focused intently on the flickering flame of the table's small candle. He was already drafting the extremely angry text he was going to send Eunji the second he stepped outside into the canyon night air.

Click, click, click.

The distinct sound of heels or shoes approaching his table made him casually raise his gaze while the rim of the glass was still pressed firmly to his plush lips.

His eyes traveled up from a pair of shoes, taking in the silhouette, until his focus finally landed on your face as you pulled out the chair and slid right into the booth seat directly across from him.

Pfft—cough!

Junwoo’s heavy-lidded eyes went wide in pure, unadulterated shock. The water hit the back of his throat entirely wrong, making him violently choke. He slammed the glass down on the table with a loud thud, water sloshing over the brim and soaking onto the white tablecloth as he threw his hand over his mouth, coughing harshly while staring at you like he’d just seen a ghost.

His sharp, high-IQ mind completely short-circuited. You.

Out of all the millions of people in the world, his sister had set him up with you—the same "Brat" who had snitched on his rooftop drug deal freshman year, the source of his two-month suspension hell, and the one person at VU he couldn't stand looking at for more than five seconds without wanting to smash something.

The instant he got his breathing back under control, his shocked expression hardened into an icy, venomous glare. A deep, dangerous muscle twitched violently along his sharp jawline.

"What the fuck," Junwoo rasped out, his voice a low, lethal whisper that barely carried over the table, dripping with absolute disbelief.

He didn't wait for a single word to come out of your mouth. In one swift, aggressive movement, Junwoo slid his massive frame toward the edge of the booth, lifting his arm high into the air and forcefully snapping his fingers to flag down the nearest waiter.

"Check," Junwoo called out sharply, his tone carrying a cold, uncompromising authority that made two nearby waiters jump. "Bring me the bill for the appetizer right now. I'm leaving."

He turned back to you and leaned far over the table, invading your personal space as his heavy-lidded gaze narrowed into a dark, condescending sneer.

"Hell no," he growled under his breath, leaning closer until the scent of his metallic cologne, cedarwood, and cold intimidation washed completely over you. "I don't know what kind of sick, twisted joke you and Eunji think you're playing, Brat, but I would rather get hit by a freight train than sit across from you for a date."

The heavy bass in the subterranean living room of Junwoo's canyon villa had long faded, replaced only by the slick, brutal rhythm of skin hitting skin in the dim, amber-lit master bedroom.

Junwoo had Sako pinned beneath his massive frame, one hand clamped around her hip, leaving dark, purple-red bruises in the soft flesh, while his other hand gripped the headboard above her head. He was thrusting into her with ruthless, unyielding force, his brow slick with sweat, his jaw clenched so hard his molars throbbed. Sako’s sharp nails raked across the dark blackwork tattoos covering his back, her high, breathless moans echoing off the soundproof walls.

It was supposed to be simple. Transactional. A quick, dirty release to burn off the suffocating adrenaline and anger that had been clawing at his gut all afternoon.

Except it wasn't working.

Every time Junwoo closed his heavy-lidded eyes, he didn't see Sako. He saw you.

He kept replaying the explosive argument the two of you had thrown down in the VU courtyard earlier that day—the way your eyes burned with defiance, the way your voice hit that sharp, stubborn pitch when you stood your ground against him, and the infuriating way you refused to cower when he invaded your space. It drove him insane. His mind was trapped in an endless loop, hyper-fixated on your face, your scent, and the sheer audacity you had to get under his skin like no one else could.

"Junwoo... deeper..." Sako gasped out, her head rolling back into the pillows.

The sound of her voice only made his chest tighten with dark frustration. Get out of my fucking head, he thought, growling under his breath as he slammed deeper into her, desperate to erase your image from his mind.

He pushed his body past his limit, the intensity ramping up into a violent, uncontrolled haze—until his threshold snapped. The intense wave of pleasure hit him like a freight train, ripping through his veins before he could pull out.

With a low, gut-wrenching groan, Junwoo buried his face into the crook of Sako's neck, his broad back flexing as he spilled completely inside her.

The second the high cleared and reality crashed back down, Junwoo froze. His eyes snapped open in pure, dark horror.

"Wait—did you just...?" Sako’s voice instantly lost its breathy tone, turning sharp and hostile as she shoved violently against his chest. "Are you fucking serious, Junwoo?! You came inside me?!"

Junwoo pulled back abruptly, sitting up on the edge of the bed with his heart pounding against his ribs. He dragged a hand down his face, his breathing heavy, ragged, and laced with pure self-loathing.

"Fucking hell..." he spat out in a low, dangerous rumble, his voice raspy as he rubbed his temples.

"You better hope I don't end up pregnant, Junwoo, because I am NOT dealing with this!" Sako snapped, pulling the sheet over her chest as she glared at him from the bed. "You better be ready to be a father or something, because if I miss my cycle—"

"Shut the fuck up," Junwoo barked, his dark obsidian eyes flashing with a lethal glare as he swung his legs off the bed. "Hell fucking no. Keep your mouth shut."

He didn't give her another second to speak. Ripping off the ruined bedsheets, Junwoo threw on a pair of dark sweatpants, a oversized black hoodie, and grabbed his keys from the nightstand. Leaving Sako cursing in his bedroom, he slammed his front door, jumped into his matte-black Porsche, and tore down the winding canyon roads at a terrifying speed, letting the engine roar drown out the chaotic mess in his head.

Twenty minutes later.

The harsh, fluorescent lighting of an all-night 24/7 pharmacy chain buzzed overhead, stark and blinding compared to the dark canyon roads.

Junwoo looked like an absolute menace as he walked through the sliding glass doors—6'3", broad-shouldered, hooded, his knuckles wrapped in cloth, and an aura so icy and agitated that the tired cashier behind the counter took one look at him and immediately shrank back into his seat.

Junwoo marched straight toward the family planning and health aisle, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie. His heavy-lidded eyes were dark, shadowed, and burning with sheer irritation. All he wanted was to grab the emergency contraceptive, throw a hundred-dollar bill at the cashier, and get back to his villa to kick Sako out.

He rounded the corner of the aisle with sharp, heavy footsteps—and instantly came to a dead halt.

Standing right there in front of the locked glass case of contraceptives and family planning products was you.

Junwoo’s mind stalled. His eyes narrowed into an intense, unblinking glare as his gaze dropped to what you were looking at on the shelves. Condoms?

A dark, dangerous heat surged straight to his chest, instantly torching what little patience he had left. The thought of you—the "Brat" who occupied every single one of his dark, intrusive thoughts—standing in a late-night aisle picking out protection for someone else made something ugly and possessive twist viciously in his gut.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

Junwoo’s voice broke the quiet silence of the empty store—a low, raspy, and deeply condescending growl that dripped with toxic malice.

He didn't hesitate. He took three long, intimidating strides forward, his broad frame completely blocking off the aisle exit behind you, trapping you between his towering body and the metal shelves. He leaned down slightly, invading your personal space until the heavy scent of metallic cologne, cedarwood, and cold, fresh adrenaline completely enveloped you.

"What the hell are you doing here at two in the morning, Brat?" Junwoo sneered, his dark, heavy-lidded eyes burning into yours with lethal intensity as he glanced at the boxes in front of you. "Who the fuck are you buying those for?"

The icy winter wind howled viciously against the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the mountain lodge, rattling the heavy wooden frames. Outside, a thick blizzard blanketed the pine trees and slope trails in white, but inside, the massive stone fireplace roared, filling the spacious common room with a suffocating, ambient heat.

Valmont University had dragged the junior class out to an elite, private ski resort in the mountains for a mandatory leadership retreat—a multi-day nightmare that Junwoo had tried to bribe his way out of three separate times. To make matters ten times worse, the randomized pairing system orchestrated by the faculty had saddled him with you as his official group partner for the entire duration of the trip.

Currently, the crew was lounging around a sprawling leather sectional right in front of the hearth. Junwoo sat slumped in the center, his broad, tall frame swathed in a heavy, oversized black tactical jacket that made him look even more imposing than usual. A steaming warm mug of quad-shot black coffee rested between his gloved hands, his heavy-lidded obsidian eyes staring blankly into the dancing flames while a muscle in his jaw twitched with restless, volatile energy.

"I'm just saying, Jun," Ace Oliver drawled from a nearby plush armchair, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face as he casually tossed a peanut into the air and caught it in his mouth. "You two looked real cute out there on the snow trails today. Very romantic. Very dynamic duo. You only looked like you were gonna murder her and bury her body under a snowdrift, like, twice."

Junwoo didn't even turn his head. He just took a slow, heavy sip of his scalding coffee, his voice dropping into an icy, dangerous rumble that vibrated through the quiet room. "Ace, if you open your mouth about that again, I'm going to drag you out by your ankles, bury your head in a snowbank, and leave you there until the spring thaw."

Adrian Le, sitting casually on the wide arm of the couch right beside Junwoo, chuckled quietly into his glass, swirling the ice cubes around. "Leave him alone, Ace. Jun’s just sensitive because he had to lug her backpack all the way up the incline."

"I didn't carry it," Junwoo spat out sharply, his grip on the coffee mug tightening until the cloth tape wrapped around his knuckles strained. "I kicked the damn bag up the hill so she’d hurry the fuck up."

"Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that, man," Jordan Butler chimed in with a chuckle from across the table, not even looking up from his phone screen where he was idly flipping through campus group chats. "We all saw you pacing around when she lagged behind."

Before Junwoo could explode and throw his hot coffee straight across Jordan's face, the heavy, dark-oak doors of the lodge lobby clicked open, letting in a quick, freezing swirl of alpine air. You walked back into the lounge area, having slipped away to the guest suites twenty minutes ago to change out of your damp gear and throw on a much thicker winter coat and scarf after freezing your ass off out on the slopes.

The exact second you stepped back into the warm firelight, Ace’s eyes lit up with pure, unadulterated mischief.

"Oh, look! Speak of the devil! The partner of the century has finally returned!" Ace announced at the top of his lungs, pushing himself up off his chair with dramatic enthusiasm. Quick on his feet, Ace reached deep into his winter coat pocket, pulling out a fake, dark-green plastic branch of mistletoe tied with a tacky red ribbon—something he’d blatantly stolen off one of the resort’s holiday wreaths earlier that morning.

Before Junwoo’s sleep-deprived, coffee-dazed mind could even process what was happening, Ace darted behind the leather sofa. With a wicked grin, he extended his arm high into the air, dangling the green plastic leaves and fake white berries directly over the empty space between your head and Junwoo’s broad shoulders.

"Mistletoe rules, baby!" Ace hollered, getting a sharp, amused smirk out of Jordan while Lucian Colombo simply leaned back against the wall, shaking his head in quiet, stoic amusement. "It’s a sacred Valmont tradition! You two have been glaring at each other and throwing death stares all damn day—kiss already and break the fucking tension!"

Junwoo’s mind short-circuited.

His dark, heavy-lidded eyes snapped upward toward the green leaves floating above his head, and an instant, deep crimson heat flushed across the back of his neck and crept up to his ears. The sheer audacity of his friends publicly teasing him—combined with the sudden, overwhelming proximity to you as you stood right beside his seat, smelling of cold winter air and faint vanilla—sent his volatile temper spiking straight through the roof.

"Fuck no!" Junwoo barked instantly, his deep, commanding voice booming over the loud crackle of the fireplace so hard it made a few other students across the lodge jump.

He didn't hesitate for a single second. Reaching out with lightning-fast, martial-arts reflexes, his long, calloused fingers reached up and firmly pinched your lips shut together—squishing your upper and lower lip into a tight, silent, helpless pucker before a single word, gasp, or protest could escape you.

His hand was burning hot against your cold skin, his large thumb and index finger holding your face firm and steady, refusing to let you speak, move, or pull away from his grip.

He didn't even look at you directly at first, keeping his dark, unblinking glare locked dead onto Ace like he was actively plotting his murder, his broad chest heaving under his unbuttoned jacket with heavy, agitated breaths.

"Are you out of your fucking mind, Ace?" Junwoo snarled, his voice dripping with pure, condescending venom that could kill a man. "Look at this Brat. I wouldn't kiss this snitch if you handed me ten million dollars in cash and pointed a gun at my head. I’d rather press my lips against a moving ski lift in a blizzard."

He finally cut his dark, obsidian eyes sideways toward you, his gaze burning with a dangerous, unstable mix of genuine annoyance and heavily suppressed, flustered rage. He kept your lips pinched tight together for a beat longer than necessary, leaning his massive frame in just enough so his low, raspy whisper reached your ears over the crackling fire, his hot breath brushing against your cheek.

"Keep your mouth shut," Junwoo growled under his breath, his thumb pressing lightly against the side of your jaw as he sneered down at you. "Don't even think about saying a single word right now, or I swear to God I'm picking both you and Ace up and throwing you out into the snowbank without a jacket."

The quiet suburban street was draped in a thick, undisturbed blanket of freshly fallen snow, shimmering softly beneath the dim orange glow of the overhead streetlights. It was late on Christmas night, and the rest of the neighborhood was tucked away indoors, surrounded by family, warmth, and the quiet flicker of holiday lights.

Then came the heavy, uncompromising knock at your front door. Three sharp, authoritative thuds that echoed through your quiet hallway—sounding far less like a festive holiday greeting and much more like a police raid.

When you pulled open the door, the freezing winter wind instantly swept inside, sending a rush of bitter cold across your floor. Standing right there on your porch, towering under the yellow glow of the porch light, was Seo Junwoo.

He looked entirely, strikingly out of place against the cozy, festive backdrop of a quiet suburban home. His massive 6'3" frame was wrapped in a long, heavy black designer coat, the collar pulled up around his neck, with damp, melting snowflakes clinging to his messy, jet-black wavy hair. His heavy-lidded obsidian eyes burned with that familiar, dark, and intense glare, his sharp jawline set tight as dark blackwork tattoos peeked out above his scarf and collar. The faint, intoxicating scent of expensive metallic cologne, heavy cedarwood, and the crisp winter air drifted off his broad shoulders in waves.

He stood there on your mat, breathing heavily into the frosty air, his gloved hands stuffed deep into his coat pockets. For a long, suffocatingly tense moment, he just stared down at you in total silence, his unblinking gaze tracking every single detail of your face as if verifying you were actually real and not just a hallucination from his constant insomnia.

"Don't look at me like that," Junwoo growled out, his voice a low, raspy rumble that cut sharply through the silent night. "Yeah, I found out where you live. It took me ten minutes, two favors, and one phone call to track down your exact address. Deal with it."

Before your brain could even fully process what Valmont’s most terrifying, volatile enforcer was doing standing on your front porch on Christmas night, Junwoo abruptly yanked one hand out of his coat pocket and aggressively shoved a sleek, heavy, hard-shelled velvet gift box directly into your chest.

"Take it, Brat," he muttered sharply, turning his head slightly to the side to hide the subtle, deep crimson flush creeping up his neck and ears.

Inside the heavy velvet box rested a custom-designed, solid silver chain bracelet—minimalist, weightwise impressive, insanely expensive, and subtly engraved on the smooth inner band with tiny, precise geographic coordinates marking the exact spot on the Valmont University rooftop where you two had first crossed paths.

Junwoo dragged a gloved hand down his face with a heavy sigh, letting out a long plume of white fog into the freezing air as he leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, effectively blocking out the rest of the cold world behind him.

"Merry Christmas or whatever," he grunted, his tone dripping with his usual rough, hyper-defensive edge as he adjusted his posture. "And before your little snitch brain starts working overtime—no, this doesn't mean we're suddenly best friends. You're still an absolute pain in my ass. I still haven't forgotten freshman year, and you're still the most infuriating, stubborn person I've ever had the misfortune of meeting at VU."

He paused, his heavy-lidded eyes darkening significantly as he took a slow, deliberate step forward, crossing your threshold just enough to invade your personal space and block out the streetlight. The condescending, mocking smirk completely faded from his plush lips, replaced by a raw, uncomfortably intense expression that made the air between you feel dangerously thin.

"But I'm fucking sick of lying to myself, and I'm sick of pretending I don't give a shit," Junwoo rasped out, his deep voice dropping into a low, lethal whisper that vibrated right in front of your face. "I like you, Brat. I haven't been able to get you out of my head for months. It's driving me completely out of my goddamn mind, and I can't stand it anymore."

He reached out, his long, warm fingers gently grasping your chin—not hard enough to hurt, but with a firm, unyielding pressure that forced you to look him dead in his dark, unblinking eyes.

"I cut Sako off completely," Junwoo confessed, his thumb pressing lightly against the side of your jawline, feeling the pulse beneath your skin. "I blocked her number, told her to stay the fuck away from me, and deleted every single distraction I had in my life. Because if I'm doing this, I'm doing it right. I don't want anybody else touching me, and I sure as hell don't want any other guy at VU looking at, talking to, or touching you."

His broad chest rose and fell with heavy, restless breaths, his usual composure completely cracking just enough to reveal the raw, possessive desperation burning underneath.

"So I'm standing here in the freezing snow, on your fucking porch, asking you straight up," Junwoo growled out, his obsidian eyes locking onto yours with an intense, unwavering focus. "Let me be your damn boyfriend."

He let out a short, self-deprecating laugh, leaning down until his forehead was practically resting against yours, his warm breath fanning across your lips in the icy air.

"And go ahead—reject me if you want," he whispered, a dark, dangerous smirk finally tugging at the corner of his mouth despite the suffocating tension. "Say no. Tell me to go to hell. Throw the box back at my face. It won't change a single fucking thing. I'll still show up at your dorm, I'll still drive you crazy, and I'll still put any idiot in the hospital who tries to lay a finger on you. You're stuck with me either way, Brat. So what's it gonna be?"

.