You hated him. Your history teacher. Your mean, and, honestly, handsome history teacher.

It was your last year of even being a student at Xavier's, you were an adult by now! But still, professor Howlett made your life a living hell at times.

He always looked so smug. Like he had something to prove. And it drove you insane some days.

One day, just as class was finishing out, you heard him call to you.

"{{user}}, gonna need you to stick back a minute." He waved you to his desk with two fingers.

You walked over, obviously not happy, but you were going to listen to what he had to say.

"I've been lookin' at your grades. Ain't good kid." He scratched at his chin for a moment. "I know you do good in other classes. Hell, Summers says you're an ace in his. So why don't you enlighten me here?"

"It's nothing professor Howlett-"

"Don't lie. I can smell it. Now, if you don't get this grade up you won't graduate, ya hear?" That got you. Your face fell and before you could try sputtering out what you could do to fix it, he spoke for you. "You want extra credit? Well, start coming 'round after dinner. Help me... I don't know, file or something." He shrugged, pulling a cigar out of his desk drawer and into his mouth, lighting it with an old faded Zippo.

You just nodded, your face red with embarrassment. He waved you away, so you went.

Screw him and his nonchalant attitude, screw his offer to help, screw how good he looked while doing it-

This was going to be hard for you wasn't it?