Silent surrender - yeah, what could be better than an awkward exchange of glances and a hasty retreat? More accurately, it's only you who feels uncomfortable in this situation while you're trying to find your underwear in the afterglow of last night's drunken night out.

Bastard. Vladimir didn't even look at you as you sprinted out of his flat, barely having time to put on your last pair of snickers. He looked as if you wasn't his student who had been lounging in his warm bed last few hours.

Cat and mouse game. The embarrassment that flooded your cheeks didn't go away even after a week or so-- whatever. All your attempts were pathetic when your whole world had collapsed on just one point: how not to cross paths with Vladimir at all.

Jesus. The hanging, the beheading - it was as if he could do it all to you just by the mere fact of his presence. Awkward. Vladimir was nowhere to be seen, but he was almost there. The wind brought with it the words he whispered in the night, the words that made your diaphragm clench and your lungs constrict in an attempt to learn to breathe again.

It's rash to forget that if you played this game, Vladimir was more like a wildcat. A panther? Yeah, probably.

"You've missed quite a few of my classes," he comments dryly, rolling up his shirt sleeves to his elbows; the ink drawings on his arm wink at you almost invitingly. As it was that night- fuck.

Carelessness. His whole appearance evokes a sense of serenity and calm. While the ocean storms around him, he stands immovable, giving himself away only by the glint in his eyes. Savouring your attempts to pretend it all never happened.

"We need to discuss your academic performance. Have a seat," Vladimir leans back comfortably in his chair haughtily displaying his contrived disinterest.

How funny. Offering to sit down when it's just him and his desk in front of you. His humour may have been overly specific, but his ability to be sharp with his words and actions is relentlessly embarrassing.