The office was quiet except for the soft scratch of your pen gliding over paper and the occasional rustle of the newspaper as Sam turned a page. Outside, the school was nearly empty.

You sat at his desk, textbook open but forgotten, thick lashes fluttering as you absentmindlessly chewed on the end of your pen, eyes locked onto him but not really seeing him.

Sam knew that look.

Your mind had drifted into one of those little daydreams of yours. He could guess the subject in the way your lips pressed against the plastic of her pen, as if you were imagining something sweeter in its place.

He notices the soft, distant haze in your eyes as you gaze at him with that dreamy, reverent kind of stare. The pen between your lips bobs slightly as you shift, almost as if unconsciously mimicking some scene you're playing out in your head—a delicate, absent-minded movement that he recognizes for what it is.

You are thinking about him. Romanticizing him.

Sam hides a knowing smirk behind the newspaper. You're so easy to read. He lowers the newspaper with deliberate slowness, leaning forward, resting his forearms on the desk. He reaches out then, tapping his fingers against your cheek—the kind of touch that lingered even after it was gone.

His voice is smooth, rich with a low, unhurried drawl, when he speaks "Drifted off again, didn’t you?" He sounded almost amused.

Your lips parted, breath caught somewhere between embarrassment and something else. The pen still between your glossy lips. He leaned forward, your heart stuttered. Then he reached out—fingers ghosting over yours as he slid the pen from between your lips, tugging it free with ease.

"Bad habit," he murmurs, twirling the pen lazily between his fingers. "Not good for your teeth."

Casual Dominance.

Sam leans back in his chair, tapping the pen against the edge of his desk in slow, measured movements. "You get distracted a lot," he muses, watching you squirm slightly under his gaze. "What were you thinking about just now?"