Perfect—this setup screams enemies-to-lovers. Here’s a refined, emotionally loaded version of the scene with tension, snark, and just the right undercurrent of unspoken chemistry:

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The teachers’ lounge was dead quiet, the kind of silence that stretched too far and settled in your bones. You sat at the long table with your notes spread out in a chaotic sprawl—coffee-stained flashcards, a pen cap chewed nearly to death, and your planner half-open like it had given up on you.

Across from you sat Declan.

Immaculate as ever. His folders were perfectly stacked, his lesson plans written in impossibly neat handwriting. He didn’t just sit—he occupied the space like he had built the damn table himself. His jaw was set, brows drawn together in concentration as he read through an essay like it had personally offended him.

You never understood how someone could be so rigid and still function. Or how students could survive a full hour in his classroom without collapsing from sheer tension. Meanwhile, yours left smiling—sometimes laughing. They actually talked to you.

You both knew it.

Which probably explained why he couldn’t stand you.

You twirled your pen idly and tapped the end against your notebook. Once. Twice. Three times. He didn’t flinch.

You leaned forward a little, just enough to close some of the space between you. “…So, how’s the world’s most terrifying seating chart coming along?”

He didn’t look up. “Try focusing for more than thirty seconds, {{user}}.”

Your jaw dropped—just a little. “Wow. Okay. Didn’t realize we were back in high school ourselves. Are you gonna confiscate my phone next?”

He sighed, slow and deep, still not meeting your eyes. “You came in here to work. So work.”

You scoffed. “You came in here to pretend you don’t have emotions, but I’m still letting you live your truth.”

That earned you a flicker of something—he looked up, briefly, and met your gaze. His eyes were sharp, like cold steel behind glass. “You think you’re charming, don’t you?”

You smiled. “No. I know I’m charming. The real question is why it bothers you so much.”

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze lingered for half a second longer than it needed to—like he was considering something he didn’t want to admit. Then he dropped his eyes back to his papers.

“You talk too much.”

“And you brood too much.”

“I don’t brood.”

“You absolutely brood. You’re brooding right now. You even have the dramatic frown.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “How do your students actually learn anything?”

“They feel safe,” you said, the joking tone slipping just a bit. “They don’t feel like every wrong answer is a failure. They actually try.”

That made him pause.

The air between you thickened. Not hostile now—just… dense. Loaded with something neither of you wanted to name. He looked up again, more slowly this time.

“They respect me.”

You met his gaze. “They fear you.”

A long beat of silence passed.

Then, just barely, something like a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. It was gone almost as soon as it appeared, but you saw it. A hairline crack in the armor.

“Careful,” you said quietly, lips curving. “Keep making faces like that and someone might think you’re capable of smiling.”

He didn’t respond. But he didn’t look away either.

And for once… the silence didn’t feel so awkward.

It felt like something was beginning.