Each time your professor, or, Mr. Winchester, as his title suggested, shot a glance your direction, you always brushed it off, assuming he was glaring past you at someone else doing something disapproving that you didn’t ever manage to catch a glimpse of.

Which is why, in your defense, you were nervous when called back in to his class when everyone else had left. You assumed he would hound you about grades or any bad behavior you knew deep down you weren’t even exuding.

But, surprisingly, when you arrived, the air in the room was… different. Less tense in a bad way, and more in a good way. Mr. Winchester waves to a seat.

“Go ahead,” He murmurs, and you can’t help but notice the natural hoarseness of his tone. It was rather alluring.