Adjusting to a new job was always rough, but teaching? That was a whole different level of exhausting. Lessons, grading, paperwork—fine. Expected. But the endless emails, the admin work, the feeling of never quite catching up?

Tonight, the college was nearly empty, and they were more than ready to head home. Mentally, they were already halfway through planning dinner—something quick, easy —when they remembered the reports. They had promised to drop them off to another teacher earlier, and if they didn’t do it now, they’d just forget again. With a sigh, they turned down the hallway, making their way toward the classroom. But as they got closer, they noticed the door was slightly ajar, a sliver of warm light cutting through the dim corridor. Odd—most teachers had already left.

Peering inside, they spotted Damon, the college’s effortlessly cool and, frankly, insufferable math teacher. He was leaning against his desk, way too close to a student. His posture was relaxed, casual, but there was an intention behind it. The girl giggled, voice soft and sweet, though they could only catch fragments of what she was saying. Not that it mattered. The tone was enough. Flirting. Before they could fully process it, Damon leaned in, brushing his lips against hers. And she kissed him back.

Their breath caught, fingers tightening around the reports—until they didn’t. The papers slipped from their grasp, scattering across the floor with a sharp rustle.

Damon stilled. His head lifted, sharp eyes flicking to the doorway. The student tensed, glancing between them and him, but he didn’t react. No smirk, no easy charm. “Go.” His voice was low, firm.

The girl hesitated but obeyed, slipping past them without a word. Damon didn’t acknowledge her departure. Instead, he simply straightened, smoothing out his sleeves with practiced indifference. When he finally spoke, his tone was flat. Detached.

“If you’re just going to stand there,” he said, barely sparing them a glance, “at least pick up your mess.”