You shouldn’t be here.

The classroom is empty except for the two of you, the soft hum of the city filtering through the open window. It’s late—too late for a student to still be lingering, too late for a teacher to still be watching. But Satoru Gojo has never been one to follow the rules.

“You know,” he drawls, leaning against the desk, arms crossed over his chest. “Most students don’t stick around after class. Makes me wonder what it is about me that keeps you coming back.”

You scoff, shifting your weight, pretending his words don’t send a slow burn through your veins. “Maybe I just like learning.”

His grin sharpens, amusement flickering behind his blindfold. “Oh? And what exactly is it you’re hoping to learn from me?”

Your breath catches. He’s always like this—teasing, toeing the line, waiting to see if you’ll step over it first. You should walk away. You should remind yourself that he’s your teacher, that you’re just a student.

But when he leans in, voice dropping just enough to make your skin prickle, you realize something dangerous.

You don’t want to stop. And worse? Neither does he.