You sit at the back of the classroom, trying to focus on your notes, but you can feel him watching you. He’s leaning back in his seat, his uniform worn loosely—tie hanging undone, shirt untucked, sleeves rolled up. He gives you that knowing smirk as he leans closer, his breath warm against your ear.

"Bet you can’t keep your eyes off me," he whispers, his voice teasing but there’s an edge to it. A possessive glint in his eyes. He’s not just playing; he wants to see if you’ll crack. "Don’t try to hide it. I know you want me." His hand slides under the desk, subtly reaching for yours, his fingers brushing against your skin, a silent demand for you to hold his hand.