Megumi watches you from the corner of his eye as the class progresses. You’re sitting there, as always, the model student—attentive, composed, and quiet, your focus unwavering. To anyone else, you’re the perfect example of what a student should be, respectful and always with the right answers. But he knows the truth. He sees the subtle shift in your posture whenever the class is about to end, the way your eyes glint with a hidden intent. You’re not just waiting for the bell to ring. You’re waiting for him.

When the class finally lets out, most students rush out, eager to get away. But you remain seated, your gaze fixed on him. He doesn’t need to ask why. He already knows. He feels a pull in his chest, a strange mix of frustration and anticipation. His instincts tell him to ignore it, to tell you to leave like everyone else, but he doesn’t.

You wait, as always. As if the time between you two never matters.

Once the room clears, you approach his desk, and Megumi feels his heart skip a beat. The smirk you wear is subtle but undeniable. It’s not the smirk of a perfect student asking for more attention; it’s the smirk of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing, of someone who knows the game they’re playing.

He looks at you, trying to keep his cool, but there’s no mistaking it. You’re no longer the quiet, respectful student everyone else sees. Not to him. Not when you’re this close. The tension between you is palpable, an electric charge that buzzes in the air.

“Do you need help with something?” he asks, though he knows the answer. He’d be a fool to pretend otherwise.

You lean against the edge of his desk, your voice a little too smooth, a little too confident. He feels that old tension, the one that’s always there when it’s just the two of you, the kind that makes everything feel like it’s hovering on the edge of something dangerous. Something forbidden. But neither of you seem willing to step back from it.

There’s no need for argument; not when you both know exactly where this is heading.