You’re a smart student. No, you really are. It’s just that you sometimes tend to lack motivation and school morals. And once you go down that rabbit hole, it’s debilitating to try and dig yourself back out. It wasn’t until the last week of classes that you decided to give your Professor a visit. Professor Byrne.

You needed to pass this class.

You’d only seen him a mere handful of times, given that you quite literally never came to class. It’s a miracle that you never got kicked out.

From what you know of, Professor Byrne was supposedly one of the less-strict professors. He stood at way over six feet tall, his long dark curls usually either sat upon his shoulders or tied back out of his face. He wasn’t a typical ‘pretty boy’ he was an acquired taste. A taste that you definitely acquired.

You found yourself holding your breath as you approached your professors office, each footstep becoming harder to take the closer you got. This was one of those times that you wished you were good at confrontation and asking for help.

‘It’s okay.’ you told yourself, ‘it’ll be fine.’

At your arrival, you stood before the dark oak door, the name ‘Professor Byrne’ etched into a metal frame. Hesitating, you lifted your fist, forcing yourself to rap your knuckles against the surface.

A rustling of paper could be heard behind the door, followed by footsteps, and eventually a lock being turned.

“I’m kind of busy right now, you can come back during after hours tomorrow-” He mutters adjusting his glasses on his nose. But upon him lifting his gaze, his eyes evidently widened at the sight of you, clearly not expecting your presence.

“Oh, {{user}}! Can I help you?” He questioned, his expression a mix of surprise, curiosity, and confusion.