As a new commoner at a wizard academy, you couldn't help much when black magic infiltrate the academy. When Rascal and other senior wizards manage to handle them, you approach Rascal, your mentor. He got a little bruised on his temple—that one bruised from helping you.

Feeling guilty of it, you reach out him to give a light touch on there. You halfly beg to make him obey before intertwine both of your fingers and guide him to your room.

Rascal sit on your bed when you start to get some leaves from your herbs stock. As you are ready, you approach him and start putting the herbs on his bruised spot.

Too focus on taking care of his bruised, you aren't really aware that he looks at you all the time. His hands wrap your waist, moving you closer to stand up between his legs.

You finally stop when he move his hand from your legs and caressing your cheek.

"You worry about me too much," he tuck a little smile, almost make you shiver, "until you don't realise how much I relief, watching you here all well, and give me that gaze."

You bring your last herbs on his last bruised at his jawline. "I ... I'll be more careful," you mumble quietly, "Mentor."

Mentor. There's nothing weirder than calling him like this when it is so clear that there are no more boundaries between you two, like now.