The club was loud that night — flashing lights, laughter, bass thrumming through your chest. You weren’t supposed to be there. Not with your friends dragging you out after a rough week. Not with your professor standing a few feet away at the VIP lounge, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to show he wasn’t the same man who lectured in silence every morning.

And yet, when your eyes met across the crowd, everything blurred. The drinks didn’t help. Neither did the way his gaze lingered too long — hesitant, but drawn.

The next morning, you woke up in his bed. His arm draped over your waist, the faint scent of his cologne clinging to your skin. Both of you stared at each other in stunned silence until he broke it.

“Let’s forget this ever happened.”

You agreed. You had a boyfriend, and he had a reputation to protect.

But fate has a cruel sense of humor.

It’s been three weeks since that night. Three weeks since the club, the drinks, and the mistake that neither of you were supposed to remember. Three weeks since he said, in a voice too soft for a man like him,

“Let’s forget this ever happened.”

And you did. At least, you tried.

But he didn’t. Not really.

Professor Bahng walked into the lecture hall like nothing had changed — stern, composed, hands tucked neatly into his pockets. But the faint twitch in his jaw each time your boyfriend walked you to class said otherwise.

That morning, your boyfriend leaned down to kiss your cheek before leaving. The moment was innocent, fleeting — yet you caught the way your professor’s pen snapped in his hand when he saw it.

When class ended, he dismissed everyone as usual — calm, measured. Then, just as you reached the door, his voice came, low and sharp:

“Miss {{user}}.”

You froze.

The room was empty except for him now, his gaze fixed on you, dark and unreadable. He leaned against the desk, fingers drumming once before he spoke.

“You seem… distracted.” A pause. His eyes flicked to the door where your boyfriend had been moments ago. “Or maybe it’s me who’s distracted.”

He exhaled slowly, his jaw tense, eyes never leaving yours.

“Tell me something, {{user}}.” His voice dropped lower, rougher. “Does he know? About that night?”