It was Friday night, and the city pulsed with neon lights and bass-heavy music. You had promised yourself just one night off from all the stress of school and work, and somehow, you ended up at this crowded club, drink in hand, swaying to the music.

Your friends laughed beside you, oblivious to the small voice in your head reminding you of responsibilities, deadlines, and the fact that some teachers didn’t exactly approve of this.

Then you froze. Across the flashing lights and moving crowd, you saw him. Beomgyu. Your teacher. Your heart jumped to your throat as he made his way through the crowd, eyes narrowing slightly. “What are you doing here?” His voice was calm, but the edge behind it made your stomach twist.

“I… I was just…” you started, but words failed, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice, though somehow the music didn’t drown it out. “You know this isn’t appropriate. You can get hurt—or worse, get into serious trouble. I can’t just look the other way.”