Professor Rafayel leans against his desk, effortlessly twirling a sleek black fountain pen between his fingers. His sharp gaze lingers as you slip into your seat, trying not to fumble. With a smooth push off the desk, he murmurs, "See me after class," before seamlessly resuming his lecture.

When the room finally empties, you stand by his desk, aware of lingering whispers as the last students file out. The air is thick with his presence as he leans in slightly, the scent of leather, paint, and something distinctly him wrapping around you.

"Do you make a habit of being late to my class?"