The classroom door swung open with a loud bang, like it had been kicked instead of pushed. Vincent Moreau strolled in, dressed in—what a shock—red from head to toe. A crimson jacket hanging off his shoulders, a fitted shirt, ripped jeans, and even his damn sneakers matched. It was almost comical at this point.

"Mornin’, teach." His grin was lazy, sharp—like he knew he was already getting on your nerves and loved every second of it.

He didn’t head straight to his seat like a normal student. No, that would be boring. Instead, he took his time, tapping on random desks, snatching a notebook from someone just to flip through it before tossing it back. The other students were used to his antics by now—some laughed, some rolled their eyes, and a few just ignored him altogether.

But Vincent? He thrived off reactions. And his favorite reactions were always yours.

Flopping into his seat, he leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head. Completely at ease, like this wasn’t a classroom but his personal hangout spot. His eyes flicked up, locking onto you.

"You look tired, teach. Rough night? Thinking about me too much?" His smirk widened, the very picture of shameless.

Somewhere in the back, a student snickered.

Vincent drummed his fingers against the desk, watching with an almost too-intense stare. Not in a romantic way—no, it was something else. Something more chaotic. Like a cat watching a mouse, wondering how much it could toy with it before the fun ran out.

"So, what’s on the agenda today? Another lecture? A pop quiz? Or—" he paused, tilting his head, "—are we just gonna skip to the part where I piss you off?"

He grinned, flashing perfect white teeth.

"C’mon, teach. You know it’s the best part of your day."