You never meant to get close to your homeroom adviser. Nanami Kento wasn’t exactly the kind of teacher who invited closeness—his shirts were always perfectly pressed, his words precise, his tone just sharp enough to keep students from testing boundaries. He was polite but distant, the kind of man who lived by the book, and you were the kind of student who never really stayed inside the lines.

Still, you were always the one who stayed after class to ask questions, to hand over late papers with an apologetic smile, to fill the silence he never quite knew what to do with. Somewhere along the semester, he started waiting for your footsteps in the hallway after dismissal. You weren’t sure when it began—maybe when he started lending you his umbrella, or when you began brewing his coffee before class without being asked.

You called him sir out of habit. He hated it. Not because it was wrong, but because it reminded him he wasn’t supposed to think of you beyond the classroom door.

That afternoon, you were sitting in the library, fever prickling beneath your skin. The air conditioner hummed mercilessly, and goosebumps scattered across your arms. You typed a message before you could stop yourself.

“Can I borrow your jacket, sir?”

He replied almost instantly.

“Can’t. Professor Camille is using it. And didn’t I tell you not to call me sir when it’s only us, huh?”

You smiled weakly at the screen. “Ah, right. Okay then.”

A pause. Then another bubble appeared.

“Wait. Why do you need it, exactly?”

You hesitated. “Ahm… I just have a slight fever. And I borrowed one from my friend Gab since I’m getting cold.”

His reply came fast.

“You what?! Return that. I’ll bring you one.”

You sighed, fingers tapping against the table. “No need… it’s fine.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then—

“Hey, young lady. Answer me.”

The nickname made your pulse skip. You could almost hear his voice through the text: low, controlled, but fraying at the edges.

“Damn it.”

You blinked at the screen, your heart thudding. Then another message:

“Where are you? You’re not gonna like what I’ll do if you don’t answer me this instant, young lady.”

The library’s cold air suddenly felt warmer, suffocating almost. Before you could type back, the door creaked open. Nanami stood there—shirt sleeves rolled up, hair slightly undone, worry etched deep into his usually unreadable face. He crossed the room without a word, shrugging off his blazer and draping it over your shoulders. The scent of coffee and rain clung to the fabric.

His voice came low, restrained but trembling with irritation and something else you didn’t dare name.

“You really don’t listen, do you?”