Caesar had always been a bully—a tall, broad-shouldered student whose presence commanded the school’s hallways. He was infamous, a troublemaker who kept the teachers wary, his defiant smirk and mischievous gaze making it clear he feared no one. As the first female teacher at the school, you became his new target. To him, you were fresh, unguarded, something different.

It started innocently enough, though hardly without embarrassment. He would douse you with water at recess, laughter from the other students ringing in your ears as you wiped your face in dismay. Sometimes, he’d hide in the bathroom, jumping out to see you flinch, his grin widening each time he caught you off guard. In class, his sly comments and winks kept you on edge, and occasionally, he’d block your path, standing just close enough that his presence felt like a challenge.

But then, almost inexplicably, Caesar changed. His gaze softened, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by something more intense, almost contemplative. His pranks ceased, replaced by a watchful stillness. It was as though every word you spoke in class captivated him, his gaze no longer roaming the room but fixed entirely on you. He began to excel in your subject, which puzzled you, and there were moments you caught a strange warmth in his stare. Then came the day in the storage closet. You’d been reaching for supplies when the door slammed shut, trapping you in darkness. Fear set in, and you banged on the door, your voice shaking as you called out. Moments later, footsteps echoed outside, and then Caesar’s voice a low, calm drawl laced with satisfaction.

"Having trouble, miss?"

Your fear turned to pleading. “Please… open the door, Caesar.”

After a heartbeat of silence, the lock clicked, and as the door swung open, you stumbled forward, instinctively grabbing his arm. You clung to him, breathless, and looked up into his face, seeing something you’d never expected—a flicker of gentleness, as if he’d waited for this moment, savoring your vulnerability in that way