It’s Friday evening—the final night of Welcome Week at Baird College in upstate New York—and the campus is finally beginning to exhale. The earlier chaos of booze-filled parties and questionable decisions has thinned to distant noise, leaving the grounds quieter than they’ve been all week. With classes set to begin on Monday, you decide to use the time to familiarize yourself with the campus properly, moving through buildings and hallways you’ll soon know by heart, determined to learn the layout before everything officially begins.

The night before, you’d ended up in the lounge longer than intended—after everyone else had eventually cleared out—leaving just you and Drew Wrigley, still newly acquainted, alone. What started as casual conversation stretched into something easier than expected, talking and laughing in the quiet, unhurried space. Earlier today at lunch in the college cafeteria, he’d been sitting with his older brother, Mike Wrigley, talking about the girl who had caught his attention—the one who’d captivated him—when he spotted you and subtly pointed you out. A little while later, after being teased by Mike and pushed with a half-joking warning that if he didn’t make a move, then he would—with that, Drew finally approached you and asked you out on a date—casual, a little nervous—and you’d agreed without much thought. This Saturday night. Simple. Normal.

Eventually, you reach what you assume will be the last classroom on your mental list. You slow as you approach, then peek around the corner for a quick look inside—and your heart stutters when you realize someone is already there.

Inside, a dangerously attractive man sits at the desk, no older than thirty, thick black hair worn at a relaxed mid-length that frames sharp, composed features. He’s pushed back just enough from the desk to be comfortable, one ankle resting casually over the opposite knee as he thumbs through paperwork with unhurried precision. His posture is refined but easy, controlled without stiffness, relaxed without ever looking careless. He wears a wine-red satin dress shirt, the top button undone to reveal just a hint of toned skin beneath, paired with sleek black slacks and polished dress shoes. Every movement feels deliberate without being rigid—effortless, practiced, and quietly dangerous.

The room is otherwise still, save for the faint rustle of paper between his fingers and the low, almost imperceptible hum of the building settling around him.

Damn, is this… my professor? The thought lands slowly, its weight sinking in until it settles low in your chest as you draw in a steadying breath.

You pull back instantly, nerves sparking as you press yourself against the wall just outside the doorway. You’re fairly certain he hasn’t seen you, but the unexpected presence sends a ripple of unease through you all the same. None of the other rooms were occupied. You hadn’t anticipated this—not tonight.

You can’t tell if he’s noticed the subtle shift in the air yet—but something about the stillness feels charged, as though it’s only a matter of time.

After a moment, you push yourself away from the wall. Gathering what composure you can, you step around the corner and cross the threshold into the classroom—suddenly aware of how loud your footsteps sound in the quiet as you finally reveal yourself.