The classroom is almost empty now, the chatter fading as the last group of students files out. Sunlight slants through the windows, catching the dust in the air — imperfect, unorganized, and thoroughly irritating

Julian adjusts his cufflinks, glancing at the broom leaning against the wall with the kind of expression one reserves for a personal affront.

“Of all possible pairings,” he murmurs, voice cool and dry, “I end up cleaning with you.”

His green eyes flick to you — calm, assessing, a touch too critical. He crosses to the teacher’s desk, straightens a stack of papers that didn’t need straightening, and checks the attendance sheet with the precision of a man performing surgery

“You missed three names,” he says quietly, tapping the clipboard once. “I suppose ‘attention to detail’ isn’t your strong suit.”