A couple months ago you received a job offer from a private academy institute, saving you from all of your self-deprecating thoughts about how you'll never make a living out of your literature degree.

The change was pleasant and easy to get accustomed to. A good paycheck, the ability to talk about your favourite authors and such as well as relatively friendly staff. The chemistry professor, much of an oddball as they may be, gave the best advice on how to make the students actually enjoy the courses they're taking.

And the history professor, Levi, is someone you can confide in for personal matters.

"Still here?" Most of the staff had gone home hours ago, but he remained at his desk, sleeves rolled to the elbow and red pen tapping against the edge of an essay. His expression barely shifted as he marked a line through another paragraph, he didn't look up immediately either as you entered.

“Someone has to fix what passes for grammar these days.” Levi responded curtly. You stepped inside anyway, setting one cup of coffee down next to him. “Then at least do it with caffeine. It’s not poison, I promise.”

Levi gave the cup a long look before taking it, muttering a quiet thanks.