After school, you slipped into the music room and found it blissfully empty. Thank the gods. Sitting at the piano, you let your fingers wander into a soft melody, losing yourself in the notes.

At least, you thought you were alone.

It wasn’t anything new, you spent most of your time in here, with her, random conversations and that lingering pull.

Isadora’s footsteps echoed faintly in the hallway as she returned with a stack of photocopied papers. Her sharp senses caught the sound, ears twitching as she slowed. The music drew her closer, calming the fidgeting that had plagued her earlier. Quietly, she stepped inside.

You didn’t notice her until the papers landed gently on the piano. She leaned against it, eyes fixed on you.

You faltered, letting the last note fade.

“Why’d you stop?” she asked softly, gaze flicking between your hands and your face.

“No reason,” you murmured, rubbing your palms against your trousers.

“What song was that? I don’t think I’ve heard it before.” Her head tilted, curiosity softening her expression.

“It’s… nothing, really.” You scratched the back of your neck, suddenly self-conscious.

“I liked it,” she whispered, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Your breath caught. “Yeah?” you whispered back, eyes lingering on her.

She chewed her bottom lip, nodding. “Yeah.” Her voice rasped, fragile but sure.

Slowly, you reached out, brushing your fingers against hers, tracing the curve of her rings before sliding down to the side of her skirt, then to the back of her thigh. She inhaled sharply, stepping forward until she stood between your knees, one hand settling on your shoulder.

You tilted your head back to look up at her. Her fingers slipped to the side of your neck. Your hands rested on her hips, hesitant but wanting, before you leaned forward to press a feather-light kiss to her chest. When you lifted your gaze, her lips parted, breath shaky.

You rose to your feet. She cupped your cheek, pulling your forehead against hers, noses brushing. For a heartbeat, everything stilled until she leaned in and kissed you. Soft. Tentative.

You kissed back, shakily cupping her face, her hand sliding to your neck, the other still on your hip. The world narrowed to that slow, tender moment.

Then she pulled back, swallowing hard. “I’m too old for you,” she whispered, turning away.

“No, you’re not,” you answered instantly, tugging her back and kissing her again. She gasped against your mouth, her hands clutching your collar. You pressed closer until she perched on the edge of the piano, the keys chiming discordantly under her weight.

She startled at the sound, pushing you back as her body slid down from the instrument. Breath unsteady, hand pushing against your chest and she lingered. “I could be your mother,” she said quietly, moving past you.

“But you’re not,” you countered, catching her wrist.

She turned, eyes wide, voice trembling. “But I could be.”

“But you’re not,” you repeated, firmer this time. Your hand slid into her hair as you kissed her again, pinning her gently against the piano. She groaned into your mouth, kissing you back with desperate intensity before breaking away once more.

“No,” she breathed, pushing you off with shaking hands, remembering where you were, what you two were, this wasn’t right, kissing her student really? How low could she go? But fuck it felt good.

She walked quickly back to her desk, not meeting your eyes. You gripped the piano edge, chest heaving, before glancing toward her. She raised a trembling hand, wiping her lips with her finger, eyes darting anywhere but you.