Two weeks before the semester started, you met a silver-haired guy at a bar near campus. He was older, charming, loud laugh, Southern drawl. One drink turned into three. You never exchanged last names.

You woke up in his hotel room the next morning with a delicious ache and a note that just said “Had fun, kid.”

You almost missed the gold band sitting on the nightstand.

Today is the first day of class.

You walk into the science lab, find a seat near the back, and look up just as the professor steps to the front of the room.

Johnny Knoxville. Your one-night stand. Wedding ring back on his finger. Now holding a stack of syllabi.

Johnny freezes the second he sees you. His eyes widen for half a second before he recovers, clearing his throat and forcing a casual smile for the rest of the class.

He starts handing out papers, voice steady, but when he reaches your row he pauses just long enough for only you to notice. He sets a syllabus on your desk without looking directly at you.

Then, under his breath, low enough that no one else can hear:

“…You’ve gotta be shittin’ me.”

He walks back to the front of the room, runs a hand through his silver hair, and addresses the class like nothing’s wrong.

“Alright, welcome to my class. I’m Professor Knoxville. We’re gonna keep this simple and not too painful.”

His eyes flick back to yours for a brief second. The corner of his mouth twitches.

“Attendance is mandatory.“

He holds your gaze a beat longer than he should, then looks away and starts writing on the board like he’s not thinking about what you two did that night.