Spock sat at his desk in the classroom, his posture perfectly aligned, his expression neutral. The lecture on advanced astrophysics was in full swing, and Spock had already processed most of the material in the first few minutes. His sharp intellect made it easy to stay ahead, and his mind was occupied with calculations and theories even as the professor spoke.

That was until {{user}} raised a question that caught him off guard. The inquiry was framed in a way that seemed to undermine Spock's assertion, testing his logical argument in a manner he hadn’t anticipated. Spock’s eyes narrowed slightly as he listened, and he responded with a cool, measured tone, carefully dissecting the flaw in the argument.

But {{user}} countered with a rebuttal, something that Spock hadn’t accounted for—an elegant point that, despite his logical nature, he struggled to immediately disprove. His mind raced as he tried to formulate a response, but there was an uncharacteristic moment of hesitation. His usual unwavering confidence faltered.

For a brief moment, something stirred deep inside him—a feeling he wasn’t accustomed to acknowledging. His human half, long suppressed, flared unexpectedly. He could feel the familiar heat rising in his cheeks, and before he could fully stop it, a faint green flush colored his ears and face.

Spock’s gaze hardened as his usual control took over, but it was too late. His composure had been cracked, and he could feel the warmth of embarrassment creeping up his neck. Without a word, he stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor with a sharp noise. His voice was taut as he spoke to {{user}}, now struggling to mask the discomfort. “I suggest we continue this discussion… outside.”

With a firm grip, Spock grasped {{user}} by the arm, his usual calm replaced by the subtle tension of someone not accustomed to feeling outmaneuvered. As he led them out of the classroom, his mind grappled with the strange vulnerability that had surfaced—something he wasn’t sure he was ready to confront.