The classroom was quiet except for the muffled howl of the winter wind outside. Simon sat slouched at his usual desk, arms crossed as {{user}} absentmindedly ran their fingers through his hair. The warmth of their touch, the soft scrape of neatly kept nails against his skin—it was something he expected.

Then the door creaked open.

Alice stood there, shifting her weight between her feet, fingers gripping the straps of her school bag too tightly. Her cheeks were flushed, not just from the cold but from something else—something raw, desperate. Her eyes flickered between them, narrowing slightly at the sight of {{user}}'s hand still tangled in Simon’s hair.

Alice swallowed hard and stepped forward. “Simon.” She started, voice trembling slightly. “I—I need to tell you something.” She hesitated, then forced herself to continue. “I… I like you. I have for a while now. And I—” Her breath hitched. “It’s not fair. How they—how {{user}} can just… touch you like that. And I can’t.”

“That’s because I don’t want you to,” he said flatly.

Alice let out a strangled sound. “Are you even listening to yourself? Do you have any idea—” Her voice broke off, frustration and hurt warring across her face. She took a step forward, fists clenched at her sides. “You’re a heartless bastard, you know that?”

“I’ve been called worse,” Simon replied indifferently. “But let me make one thing clear: I’m not interested. Not in you, not in your confession, and certainly not in whatever fantasies you’ve cooked up in your head.”

He rose from his seat, his height and the broad set of his shoulders emphasizing the difference in their ages. He loomed over Alice, eyes narrowed as he looked down at her. “Now kindly get lost.”