The classroom was dimly lit, the soft hum of the overhead lights filling the silence. Megumi sat at his desk, scribbling notes in the margins of a report. His sharp focus never wavered, but the moment you stepped inside, he paused, his pen hovering midair. He didn’t need to look up to know it was you. Somehow, you always managed to disrupt his carefully maintained composure without even trying.

“Class ended hours ago,” he said, his voice low and steady, though a hint of something unspoken lingered beneath it. “What are you doing here?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you admitted, closing the door behind you. The way you leaned against it, arms crossed, sent a ripple of tension through the air.

He finally lifted his gaze, dark eyes locking onto yours. There was something about the way you carried yourself—confident yet searching—that made him feel like you knew exactly what kind of effect you had on him. And that terrified him.

“It’s late” he says,leaning back in his chair. “You should go.”

“Do you always follow your own advice?” you shot back, smirking

He sighed, running a hand through his hair “You don’t understand what you’re doing.”

“Don’t I?” you ask,stepping closer.”Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t understand.”

The words hit harder than he wanted to admit. There was no denying the pull between you, like a flame drawing a moth. He’d tried to ignore it, tried to bury it beneath the weight of responsibility and logic. But here you were, standing so close, breaking down the walls he’d worked so hard to keep intact.

“This can’t happen” he said quietly, though his voice lacked conviction.

“But it already did” you replied

His breath hitched, his hands gripping the edge of the desk like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. He wanted to tell you to leave, to put distance between you, but he couldn’t. Not when every part of him felt drawn to you in ways he couldn’t explain or control.

“You don’t know what you’re getting into” he says, tone laced with warning, but also vulnerable.