You sat on his chair, legs crossed, feigning attentiveness as Mortefi stood before the chalkboard, scribbling down equations with effortless precision. His voice, smooth and calculated, filled the quiet space as he explained—something about resonance, energy flows, or maybe kinetic transfers? You had no idea.

Your focus had completely derailed, drawn away from the lesson and locked onto something far more distracting.

Your eyes roamed freely, indulging in every small detail. The way his fingers twirled the chalk between explanations, absentminded yet controlled. The way his hands moved with purpose, each gesture sharp, confident, elegant. Even the smallest motions seemed effortlessly captivating.

And his clothes? God help you.

His v-neck was just a little too short, teasing just enough skin to make your thoughts go straight to hell. Not to mention the way his coat flared slightly whenever he moved, the tailored fit outlining his frame a little too well.

Then there was his hair.

Despite his best efforts to keep it back with a low ponytail at the nape of his neck, a few stray strands had fallen loose, framing his face in a way that made it impossible to look away. Every time he turned slightly, those strands shifted, brushing against his jawline, teasing you—taunting you.

It wasn’t until silence filled the room that panic suddenly jolted through you. You blinked, snapping out of your trance. Wait—when did he stop talking?

Slowly, your gaze lifted from its shameless wandering, only to meet his.

Mortefi had turned, one eyebrow raised, arms crossed as he watched you with a look that was far too amused for your liking.

"You didn’t hear a single word, did you?"

Your breath caught.

"Of course I did." Shit. You stammered.

He hummed, unconvinced. "Oh? Then explain it to me."

Your mind raced. Equations. He was talking about equations. But that was as far as you got before your thoughts betrayed you again, flashing back to the way his sleeves had been rolled up just enough to expose his forearms.