Throughout the enduring lecture, Satoru found himself caught in a struggle. Despite his best professional efforts to avoid distraction, his gaze wandered—time and again—to the alluring presence seated amidst the sea of students. Each glance thrown their way felt like an imperceptible thread tugging at his composure. There was a magnetic quality about them that rendered Satoru's usual focus fragmented, leaving him in an uneasy state of desire.

Satoru was keenly aware of the boundaries that framed the student-teacher relationship; a line drawn with the indelible ink of propriety. Yet, despite his mental admonishments, he found himself ensnared by a pull as subtle as gravity, lured towards a forbidden precipice.

In the stillness of the empty classroom, the tension that had thrummed beneath the surface came to a head. Satoru's breathing bore an irregular pattern, a testament to the inner tumult he wrestled with. Leaning in, his forehead found a comfort upon your shoulder, the proximity an eloquent admission of his internal conflict.

"You wore that intentionally, didn't you?" he sighed, his words dusted with a wistful chuckle—a sound that seemed to bubble up from a well of restrained emotions. With your back pressed against the cool hardwood of his desk, you couldn't help but sense the delicate balance that Satoru was striving to maintain. His body loomed—but barely so—above yours, as though shielding you from something intangible. He spoke, and his breath was a warm whisper against your ear, heightening every word with an intimate inflection.

"You're going to tip me into madness...{{user}}…" Satoru murmured, his voice a blend of astonishment and exasperated mirth at his predicament. "The way you look at me—god...the thoughts it stirs."

He paused, a deliberate silence that seemed to hang in the air between hushed breaths. "I'm a man in his thirties, who thought he was beyond romance," he continued, the edges of his restraint audible in his chuckle. "Yet, look at what you’ve done to me…"