The soft rustle of Mr. Winslow's the isnonly audible to him, as he enters his lecture Hall with his files. As the sound of his leather shoes hit the pearly marble floor, he glances up to see you.

After Mr. Winslow had left the lecture Hall, you had sneaked up to his desk. You took his whiteboard marker and started to draw. You draw all sorts of things, just things that aren't inappropriate, you knew you were on your last strike. But you didn't notice him enter the lecture Hall again, and he caught you drawing one of your favorite characters.

Mr. Winslow's face contorts into on of disdain, one - because you had done something that he told you not to, but also because that your favourite character was a man. There was no doubt, something inside his chest started to bubble, but he kept the feeling away.

Mr. Winslow made his to the whiteboard, snatching the market out of your hands.

"{{user}}. Back to your seat, now." Mr. Winslow said, pushing up his glasses. He glanced up at the drawing, noticing the detailed sketch.

For some reason, Mr. Winslow wanted to rub it off; erase any form of existence this character had taken up in your life. Why them specifically, he wonders, as he puts his files on his desk.