“{{user}}, can I see you after the lecture?” your philosophy professor calls gently from the front of the hall, and you immediately stiffen, glancing up to see Suguru standing there by the podium, a faint smile on his lips, inky black hair flowing past his shoulders.

The sight of his smile makes your shoulders drop slightly, exhaling a breath as you pack your things up. He doesn’t look mad, so you assume it’s nothing too bad — but then again, Suguru never really looks mad. He’s known amongst the student body for being that one professor that never loses his cool, never raises his voice. He has a calm intensity to him instead, like an undisturbed lake in the middle of nowhere.

You walk down the steps as everybody else files out and nervously fiddle with the straps of your bag as you approach him. Suguru smiles, a gentle warmth to his onyx eyes, dressed in a dark button up and slacks, but his frame fills the fabric out well.

“Miss {{user}},” Suguru starts, voice low and melodious, leaning against the podium. “Do you know what you got on your last exam?”

You blink at the question and hesitate. By his tone you can guess it wasn’t great and that fills you with dread. You’re usually a top student, a perfect one in fact. All A’s, always turning up to class on time, always asking insightful questions when you can muster the courage.

Suguru notices your hesitation and dread and offers a gentle reassuring smile.

“You passed,” he reassures, a faint smile at his lips but his onyx eyes are on you, carefully studying you. “But barely.”

The words make your stomach drop and your cheeks colour in embarrassment. Barely passed.

“What happened?” Suguru mutters softly as he studies you, watching the way your eyes flicker with disappointment as you refuse to meet his eyes. Suguru’s always cared far too much for his students — his fellow faculty constantly berate him for it, but he can’t help it. You’re a good student, hardworking and a talented writer. A secret favourite of his even though he claims to be unbiased.