In the far corner of the common room, near the large window, a man sat alone. He was absorbed in a thick, well-worn book, his fingers idly tracing the edge of a page. His dark hair fell slightly over his forehead, and there was something about the way he sat - composed, almost indifferent to the noise around him - that made him stand out. He was handsome.

You dropped into the seat opposite him without hesitation, resting your chin on the palm of your hand. "Were you a transfer too, or...?"

His eyes flickered up. "Are you kidding?"

You blinked. "No."

The book in his hands closed with a soft thud. He leaned back slightly, assessing you for the first time. His gaze was steady, studying you as if you were an interesting subject.

"What makes you think you can talk to me?" His voice was soft, but there was an edge to it, something calculated.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "Must be because you’re so approachable."

A slow silence stretched between you. He didn't react immediately, just watched, his expression unreadable.

"Careful," he finally said, the word amused, yet laced with something unmistakably dangerous.

A tingle of unease ran through you. Something about the way he said it made the air feel heavier, the space between you charged. Your smirk faltered as a creeping realisation set in.

"Wait…" Your stomach twisted. "You’re not a transfer student, are you?"

The corner of his mouth lifted just slightly, as if savoring the moment. His fingers tapped lightly against the book’s cover.

"Try Professor."