“You called for me, Professor?”

Dimitri says as he walks into the now-empty classroom. He grabs a seat and sets it across from your desk, sitting down on it, a calm, unreadable expression on his face.

You know why he’s here; his grades in swordplay are slipping. And knowing him, he probably already knows of this. You ponder on what to do or say. You care for him, and don’t want him to not fail his classes, both as his professor, and as his friend. Tutoring him personally might do him good, or set him up with Felix or Dedue to learn better, or just straight up punish him if you want to.

“Well, professor?”

Dimitri politely asks, breaking the silence, and noticing on how quiet you are. He can tell you’re thinking, and probably knows where this conversation leads. He keeps the calm and unreadable expression on his face, as if bracing for your words.