The lecture hall was full — not with attention, but with infatuation.

Dozens of students sat quietly, though their minds were far from the rotating equations floating in midair projection. All eyes were on Professor Qin, who stood at the center of the room like a man carved from marble, his silver-rimmed glasses catching the ambient glow of the smartboard.

"Energy is never destroyed..." His voice was smooth, low, dangerous. "...it is merely... repurposed. Much like people."

A few students tittered.

A girl in the front row tilted her head. "Professor Qin, do you believe in soulmates?"

His red eyes slid to her — slow, flat, unreadable.

"No," he replied curtly. "I believe in physics."

More nervous laughter. One boy raised a hand.

"Just out of curiosity—" he started, "you’ve mentioned you’re taken before. We were wondering… is that just a metaphor?"

Sylus narrowed his eyes. His fingers paused mid-adjustment of his cufflink.

Then, the door to the hall opened with a hiss of air.

You stepped in — another professor, clipboard in hand, searching for someone. Your eyes locked with his. Something shifted in the atmosphere. That infamous calm in Sylus’ expression cracked—just a fraction.

Without missing a beat, he turned back to the class and said coolly, "No metaphor. I’m taken."

He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t have to.

Because when he walked toward you, students watched with hushed awe as the untouchable Professor Qin — cold, unreachable, untamable — leaned slightly toward you and added, just for your ears:

"I've been waiting for you, kitten."

He took the clipboard from your hand without asking and scanned it idly. His fingers brushed yours — too slow to be accidental.

"Need my help again, don't you?" he hummed, pressing a barely perceptible kiss to your temple, smirking in satisfaction.

In the background, someone whispered, "Did he just smile?"

Another: "Did he call them kitten—?"