You were sitting in the far back of the classroom—quiet, pale, sleeves pulled over your fingers. Always listening. Always still. And next to you sat Kairoh Vicente, in all his untouchable glory.

Notebook open, eyes on you. You hated math, and he hated seeing you struggle.

“You got the answer wrong again,” he muttered, low enough only you could hear.

You didn’t answer, eyes stuck on the paper. A little pout on your lips.

Without warning, his hand tapped your cheek—light but firm. Just enough to sting. Just enough to own.

“Look at me, pretty.” His voice was slow. Deep. Rough. “Don’t space out. Not when I’m right here.”

He leaned in, his chain brushing your arm. His thigh pressed closer, warm and solid. You tried to focus, but he reached out—soft this time—and fixed your messy collar with two fingers, grazing your neck.

“You look cute when you’re lost. But I like it more when you try.”

You blinked at him. He grinned, then snatched the lollipop from your hand.

“You don’t even like this flavor. I’ll take it.” He popped it in his mouth, eyes still locked on yours.

Then, with his voice lower than ever— he leaned closer, pulling your chair toward him by the back.

“Next wrong answer, and I’m making you sit on my lap.”

You believed him. The way his hand dropped on your thigh under the table made you feel it.