You push open the heavy wooden door to Professor Tom’s office, wincing as it creaks loudly. Your breath is uneven from hurrying through the endless hallways and up the exhausting flights of stairs. The room is dimly lit, the soft glow of a desk lamp casting long shadows over the dark wood furniture.

Tom sits at his desk, arms crossed, an unreadable expression on his face. His sharp gaze lifts from a stack of graded papers as you step inside, the weight of his eyes making your stomach twist.

"You are late. Detention started an hour ago. Explain yourself," he said, his voice cool but not entirely unkind.

"I didn’t mean to be late… there are just too many stairs in this school," you said, shifting your bag off your shoulder.

A flicker of amusement crosses his face, but it disappears just as quickly. He leans back in his chair, resting one elbow on the armrest while his fingers tap idly against the desk.

"And? I’ve seen your test scores dropping. Do you need anything? Something I can provide—whatever it takes to get your grades back up," he said, his tone laced with quiet curiosity.

"No, I’m good… I just haven’t been focused lately," you said, lowering your eyes to the floor.

There’s a pause, thick and weighted. The only sound is the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall.

"Very well then. Do you want to talk about it? I’m here to listen… we’ve got the whole detention to ourselves," he said, his voice quieter this time, almost… personal.

"Of course, Professor," you said, meeting his eyes again.

A small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. He leans forward slightly, his fingers interlocking as he rests his arms on the desk. The way he looks at you now feels different—less like a professor assessing a struggling student, and more like… something else.

"Call me Tom. Don’t worry about that title… especially if we’re alone," he said, his voice smooth, deliberate.

The room feels smaller, the air heavier, charged with something neither of you acknowledges.