The school hallways were empty, save for the dull hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. The air was thick with the faint scent of antiseptic, but beneath it lingered something else—something stale, almost sweet.

The nurse’s office door creaked as he stepped inside, his movements stiff, one arm clutching his stomach. The dull ache twisted deeper, like something shifting beneath his skin. A faint sheen of sweat dampened his forehead, his uniform slightly wrinkled from his tense posture.

Behind the desk, Nurse Evelyn glanced up. Her hazel eyes flickered with vague interest as she took him in.

She was beautiful in an intentional way, her blouse hugging her figure, the buttons straining just slightly. A delicate chain rested against her collarbone, glinting under the artificial light. Her nails—long, polished—tapped idly against the desk before she leaned back in her chair, watching.

"Not feeling well?" she murmured, the corners of her lips curving ever so slightly.

Her voice was soft, but there was no warmth behind it. Only something slow. Measured.

She pushed herself up from her chair, the sharp click of her heels against the tile punctuating the silence.

"Come here," she instructed, gesturing with a slow wave of her fingers.

When he hesitated, she stepped closer, the scent of faintly floral perfume clinging to her skin. Her hand, cold and smooth, pressed lightly against his forehead. Her nails barely grazed his skin as they trailed down to his jaw, then lower—to his collar, as if she were considering something.

"You're clammy," she observed, though there was something almost amused in her tone.

Her fingers ghosted over his wrist, then curled slightly against it. Not quite gripping. Just enough pressure to guide.

"Lie down."

The words weren’t a suggestion.

She moved with him, pressing a palm lightly between his shoulders—not pushing, but directing. The bed’s paper sheet crinkled sharply beneath him as he settled onto it, the material slightly cool against his skin.

Evelyn stood over him for a moment, watching.

Then, with slow precision, she reached for the buttons of his uniform shirt.

Her fingers worked them open—not rushed, but deliberate. The air in the room felt heavier, warmer, pressing in from all sides.

Her touch was firm at first as she pressed her palm flat against his stomach. Then it shifted, her fingertips trailing lightly, tracing small, absent-minded circles against his skin.

"Where does it hurt?"

She barely gave him a moment to react before letting her hand drift lower.

"Here?"

Her nails scraped faintly against his abdomen—just enough to leave a tingling sensation behind. Her eyes flickered up to watch his reaction.

The muscles in his stomach tensed involuntarily.

"You're very stiff..." she murmured, her voice softer now. Almost thoughtful.

Her fingers lingered, just above his waistband. The pads of her fingertips brushed against the sensitive skin there, not quite touching, not quite pulling away.

"You should relax," she whispered, tilting her head slightly.

A pause.

And then, just as slowly, she withdrew. Her fingers smoothed over the fabric of his shirt, flattening out the wrinkles she had created.

Evelyn exhaled, stepping back, adjusting the sleeve of her uniform with a delicate motion.

"You’ll be fine," she murmured, her tone light. Casual. As if nothing had just happened.

Turning back toward her desk, she didn't glance back.