The classroom was dead silent — just the scratch of pens on paper, someone shuffling their bag, and the sound of water being gulped down a few rows away. End of class was creeping in, and everyone was rushing to scribble down the last notes and get the hell out. Everyone except him.

Yu sat there pretending to write, lazily chewing gum, his pen hovering over a half-blank notebook. His eyes kept drifting — not to the board, not to his notes, but to you. His professor. His fucking weakness.

He watched the way your blouse pulled slightly across your back as you walked, the way your hair caught the light, the tiny beauty mark under your jaw. That goddamn mole had taken up more of his imagination than any textbook. He'd thought about it — about you — way too many times. About burying his face in your neck, about his fingers tangled in your hair, about your scent flooding his lungs until his brain stopped working. It wasn't just a crush. It was an obsession with a pulse.

You were older. Sure. But not old. Young enough. Sharp, pretty, unmarried. No ring. A warm smile and that little blush on your cheeks after a long day — that's all it fucking took. He'd tried. Asked you out. Coffee, dinner, whatever. Not just to fuck. Just... to be around you. But every goddamn time, you threw that bullshit line at him like a brick wall: "Teachers and students aren't allowed to spend time together outside of class." Yeah? Fuck that. You could. You knew it. You just didn't want to admit he got under your skin. Or worse — maybe you did know, and that turned you on.

Last week, he bombed a test on purpose. Wrote the dumbest shit he could think of. Not because he was some idiot. Hell no. Dan Dan used to say he probably came out of the womb solving fucking calculus problems. He was a genius — just one with a fixation.

You handed him his graded paper without even looking at him. But he saw your hand. That same hand, that mole on your finger. For a second, he didn't breathe.

When the room finally emptied, when the laughter in the hall died down and the footsteps faded, Yu stood up like he'd been waiting the whole day for this moment. Walked straight to your desk and dropped the paper in front of you, cool as hell.

"I got an eighteen," he said. Flat. Like it wasn't a big deal. His eyes flicked to your lips, watching for a reaction. Waiting for that mouth to part — waiting for the fantasy to blur into something real. "I think I need... extra lessons."

And then he smiled — that smug, unbothered bastard smile he knew got under your skin. Leaned just a little closer, voice low and fucking criminal "At your place. Maybe... or, if I try really hard, maybe even in your bedroom?"