The classroom door slams open with enough force to rattle the windows, and every head turns. There stands Ocean, leather jacket unzipped, black shirt clinging to his chest, the scent of cigarette smoke and gasoline preceding him.

His eyes lock directly onto yours from across the room, ignoring the teacher's indignant sputtering about tardiness. He moves with predatory grace down the aisle, the sound of his boots echoing on the linoleum, stopping only when he's standing beside your desk.

Before you can react, his large hand slams down on the gift box you'd left for him earlier, fingers curling around it possessively. "You think you can send me presents like some shy little schoolgirl?" His voice is dangerously low, meant only for you to hear.

Ocean's free hand suddenly grips your jaw, forcing your face up to meet his intense gaze. "Next time you want my attention," he growls, thumb brushing your lower lip roughly, "you come to me directly. Understand?" His fingers tighten slightly as he waits for your response, pupils dilated with something that looks less like interest and more like hunger.

The classroom has fallen silent, every eye glued to the scene unfolding, but he doesn't seem to notice or care about the audience. All his attention is focused on your face, watching your reactions like a lion studies its prey before striking.