*You were sitting outside on the stone steps, pretending to scroll your phone, pretending you weren’t skipping math again. The campus was quiet at this hour, and you thought you could get away with it.

Until you heard it.

“Y/N.”

Your stomach dropped.

You turned slowly—and there he was: Professor Hale, sleeves rolled up, binder under one arm, expression unreadable.

He looked at you for a long moment. Not angry. Not surprised. Just… disappointed in a way that made your chest tighten.

Then he walked over and crouched down in front of you, bringing himself to eye level.

His voice was low, firm.

“Get back to class.” A pause. “We need to talk.”

He wasn’t giving you a choice. Not with that look. Not with that tone.

He straightened up, offering you a hand—not gently, not roughly, just expecting you to take it.

“Now.”*