Chapter 52

Faye

The next class rolls in like a wave, students shuffling to their seats with that familiar Monday-morning haze still clinging to their faces. I can't blame them—half of me is still floating from Yoko's kiss earlier. The soft press of her lips against mine, the way she whispered, "See you later?"

I shake the thought from my head and refocus on the lesson, diving into the day's material with as much energy as I can muster. But about halfway through explaining metaphysical poetry, I notice the familiar blank stares settling across a few faces in the room.

I pause, scanning the students.

"Any questions so far?" I ask, already anticipating the silence that usually follows.

Sure enough, the room is quiet—until one brave student at the back raises their hand, a confused frown tugging at their brow.

"I don't really get how this ties back to the theme..."

I nod, stepping closer to their desk. "Good question. Let's break it down."

I explain it again, slower this time, trying to simplify the abstract concepts. But judging by the continued furrowed brows and exchanged glances, it's clear some of them are still lost.

I sigh softly but smile. "Alright. If you're still confused, meet me after class. We'll go through it together, step by step."

A few heads nod, and I make a mental note to carve out time later. I'm determined to make sure they understand this before the day's over.

When the bell finally rings, signaling lunch, I grab my things and head to the staff room, eager for a little break—and maybe, just maybe, a distraction from the lingering thoughts of a certain someone.

The staff room is already buzzing with casual chatter, the low hum of teachers decompressing after a long morning. I make a beeline for the coffee machine, needing the caffeine like it's oxygen.

"Faye!"

I glance over to see Catherine, the calculus teacher, waving me over with a grin.

"Hey," I greet, settling into the seat across from her, coffee in hand. "How's the math world treating you?"

She rolls her eyes dramatically. "Oh, you know. Just trying to convince a bunch of teenagers that limits and derivatives are more interesting than TikTok."

I chuckle, taking a sip of my coffee. "Sounds like a losing battle."

"Tell me about it." Catherine leans in slightly, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "But speaking of students..."

I raise an eyebrow, instantly intrigued. "Oh?"

Catherine's grin widens. "You wouldn't believe the drama I overheard in the hallway this morning."

I lean forward, fully invested now. "Do tell."

She launches into a hilarious recount of two students arguing over who accidentally copied whose homework, complete with dramatic reenactments and exaggerated voices. I'm crying with laughter by the time she finishes, my cheeks hurting from smiling so much.

"But wait," Catherine says, holding up a finger like she's about to drop a bombshell. "You know Marissa, right?"

I nod slowly. "The one who's always two weeks late for handing in assignments?"

"That's the one," Catherine confirms, eyes gleaming. "Apparently, she's already packed for the Edinburgh trip. Packed,Faye. And she's been bragging about it like it's an Olympic sport."

I snort, nearly spilling my coffee. "Sounds like someone's a little too excited."

Catherine nods sagely. "Mark my words, she'll forget something. The more prepared they act, the more likely they'll leave their toothbrush behind."

We both burst into laughter, the easy camaraderie filling the space between us.

For a moment, it feels good to just be—to laugh, to share stories, to connect over the little absurdities of our days. But as I sip the last of my coffee, my mind drifts back to Yoko, to the way her eyes sparkled when she smiled before going to her class.

And I can't help but count down the hours until I see her again.

The final bell of the day finally rings, echoing through the emptying hallways like a sweet symphony of freedom.

I lean back in my chair, letting out a slow breath. The last class wrapped up smoothly, and for once, there's no towering pile of assignments screaming for my attention. My mind immediately drifts to Yoko—the way she whispered "See you after school?" before leaving my classroom earlier, her eyes sparkling like I'd just promised her the world.

A soft smile tugs at the corners of my lips as I shuffle some papers around, half-heartedly pretending to work while really just counting down the minutes until she shows up. I can already picture it—her slipping in, pretending to be casual, but with that unmistakable glow in her eyes that's just for me.

The anticipation hums beneath my skin, and when I hear the faint creak of the classroom door opening, my heart does a little flip.

Without looking up, I grin, already feeling the warmth in my chest.

"Hey, baby—"

But when I glance up, my heart stutters.

Oh.

It's not Yoko.

It's three confused-looking students, clutching their notebooks like lifelines, their eyes wide as if they've just walked in on something they definitely weren't supposed to.

I blink, my brain scrambling to rewind and recover. "Oh... right." I clear my throat, mentally kicking myself.

The students I told to meet me after class. That's today, Faye. Get it together.

I plaster on my best professional smile, smoothing over the awkwardness like a pro. "Come in," I say, waving them toward the front desks. "Let's go over what you're struggling with."

As they settle into their seats, I move to the board, ready to dive into metaphysical poetry explanations for the second time today. I'm just about to start when—

The door creaks open again.

And this time, it's her.

Yoko steps in, her eyes flicking around the room before landing on me. There's that spark—the one that lights up just for me—and I feel my heart do a ridiculous little somersault.

I almost forget the students sitting right in front of me.

But I recover quickly, clearing my throat and gesturing toward the empty desk near the back. "Come in," I say, keeping my tone even, though my heart's pounding.

Yoko slips in with that innocent little smile that I know is anything but, sliding into a seat like she belongs here. Her eyes meet mine for a split second, and I swear the temperature in the room spikes by ten degrees.

I turn back to the board, forcing myself to focus on the confused students in front of me.

"Alright," I begin, launching into an explanation of conceits and paradoxes, but every time I glance over at Yoko, she's sitting there—watching me.

Her chin resting on her hand, eyes soft and amused, like she's enjoying this way too much.

And maybe—just maybe—I'm enjoying it too.

Because nothing makes metaphysical poetry more interesting than having the girl you love sitting in the back of the room, looking at you like you're the only person in the world.

I move around the room, glancing at the students' notes as they work through their poetry assignments. They're still grappling with the concept of conceits and metaphors, so I lean down to one of them—a bright-eyed girl named Lena—and begin explaining the nuances of how metaphysical poets stretch comparisons to their limits.

As I'm pointing out examples in her notebook, I notice Lena leaning in a little too close, her eyes lingering on me just a little too long.

At first, I chalk it up to concentration—students do that sometimes when they're really trying to understand something. But then I catch the soft, almost playful smile curling at the corners of her lips, the way her fingers tap just a bit too close to mine on the desk.

Oh. 

Oh no.

The realization hits me like a brick.

She's flirting.

I clear my throat, subtly shifting back in my seat to put some distance between us. My eyes flick up, instinctively seeking out Yoko across the room.

And there she is. Arms crossed, lips pursed, her expression somewhere between murderous and deeply offended.

She's sulking. Hard.

Her eyes narrow slightly when Lena laughs at something I just said—completely academic, I might add—and I feel a bead of sweat form at the back of my neck.

Shit.

I glance back at Yoko, offering a subtle, apologetic smile.

Don't be jealous... I silently plead with my eyes, it's not what it looks like.

But Yoko just lifts an eyebrow and looks away, her jaw set in that adorable but dangerous pout I know all too well.

Double shit.

I immediately speed up the explanation, my words tumbling out in a rushed attempt to finish the lesson as quickly as possible.

"Alright!" I clap my hands together, standing up so fast my chair scrapes against the floor. "I think that covers everything for today. You've all got a solid grasp now—keep working on your reflections at home."

The students blink up at me, slightly startled by my sudden enthusiasm, but they start packing their things nonetheless.

Lena lingers for a second longer, flashing me a bright smile. "Thanks, Ms Peraya. You're really good at explaining things."

I give her a very professional nod, stepping back like the floor is on fire beneath my feet. "Glad to help. See you tomorrow."

As soon as the last student files out and the door clicks shut behind them, I turn to Yoko.

She's still sitting there, arms folded, that pout firmly in place.

I cross the room in a few quick strides, dropping into the seat beside her.

"Baby..." I murmur, my voice soft and pleading.

Yoko doesn't look at me. "She was flirting with you."

I bite back a laugh, reaching out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "I didn't even notice."

She finally glances at me, her eyes narrowed in playful suspicion. "Liar."

I grin, leaning in until our foreheads almost touch, my voice dropping to a whisper meant for her ears only.

"I only have eyes for you, Yoko."

I let the words linger in the space between us, my fingers gently tracing the line of her jaw, hoping—praying—it's enough to melt the stubborn pout from her lips.

But Yoko just narrows her eyes, her arms still firmly crossed over her chest like she's trying to keep her heart from caving.

"I told you," she huffs, her voice low but full of mock indignation. "Students will flirt with you. They'll try to get your attention no matter what, even if you are Ms Tall-and-Cold."

I blink, pulling back just slightly, my brow arching in confusion. "Ms Tall-and-Cold?"

She finally meets my gaze, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Yeah. That's what Ink and I call you."

I stare at her for a moment, a laugh bubbling up in my chest. "Ms Tall-and-Cold? That's what you think of me?"

Yoko shrugs, but her grin is growing, that pout slowly crumbling under the weight of her own amusement.

But then I pause, the words clicking into place. "Wait." I narrow my eyes, my heart skipping a beat. "Ink knows about us?"

Yoko waves a hand dismissively, like it's no big deal. "Yeah, she does. But don't worry—Ink's solid. She won't tell anyone."

I study her for a moment, letting the reassurance settle in, and then I nod, trusting her completely. "Okay," I murmur, my thumb brushing gently over her cheek.

But just when I think the moment's softened, her pout returns, her lips pushing out in that ridiculously adorable way that makes my heart ache and laugh all at once.

"You're still sulking?" I tease, leaning in closer, my voice dropping to that soft, coaxing tone I know drives her crazy.

Yoko glares at me—though it's more playful than anything—and mutters, "she flirted with you.."

My heart swells at the jealousy swimming in her eyes, and I can't help but smile, my lips brushing against the corner of her mouth.

"Baby," I whisper, kissing the edge of her pout, "you're the only one I see."

Another kiss, this time to the tip of her nose.

"The only one I want."

I feel her breath hitch as my lips finally meet hers, soft and slow, pouring every ounce of affection into the kiss. She sighs against my mouth, the tension melting from her body as her arms uncross and slide around my neck, pulling me closer.

I deepen the kiss, my fingers threading through her hair, feeling the way she relaxes into me, like we're the only two people in the world. Her lips are warm and familiar, and for a moment, everything else fades—the classroom, the school, the entire universe.

But just as I'm about to lose myself completely in her, a sudden knock at the door snaps us both back to reality.

We freeze, our lips still barely touching, our breaths mingling in the space between us.

Yoko's eyes fly open, wide and startled, while mine dart toward the door, my heart pounding in my chest.

Another knock, louder this time.

I swallow hard, my voice barely above a whisper.

"...Shit."

The knock feels like a thunderclap, jolting us apart as if the universe itself decided to remind us where we were.

I reluctantly pull away from Yoko, my breath still mingling with hers, lingering like the kiss we didn't get to finish. She exhales sharply, her lips still parted, eyes dark with frustration—and maybe a little amusement.

I clear my throat, forcing my heart back into a professional rhythm as I stride to my desk, smoothing my hair and adjusting my glasses like that might somehow erase the tension thick in the air.

"Come in," I call, my voice surprisingly steady.

The door creaks open, and in walks...

Allison.

And just like that, every bit of warmth from Yoko's kisses is sucked out of the room.

"Oh, Yoko." Allison's voice is too light, too casual as her eyes flick to Yoko, her smirk lingering just a moment too long. "Didn't expect to see you here."

I feel Yoko stiffen across the room, her posture snapping into that chilly, indifferent stance she uses whenever Allison's around.

Before either of us can respond, Allison turns back to me. "What happened here?" she asks, her tone laced with fake curiosity, like she already knows she's about to stir the pot.

I recover quickly, my face slipping into that practiced calm I wear so well. "She's serving detention," I say smoothly, waving a dismissive hand like it's no big deal.

Allison's eyes flick back to Yoko, a glint of amusement dancing in them. "Detention, huh?" She chuckles softly. "Careful, Yoko. Get too comfortable, and you might end up in my office next."

Yoko doesn't even flinch.

She leans back in her chair, arms crossed, and shoots Allison a cool, almost bored look. "I'll try to contain myself," she replies dryly, her voice dripping with nonchalance.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.

Allison raises an eyebrow but lets it go, finally turning her attention fully back to me.

"Well," she says, drawing out the word like it's some private joke only she's in on. "I actually came by to finalize the teacher's room arrangements for the Edinburgh trip."

I suppress a groan, already feeling the headache forming at the base of my skull. "Fine. Tell me."

But Allison waves a hand, her smile widening like she's enjoying this way too much. "Oh, you're on detention duty. I'll wait."

My jaw tightens, irritation sparking in my chest. I shoot her a look that could burn holes through steel.

"No," I say sharply, my voice leaving no room for argument. "Tell me now."

For a split second, Allison's smile falters, but she quickly recovers, pulling out a folded piece of paper from her bag. She rattles off the room assignments, dragging out every word like it's a game to see how far she can push me.

I nod along, keeping my face neutral, but I can feel Yoko's eyes on me, her silent support like a steady pulse in the background.

When Allison finally finishes, she tucks the paper back into her bag with an exaggerated flair and heads for the door.

"See you around," she tosses over her shoulder, her voice light, but I can hear the undertone in it.

I don't respond. I just watch as she walks out, waiting until the door clicks shut behind her and her footsteps fade down the hall.

Only then do I let out a slow, exhausted sigh, sinking into my chair as the tension drains from my shoulders. But before I can fully relax, I hear the soft scuff of shoes against the floor.

I glance up.

Yoko's standing there, her eyes dark and unreadable, a storm brewing just beneath the surface. She moves toward me with that slow, calculated grace that undoes me every time, like she knows exactly the effect she has on me.

And I already know—

We're not done yet.

"Baby..." I murmur, my voice softer, tinged with something between apology and desire.

But Yoko doesn't say a word.

Instead, she slides into my lap like she belongs there—because she does. My hands instinctively find her waist, her warmth settling against me, grounding me and setting me on fire all at once.

For a moment, we just stare at each other, the space between us humming with tension so thick it feels like the air itself could snap. Her gaze drops to my lips, then flicks back up to meet my eyes, and it's all I can do to hold back the desperate need building inside me.

Her fingers trail lightly down my neck, a feather-light touch that sends shivers racing down my spine. I swallow hard, my restraint hanging by a thread.

And then—

I break.

My hands tighten around her waist, pulling her closer until there's no space left between us. Our lips crash together, all heat and urgency, like we're trying to make up for every second we've spent apart.

Her hands tangle in my hair, tugging just enough to make me groan against her mouth. I can feel the curve of her smile, that infuriatingly perfect smirk that says she knows exactly how far she can push me.

But two can play that game.

I shift beneath her, my hands sliding under the hem of her shirt, fingers skimming over bare skin, drawing a soft gasp from her lips. The sound shoots straight through me, igniting something wild and uncontrollable.

Her hips press against mine, and the friction is deliciously maddening. The classroom—the world—fades into nothing, leaving only the feel of her, the taste of her, the need for her.

We lose ourselves in the heat, the stolen moment stretching out like it could last forever.

But somewhere, in the back of my mind, a tiny voice whispers that we're still in a classroom, that at any moment, someone could walk in and find us tangled together like this.

But right now?

I don't care.

Because this—she—is all I need.

Our breaths mingle in the narrow space between us, hearts pounding in sync, the taste of her still lingering on my lips.

Yoko's eyes flutter open, and she leans in, stealing one more kiss. And then another. Each one softer, lingering, like she's trying to hold onto the moment just a little longer.

Our foreheads rest together, her hands tangled in my hair, fingers threading through like they belong there—because they do.

But reality creeps in, threading itself through the haze of our closeness. I sigh, my voice low and reluctant. "We need to be more careful..."

Yoko's lips hover near mine, her breath warm against my skin. "It's hard," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "But I'll try."

I close my eyes, pulling her closer as if that could make the world disappear. "We really have to be careful," I murmur, my thumb tracing slow, calming circles on her waist. "We almost got caught by Allison just now."

At her name, I feel Yoko stiffen slightly in my lap, her body tensing just enough for me to notice.

"Okay..." she breathes out, but there's a quiet weight in her voice, something she's trying to hide.

I pull back just enough to see her face, my heart tugging at the subtle shift in her expression—the flicker of disappointment she's trying to mask.

"And for the Edinburgh trip..." I continue gently, my fingers brushing her cheek. "As much as I want to spend time with you, we'll have to keep some distance. Just until we're back."

Yoko's eyes darken slightly, but she nods.

Then, after a beat, she whispers, "What about at night? Can I come to your room?"

Her voice is so soft, so hopeful, that it nearly breaks me.

But I shake my head, my heart aching with the answer I have to give.

"No, baby. It's not safe."

For a moment, her face doesn't change. She just nods, like it's nothing. Like it doesn't bother her.

But I know Yoko better than that.

I can feel the sadness hiding behind her calm exterior, the way her fingers loosen slightly around my neck, the way her eyes dart away from mine, just for a second.

And it kills me.

I cup her face gently, tilting her chin up until her eyes meet mine again.

"Hey..." I whisper, my thumb brushing over her bottom lip. "I know it's hard. But this—us—it's worth being careful for."

Her eyes soften, but that quiet sadness lingers in their depths.

I press a soft kiss to her forehead, letting my lips linger there, hoping she feels every ounce of how much I hate the distance we have to put between us.

"But we have right now," I murmur against her skin, pulling back just enough to see her face again. "Let's go home. Spend the evening together. Just us."

A small smile tugs at her lips, the shadows in her eyes easing just a little.

I grin, leaning in to kiss her nose. "Detention is over, Ms Apasra."

She laughs softly, that sound like music to my ears, and finally—finally—the heaviness lifts, if only for a while.

I take her hand, threading our fingers together, and we stand, the weight of the world slipping off our shoulders as we step out of the classroom and back into our world.

For now, that's enough. Because every stolen moment with her is worth the wait.

We leave school separately, like we always do, careful not to give anyone a reason to wonder. Yoko heads to her car first, tossing me one last lingering glance over her shoulder, the kind of look that clings to my skin long after she's out of sight.

I wait a few minutes before heading to my own car, the emptiness beside me on the drive home feeling heavier than usual. The entire way, my hands grip the steering wheel tighter than necessary, my mind replaying the feel of her lips, the warmth of her breath, the ache in her eyes when I told her we'd have to keep our distance during the trip.

But tonight—tonight—we don't have to pretend.

I pull into the driveway first, killing the engine but leaving the door ajar, waiting. The house feels too quiet, too still without her.

Minutes stretch, slow and agonizing, until finally—finally—I see her car turning onto the street.

She parks beside me, and before her engine's even off, I'm out of my car, closing the space between us like a woman starved.

I yank open her door, and there she is—flushed from the drive, eyes wide with surprise but already softening into a smile like she's been waiting for me to come unglued.

I don't give her a chance to say anything.

I slide my arms under her thighs and back, lifting her out of the car with ease. She gasps, a surprised laugh escaping her lips, but it melts into something softer as she wraps her arms around my neck, pressing herself closer.

I don't stop. I can't stop.

I carry her straight into the house, the door slamming shut behind us, sealing the world out.

The second the door clicks, the tension that's been simmering all day erupts.

I lower her onto the couch, but before I can pull away, her fingers tangle in my hair, yanking me down, her lips crashing into mine with a desperation that shatters me.

Our mouths meet in a frenzy of heat and need, teeth grazing, breaths mingling in hot, uneven gasps. Her lips are soft, but the way she kisses me is anything but gentle—urgent, like she's trying to pour every unspoken word, every suppressed desire, into this single moment.

Her hands roam down my back, nails dragging across the fabric of my shirt, sending shivers skittering across my skin. I groan against her mouth, the sound low and needy, vibrating between us as she arches into me, her body pressing flush against mine.

I slip my hands under the hem of her shirt, fingertips grazing the bare skin of her waist. She shudders, her hips lifting to meet mine, and the friction—the delicious slide of our bodies—is enough to make my head spin.

Yoko's breath hitches, a soft, broken sound that shoots straight through me. I trail my lips from her mouth to her jaw, down the sensitive skin of her neck, nipping and sucking until I feel her pulse jump beneath my tongue.

"Faye..." she whispers, my name spilling from her lips like a prayer, like a command.

It undoes me.

I slide one hand up, cupping her face, tilting her chin just enough to claim her mouth again. Her lips part willingly, and I take everything, tasting the sweet, addictive want that's been building between us all day.

Her fingers tighten in my hair, pulling me closer, deeper, until there's no space left between us, no air between our bodies. Her legs wrap around my waist, and I press into her, feeling the way her body responds, how perfectly we fit together.

The room is a blur of heat and tangled limbs, our breaths growing ragged, desperate. My hands explore every inch of her, memorizing the curves, the soft dips and valleys that I could never get enough of.

Yoko's moans are soft, breathy, but they unravel me, each one more intoxicating than the last. I can feel her heart racing beneath my palms, matching the frantic beat of my own.

We lose ourselves in the heat, the urgency of this stolen moment, until there's nothing left but the feel of her, the taste of her, the undeniable truth of how much I need her.

And in this moment, she's mine. Completely, unapologetically mine.

The kitchen is warm with the faint sizzle of oil and the soft clatter of utensils against the pan. I'm focused on chopping vegetables, the rhythmic sound grounding me, but there's still this lingering buzz under my skin—the kind that only Yoko leaves behind after being in her arms.

I hear her before I feel her.

The soft padding of bare feet on the hardwood floor, the faint rustle of her moving closer. Then, without warning, her arms snake around my waist from behind, her body pressing against mine, fitting so perfectly it's like we were made to align this way.

I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips.

"Will you help me, darling?" I murmur, my voice soft, laced with that warmth she pulls out of me so effortlessly.

Yoko hums against my back, her lips brushing the nape of my neck. "Okay," she whispers, like the word itself is a promise.

She peels herself away just enough to stand beside me, and we move around each other in the kitchen like we've done this a hundred times before—passing ingredients, sharing soft glances, our hands brushing occasionally, sending little sparks through me each time.

By the time we finish cooking, I'm starving, but not for the food.

We settle at the table, plates steaming between us, and I finally break the comfortable silence.

"I heard your friend Marissa is already packed for the trip?" I tease, raising an eyebrow.

Yoko groans, rolling her eyes with a grin. "Yeah, she is. Pretty sure she had her luggage packed even before mid-years."

I laugh, shaking my head. "She's the most enthusiastic one among your friends, huh?"

"The most." Yoko stabs a piece of chicken with her fork, her grin widening. "If only she could be half as excited for most of her classes."

I chuckle, taking a sip of water. "I know, right?"

There's a beat of playful silence before I glance at her over my plate. "Have you packed yet?"

Yoko's expression shifts to mock guilt, her eyes darting away dramatically. "Nope. Haven't even started."

I burst out laughing, nearly choking on my food. "You're the total opposite of Marissa."

Yoko smirks, her eyes twinkling. "Well, someone's gotta keep the balance in the universe."

I shake my head, still laughing. "Do you have everything you need? It's going to be pretty cool over there. You better keep warm."

Yoko shrugs, nonchalant. "I don't know. I'll spend tomorrow packing. If there's anything missing, I'll just buy it there."

I raise an eyebrow, setting down my fork. "What do you not have?"

She taps her chin, pretending to think hard before listing, "Maybe an extra coat... a thicker sweater..."

I lean back in my chair, the idea already forming before she even finishes.

"You can take mine," I offer casually, but my heart's racing as I say it.

Yoko pauses mid-bite, looking at me like I've just suggested she borrow my soul.

"Wait, what?" she laughs, setting down her fork, eyes narrowing playfully. "You're just gonna hand over your clothes? What is this, a secret plot to make sure I'm warding off people with your teacher vibes?"

I chuckle, shaking my head, but there's a softness curling in my chest that I can't hide.

"No," I whisper, my voice dropping to something quieter, more vulnerable. I reach across the table, my fingers brushing over hers. "It's just... we won't be able to spend much time together. But at least this way, you'll have something of mine. Something to keep close."

Her teasing fades into something softer, her eyes melting into that familiar warmth that makes me feel like the center of her universe.

"Okay," she murmurs, squeezing my hand gently.

I grin, probably too wide, but I don't care. "I'll pass them to you later."

And in that moment, I feel like I've given her the world, even if it's just a sweater.

Because when it comes to Yoko, I'd give her everything.

The late afternoon sun spills through the living room windows, casting a golden hue over everything. The world outside hums quietly, but inside, it's just us, wrapped in the kind of silence that feels safe, like a soft blanket cocooning us from reality.

We're sprawled on the couch, Yoko nestled against me, her head resting on my chest, fingers lazily tracing patterns over the fabric of my shirt. My arms are wrapped around her, holding her close, breathing in the faint scent of her shampoo, the comforting weight of her against me grounding me in a way nothing else does.

For a moment, I let myself believe this could be forever—just us, no deadlines, no rules, no careful glances in crowded hallways.

But reality has a funny way of creeping in.

I glance down at her, my fingers gently brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. "Aren't you going to do your assignments, darling?"

Yoko hums, nuzzling deeper into my chest like she didn't hear me, her voice muffled against my skin. "Soon."

I can't help the chuckle that bubbles up. "Soon, huh?" I tease, tightening my arms around her playfully. "Yeah, right. You'll say soon, then forget—just like my previous assignments."

Yoko pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, her eyes sparkling with mock offense.

I grin, continuing, "And then you'll secretly try to do it in class, thinking I won't notice. And when I do catch you..." I lean in, my lips brushing the shell of her ear, "...you'll end up in detention. Again."

Yoko lets out a dramatic gasp, pushing at my shoulder, but there's laughter dancing in her eyes. "You love giving me detention, admit it."

I laugh, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. "I love giving you a hard time."

She huffs, but the smile tugging at her lips betrays her.

"Alright, slacker," I tease, giving her side a gentle squeeze. "Up. Let's do our work together before you distract yourself—and me—any more."

Yoko groans but lets me pull her up from the couch, her fingers lacing with mine as we head to the dining table. She plops into a chair, pouting dramatically as she pulls out her assignments, while I grab the stack of grading I've been avoiding.

For the first few minutes, we work in companionable silence, the only sounds the scratch of pens against paper and the occasional sigh from Yoko as she pretends to struggle with her work.

And then—

"Faaaaye..." Yoko's voice is soft, laced with faux confusion, and I already know where this is going.

I glance up from my papers, arching an eyebrow. "Yes?"

She tilts her head, eyes wide and innocent. "I don't understand this part..." She pushes her notebook toward me, but before I can even read the question, she leans over, her lips brushing just below my ear.

I shiver, my heart skipping a beat.

"That's not how you ask for help," I whisper, trying to sound stern, but my voice comes out softer, breathier than I intended.

Yoko pulls back, her grin mischievous. "Oh? Then how do I ask, Ms Peraya?"

I narrow my eyes, but I'm smiling. I reach over, tapping the paper. "You actually let me read the question first."

She giggles but slides the notebook closer. I glance at the assignment, giving her a quick explanation, but as I'm mid-sentence, her fingers curl around mine, pulling my hand away from the paper.

Then—suddenly—her lips are on mine.

It's quick, a soft press of warmth, but it sends a jolt through me, leaving me breathless.

When she pulls back, her eyes are dancing with amusement. "Thanks for the help, Ms Peraya."

I shake my head, laughing, my heart feeling like it might burst from how full it is.

"Keep that up," I murmur, leaning closer until our noses almost touch, my breath warm against her skin, "and you'll find yourself in detention again."

Yoko lets out a soft whine, her pout immediate and devastatingly cute.

"How can you give me detention," she grumbles, poking at my side with her pen, "when I'm actually doing my work in my girlfriend's house? That's so unprofessional, Ms Peraya."

I raise an eyebrow, smirking as I lean in until our lips are a breath apart.

"Detention in my house," I whisper, letting the words drip slowly, my eyes flicking down to her lips before meeting her gaze again. "In my bed."

Her cheeks flush instantly, but she bites her bottom lip, trying so hard to play it cool.

But she can't—not with me. And that little victory? It tastes sweeter than any wine.

We manage to focus after that—somehow. The soft hum of pens scratching paper fills the room, broken occasionally by Yoko's dramatic sighs or her fake helpless questions just to steal quick kisses.

By the time night creeps in, our work is finished, but I'm not ready to let her go.

I stand and head to my room, grabbing one of my warmest sweaters—the thick, dark grey one I used to wear when I lived in Edinburgh. It still holds a faint trace of my perfume, that familiar scent Yoko always nuzzles into when we're wrapped up together.

When I come back, she's already packing her things, but I stop her with a soft, "Wait."

She looks up, and I can see that same glint of sadness in her eyes—the one she tries to hide whenever we have to part.

I walk over and gently drape the sweater over her shoulders, smoothing it down before stepping back to admire how perfect she looks in it.

Her fingers curl around the fabric, pulling it closer to her like she's wrapping herself in me.

"Thank you," she whispers, her voice barely audible, but the way her eyes soften makes my heart clench in the bestway.

I lean down, pressing a tender kiss to her lips, slow and lingering, like I'm trying to memorize the feel of her before she leaves.

When we pull apart, she gives me that small, reluctant smile, stepping back toward the door.

But as her hand touches the doorknob, something twists in my chest.

I don't want her to go.

Not yet.

"Wait," I blurt, stepping forward before I can stop myself. "Can I drive you home?"

She blinks, surprised, then laughs softly. "But I drove here..."

I shrug, trying to play it cool, but my heart is already racing. "I know. I'll drive you home in your car, then I'll just walk back."

Yoko raises an eyebrow, that teasing smirk creeping onto her lips. "Wow, Ms Peraya. That's dedication. Driving me home and walking back? Are you sure you're not just trying to steal more time with me?"

Her words are light, teasing, but they hit me right in the heart.

I feel my cheeks warm, but I hold her gaze, refusing to let her see me flustered. "Maybe I am," I say smoothly, stepping closer until we're toe to toe. "But can you blame me?"

She laughs, soft and breathless, before leaning up to kiss me again.

Minutes later, we're in her car, the soft hum of the engine the only sound as I drive us through the quiet, dimly lit streets. Yoko sits beside me, wrapped in my sweater, the sleeves a little too long, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the seams like she's holding onto me with every touch.

The air between us is heavy, thick with all the words we won't say—the ones that don't need to be spoken because they're felt. In the way her hands brushes mine. In the way her gaze flickers to me when she thinks I'm not looking.

When we pull up in front of her house, I shift the car into park, but neither of us moves.

The engine hums softly beneath us, but it's the silence that speaks the loudest.

I glance over at her. She's staring ahead, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, like she's trying to anchor herself in this moment just a little longer.

Our eyes meet in the soft glow of the dashboard lights—hers dark and glassy, mine probably reflecting the same ache sitting heavy in my chest.

Without a word, we both step out of the car, the cool night air wrapping around us like a fragile reminder that this perfect little bubble we've created is about to burst.

I walk her to the door, our hands brushing, fingers itching to intertwine but stopping short, both of us too aware of the world outside this fragile closeness.

When we reach her porch, she turns to me, her eyes searching mine for something neither of us can fully name.

"Thank you," she whispers, her voice soft but carrying the weight of everything she's feeling.

Before I can respond, she leans in, pressing her lips to my cheek—a simple gesture, but it sends a shiver down my spine, settling low and warm in my chest.

But it's not enough.

I turn my head just enough to catch her lips with mine, deepening the kiss, pouring every ounce of the ache and longing into that single heartbeat. Her hands grip the front of my shirt, pulling me closer, like she doesn't want to let go—like I'm the air she needs to breathe.

When we finally pull apart, it's slow, reluctant, our foreheads resting together for a moment, sharing the same breath, the same unspoken promise.

She steps back, her fingers slipping from mine like sand through an hourglass. She pauses at the door, turning back to give me that soft, lingering look—the one that says I'll miss you without ever needing to say a word.

And as I watch her disappear into the house, the door clicking shut behind her, I can still feel the warmth of her lips on mine, the weight of her presence lingering like a ghost on my skin.

I exhale, my heart both heavy and full, knowing I'd walk miles in the dark just to steal a few more minutes with her.

Because for Yoko?

I'd do anything.