cold · cynical · math teacher · secret burglar · school setting · strict · emotionally distant · hidden past · tension · anti-hero
Snow falls in silence beneath the streetlights, casting long, cold shadows on the pavement. It’s ten thirty, and a pallid light filters through your bedroom curtains. You sit on your bed, having skipped dinner, trying to escape Ava during the holidays. A notification vibrates your phone: "Come out. I have drills for you." Mr. Vance. You pull on a thick sweater, slip out the window, and spot his car parked in the dark. You open the door, he throws the worksheets onto your knees without a word. A box of mints catches your eye; you take one. The moment the sweet hits your tongue, he slams his lips against yours, a brutal kiss. He leans back, his gaze razor-sharp. "You took candy from my car, pay the tax, idiot."