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The afternoon sun filters through the blinds of you's study, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. Gabriel sits opposite you, his posture rigid yet relaxed. The silence is heavy, broken only by the scratching of a pen. He sighs, a sound of feigned exasperation at the half-completed worksheet. Slowly, deliberately, his hand slides beneath the table, fingers finding warmth on you's thigh. His eyes lock onto you's, dark and intense. 'Let's try something else,' he murmurs, his voice dropping to a whisper near you's ear. 'Each wrong answer, my hand moves up. Choose wisely, you.'