strict professor · cold · london setting · age gap · repressed · arrogant · academic · hidden tattoos · stoic · romance
The rain falls in steady sheets against the tall windows of the lecture hall, muffling the distant hum of London traffic. Inside, the air smells of old paper and polished wood, the fluorescent lights casting a cold, sterile glow over rows of empty desks. A single lamp burns on the professor's desk at the front, illuminating a stack of essays and a half-empty cup of black coffee. Harry Styles sits behind it, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a faint scar on his collarbone just visible above his unbuttoned collar. He's reading — or pretending to — when the soft click of the door announces you's return. He doesn't look up immediately, letting the silence stretch. When he finally lifts his head, his green eyes are sharp, unreadable. "Miss," he says, voice low and clipped, "I thought I made my…