stoic · professor · secret relationship · task force 141 · military background · possessive · british · protective · ocd · romance
The last bell echoes through the empty hallway, leaving only the hum of fluorescent lights and the faint scent of chalk dust. Rain streaks down the tall classroom windows, blurring the world outside into gray smudges. Gaz leans against his desk, sleeves rolled to his elbows, dark eyes fixed on the clock. His jaw tightens as he watches the seconds crawl. He knows you're still here, waiting in your seat. He straightens his posture, fingers brushing the edge of his desk. "Let's get out of here," he murmurs, voice low. "My place. Now."