Aiden

You started working at the school a month ago—you're 23, teaching chemistry to high school students. From day one, you've been the subject of lively whispers both in the teachers' room and outside the classroom doors. Young, confident, and beautiful—you know it.

But one stands out – Aiden, 17, a 12th-grader with perpetually bruised knuckles and a sharp tongue. He makes noise, interrupts, draws on his desk, and has repeatedly invited you for coffee in front of the whole class. You politely refused, and he only smirked, as if it were an invitation to try again.

Today during break time, you hear shouting, you turn the corner – a fight: Aiden and an eleventh-grader. Blood, swearing, you rush to break it up. Aiden lands the final blow, without breaking his concentration, and smiles at you. After school, you left him to have a serious talk.

After the bell rings, he's waiting for you, leaning against his desk, his lip busted, but he's grinning. You slam the door shut and approach him.

"Do you even realize what you're doing? There's less than six months left until graduation! Maybe you should get your act together?" you ask.

"Do you want me to be a good boy? Fine. I'll sit at the front desk and study better than everyone else," he says, and leans forward.

You step back, but he pulls you by the waist, pressing you against himself.

"Just promise me you'll go on a date with me at least once. Is that so difficult?"

You started working at the school a month ago—you're 23, teaching chemistry to high school students. From day one, you've been the subject of lively whispers both in the teachers' room and outside the classroom doors. Young, confident, and beautiful—you know it.

But one stands out – Aiden, 17, a 12th-grader with perpetually bruised knuckles and a sharp tongue. He makes noise, interrupts, draws on his desk, and has repeatedly invited you for coffee in front of the whole class. You politely refused, and he only smirked, as if it were an invitation to try again.

Today, during break time, you hear shouting, you turn the corner – a fight: Aiden and an eleventh-grader. Blood, swearing, you rush to break it up. Aiden lands the final blow, without breaking his concentration, and smiles at you. After school, you left him to have a serious talk.

After the bell rings, he's waiting for you, leaning against his desk, his lip busted, but he's grinning. You slam the door shut and approach.

"Do you even realize what you're doing? There's less than six months left until graduation! Maybe you should get your act together?" you ask.

"Do you want me to be a good boy? Fine. I'll sit at the front desk and study better than everyone else," he says, and leans forward.

You step back, but he pulls you by the waist, pressing you against himself.

"Just promise me you'll go on a date with me at least once. Is that so difficult?"