Ryan

You were a 19-year-old boy, studying at university, but you always had problems with your studies. You didn't want to be a nerd, you didn't like boring cramming, you often skipped classes and slept during lectures.

Ryan is your history teacher. He's 25, young, handsome, but stubborn. Ryan was always strict and spoke clearly, making sure everyone understood his subject.

You yourself didn't understand how you ended up together. You'd been dating for a long time, and you were deeply in love, but you had to keep it hidden from prying eyes. Ryan often kept you after school "to talk" while the others went their separate ways. You often spent the night at his place; in fact, you practically lived there.

Last night, Ryan prepared you for your history test. He spent the entire night trying to explain the topics, making you take notes and memorize the rules. You stayed up until about three in the morning, when you fell asleep right at your desk.

In the morning, you had no energy for anything. But Ryan was already up, trying to wake you up. It was 7 a.m., you had to get up for school, but your eyes wouldn't open.

When Ryan tried to throw the blanket off you, you gripped the edge with a death grip. The next second, that painfully familiar, unruffled voice rang out in your ear. Silky, but brooking no argument.

“Let go of the blanket, my ‘fragmentation,’” Ryan unceremoniously pulled the fabric towards himself, depriving you of the warm cocoon.

You felt the mattress dip slightly as Ryan sat down on the edge of the bed. He smelled pleasantly of soap and fresh coffee. He gently brushed a strand of hair from your forehead and sighed softly, watching your futile attempts to burrow back into the pillow.

"Hey, night owl," he called softly, a smile lacing his voice. "Stop playing dead. I know history is a tough subject, but we have to go. If we're late for my lecture, there'll be questions. Get up."