ONE NIGHT STAND WITH MY PROFESSOR

Andrews POV

The janitor stood outside the classroom door for another few seconds.

I could hear the faint clatter of keys and the irritated muttering under his breath.

“Stupid lock…”

Neither Mark nor I moved.

The air between us still felt charged from seconds earlier, like the room itself remembered how close we had been standing. My pulse hadn’t slowed down yet. I could still feel the heat from him lingering against my skin even though we were no longer touching.

The handle rattled once more.

Then silence.

A long sigh came from the hallway before footsteps slowly retreated down the corridor.

The danger passed.

But somehow that felt worse.

Because now there was nothing left distracting us from what had almost happened.

Rain hammered hard against the classroom windows while fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead.

Mark stepped away first.

Of course he did.

One second ago, he looked ready to forget every rule he’d spent days hiding behind.

Now his face was unreadable again.

Cold. Controlled. Professor Shawn.

The shift irritated me instantly.

Without looking directly at me, Mark unlocked the classroom door.

“You should leave,” he said quietly.

The words landed harder than they should have.

I grabbed my bag off the floor roughly. “Gladly.”

Mark rubbed a tired hand over his face before speaking again.

“If someone had walked in—”

“But they didn’t.”

“That doesn’t make this less dangerous.”

There it was again.

Danger.

Risk.

Mistake.

I was getting really tired of hearing those words.

Something bitter twisted inside my chest.

“You know,” I muttered, “for someone who supposedly wants distance, you’re really bad at it.”

Mark’s jaw tightened immediately.

But he didn’t answer.

That somehow hurt worse.

I pushed past him before I could say something uglier and stepped into the empty hallway.

The school felt eerie after hours.

Dark windows. Buzzing lights. Rainwater streaking down the glass doors at the end of the corridor.

Behind me, the classroom door shut softly.

And just like that, the moment was over.

Again.

—

The weekend arrived without relief.

If anything, being home made everything worse.

Aunt Theresa’s house felt too small for the amount of tension packed inside it. The pipes rattled constantly. The heater barely worked. Rain hit the roof every night like Blackwood itself refused to let anyone sleep peacefully.

Mom spent most of her time searching job listings online while pretending not to panic over bills.

Ava stayed glued to old cartoons under blankets near the couch.

And me?

I felt trapped.

Every thought eventually circled back to Mark.

The classroom. The almost-kiss. The way his voice changed when he stopped pretending to be Professor Shawn.

It was pathetic.

I barely knew him.

So why did everything suddenly feel tangled around him?

“Andrew.”

I looked up from the kitchen table.

Mom stood near the sink holding a folded piece of paper.

“Mrs. Delgado from the diner called,” she said carefully. “She said she still needs weekend help if you want the shift.”

Honestly, I would’ve accepted anything that got me out of the house.

“Fine.”

Mom studied me for a second. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

Lie.

But she looked too exhausted to push further.

“Don’t stay out too late,” she said softly.

I grabbed my hoodie and left before she could ask anything else.

—

Delgado’s Diner sat near the edge of town beside an old gas station and a laundromat with flickering lights.

Blackwood looked even sadder at night.

Rainwater reflected neon signs across empty sidewalks while distant thunder rolled above the rooftops. Most people stayed indoors during storms like this, leaving the streets strangely quiet.

The diner itself smelled like coffee, fried food, and old memories.

Mrs. Delgado immediately shoved an apron into my hands the second I walked inside.

“You still remember how to carry plates without killing someone?”

“Probably.”

“Good enough.”

The shift was painfully boring.

A few truck drivers. Two old women gossiping near the windows. A tired couple arguing quietly over pie.

Normal people.

Normal lives.

I focused on wiping tables and refilling coffee cups because thinking too hard lately felt dangerous.

The bell above the diner door jingled around nine o’clock.

I glanced up automatically.

And froze.

Mark stepped inside shaking rainwater from his jacket.

Not Professor Shawn.

Just… Mark.

Dark hoodie. Jeans. Hair slightly damp from the storm.

He looked exhausted.

Like he hadn’t slept properly in days.

Something about seeing him outside school again unsettled me more than it should have.

Because here, without the classroom and chalkboards and titles between us, he looked human again.

Real.

Mark hadn’t noticed me yet.

An older woman near the back corner immediately smiled when she saw him.

“There you are.”

Mark’s entire expression softened slightly.

“Sorry I’m late.”

That caught me off guard.

I’d never seen him look relaxed before.

Not even during the night we met.

He slid into the booth across from her while she reached across the table to squeeze his hand gently.

His mother maybe.

Or aunt.

I wasn’t sure.

But whatever their relationship was, it looked familiar.

Comfortable.

Mrs. Delgado leaned beside me quietly while drying glasses.

“That woman practically raised him after his father died,” she whispered casually.

I blinked.

“What?”

Mrs. Delgado nodded toward Mark. “Poor boy used to come in here all the time years ago. Blackwood’s never been kind to that family.”

Before I could ask more, she wandered off again.

My chest tightened strangely.

I looked back toward Mark.

He looked tired in a way I recognized now.

The kind of tired that sat beneath your skin permanently.

The woman across from him kept talking softly while Mark listened quietly, rubbing his thumb against his coffee mug absentmindedly.

Then suddenly—

His eyes lifted.

Straight toward me.

For one horrible second, I thought panic would flash across his face again.

But it didn’t.

Instead, Mark just looked… worn out.

No anger. No coldness. No pretending.

He gave me the smallest nod across the diner.

A silent acknowledgment.

Nothing more.

And somehow that tiny gesture changed something inside me.

Because for the first time since all this started, I stopped seeing him as just the professor trying to push me away.

He looked trapped too.

By Blackwood. By expectations. By whatever history he carried around in those tired eyes.

The realization unsettled me deeply.

I looked away first.

—

By the time my shift ended, the rain had slowed into a cold drizzle.

The streets were nearly empty as I walked home.

Blackwood felt eerie at night.

Dark houses. Fogged windows. Streetlights flickering weakly over wet pavement.

The town always felt like it was hiding something.

Or waiting for something bad to happen.

I shoved my hands deeper into my hoodie pockets and kept walking.

My phone buzzed halfway down the block.

Unknown Number.

I almost ignored it.

Almost.

But something in my chest tightened instinctively before I even opened the message.

There were no words.

Just an attachment.

Frowning, I tapped the image.

At first, it looked blurry.

Dark shapes behind frosted glass.

Then my stomach dropped.

Two figures.

Standing extremely close together inside a classroom.

One taller. One leaning forward slightly.

Even distorted through the blurry quality, I recognized us immediately.

My breathing stopped.

The timestamp at the bottom corner read: BLACKWOOD HIGH — ROOM 214.

The classroom.

My fingers suddenly felt numb around the phone.

No text followed. No threat. No explanation.

Just the picture.

Proof.

Rain dripped steadily from the edges of nearby rooftops while my pulse hammered violently in my ears.

Someone saw us.

Someone had been watching.

And somehow…

I already knew this was only the beginning.