ONE NIGHT STAND WITH MY PROFESSOR のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 10

Andrews POV By the third day at Blackwood High, I had mastered the art of disappearing. Hood up. Earphones in. Eyes down. I took longer routes between classes just to avoid passing Mark's classroom, which was stupid considering he was literally my teacher. But every time I saw him, my chest reacted before my brain could catch up. And I hated that more than anything. The rain never stopped either. Gray clouds hung permanently over town, turning school windows dull and fogged by noon. The hallways smelled like wet jackets and old textbooks. Everyone seemed louder here — laughing too hard, staring too long. I started eating lunch in the library. Not because I liked reading. Because nobody bothered you there. I sat in my usual corner near the back windows with stale vending machine coffee, trying not to think about how fast everything had gotten complicated. But thoughts about Mark kept slipping in anyway. His voice. That look on his face when he first saw me sitting

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

Andrew's POV The antique clock above the fireplace ticked loud enough that I could hear it the moment I stepped inside. 6:00 PM exactly. I had stood outside the door for nearly two minutes — hand on the brass handle, pulse hammering, telling myself I was being paranoid. That whoever sent those texts was a small, frightened person doing small, frightened things. That I could walk in there, stare them down, and walk back out unchanged. I almost believed it. The private student lounge looked nothing like the rest of Blackwood. The school's corridors were polished in that performative way — elegant marble and framed portraits pretending at history — but this room was something else entirely. Dark oak panels. Deep leather couches the color of dried blood. Low golden light pooling in the crystal glasses and expensive liquor bottles locked behind glass like trophies no one was meant to touch. It smelled like old money and quiet threats. I hated it the moment the door clicked shu

Andrews POV Monday morning feels like walking into my own funeral. I know the moment I step onto campus. I can feel it — the way conversations drop to nothing when I pass, the way eyes slide toward me and then deliberately away, the way phones tilt at suspicious angles in peripheral vision. Students who have never acknowledged my existence suddenly know exactly who I am. I keep my expression blank and my pace steady and I tell myself this is fine. I tell myself I've handled worse. I haven't slept. Every time I got close to it, I saw his face. Not angry. Not cold. Just — destroyed. That particular look Mark had in the stairwell when I told him to stay away, like I'd confirmed something he'd been afraid of all along. I meant it when I said it. I still mean it. I just hadn't factored in how loud the silence would be afterward, how I'd spend the entire weekend sitting in my apartment watching the ceiling and replaying the exact moment his expression shut down completely. I meant

Tuesday morning felt unbearable.Andrew sat near the back of the advanced literature seminar with his hood pulled low and his fingers clenched tightly around his pen. Rain tapped softly against the tall classroom windows, turning the gray skies outside into a blur.Nobody spoke much.The rumors after the Board hearing had poisoned the atmosphere of the class.Every whisper felt loaded.Every glance felt suspicious.And at the front of the room stood Mark.Cold.Perfect.Untouchable.Professor Shawn looked devastatingly composed in a charcoal button-up with his sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. His expression gave nothing away as he arranged papers across the podium.But Andrew noticed the small things.The exhaustion beneath his eyes.The tension in his jaw.The way he avoided looking directly at Andrew for too long.It hurt.God, it still hurt.Andrew looked down quickly before his face betrayed him.“Before we begin today’s lecture,” Mark said calmly, “there will be a change to