Drawn In
The next few days felt... different.
You couldn’t quite pinpoint when it started, but something had shifted in the air. Maybe it was the way Hange’s eyes always seemed to linger a little longer when they spoke to you or how their voice had a certain warmth to it, like they were paying attention to you in a way that felt—almost intimate. You couldn’t even tell if they were just being their usual self or if something else was at play.
And the worst part? You didn’t know if you liked it or hated it.
For the first time in weeks, you found yourself counting down the minutes until the next class, which had never been the case before. Usually, you would be distracted, thinking about the work that needed to be done, or the tests you had to study for. But now, all you could think about was Hange. The subtle, calculated way they moved, the way their presence filled the space, and the little moments when their eyes would meet yours. Each time, it felt like you were holding your breath, waiting for something, anything, to happen.
You kept trying to push the thoughts aside, but they lingered, stubborn like a whisper in the back of your mind. Maybe it was because of how different they were from anyone else you'd ever met—mysterious, confident, unbothered. You weren't sure what it was about them that drew you in, but something about the way they seemed to see right through you made your heart skip a beat every time you caught their gaze.
And so, on the morning of your next class, you found yourself walking in earlier than you had the first time, your heart racing with anticipation that you didn’t quite understand.
When you arrived, the classroom was empty, just like before. But this time, there was a strange sense of calm, as if you had been here a thousand times before. You didn’t feel nervous, just... expectant. You took your usual seat, trying to appear relaxed, but it was difficult. Every little sound, every rustling of paper, felt amplified in the silence.
The door creaked open a few minutes later. Hange stepped inside, and for the briefest moment, everything in the room felt charged. Their presence was undeniable, filling the space with something heavy, something that made you pause. They didn’t even have to speak for you to notice. The way they carried themselves, the confidence in every movement, the way they didn’t rush, as if time bent to their will—it was all so... commanding.
Their eyes flicked toward you, just for a moment, but it was enough to send a rush of warmth flooding your chest. You couldn't tell if they were just being polite or if it was something else, something more.
“Ah, you’re here early again,” Hange said, voice smooth and casual, but the slightest hint of amusement danced in their tone. They didn’t seem surprised. “Getting into the habit of punctuality, I see.”
You shrugged, trying to keep your composure. “I just didn’t want to make the same mistake again.”
Hange tilted their head slightly, the motion soft but deliberate. Their smile was subtle but meaningful. “Smart girl. You’re starting to make a habit of being early. Maybe I should start arriving early too.”
You didn’t know why, but you felt the heat rise to your face. Maybe it was just the way they spoke, like it wasn’t just small talk, like they actually meant something more with their words. You shifted in your seat, trying to focus on the textbook in front of you, but your mind wandered back to them, to the way their eyes lingered on you for just a second too long.
The class began soon after, but even as Hange dove into the lesson, explaining concepts and drawing diagrams on the board, you couldn’t shake the feeling of their presence. It wasn’t just their words or their teaching style—it was the way they moved. The way their hand flexed as they wrote on the board, the way their gaze swept across the room, always somehow landing on you for just the briefest moment. Every glance felt deliberate, like they were waiting for something, like they were testing the waters.
You didn’t know why you felt so exposed, so vulnerable, in that classroom. It was just Hange—your professor, nothing more, nothing less. But every time they looked your way, your heart would flutter, just a little bit. And you couldn’t figure out why.
The rest of the class passed in a haze, your attention divided between the material and the unsettling energy in the room. It was impossible to focus fully, especially when you caught yourself stealing glances at Hange—how they carried themselves with such ease, how their clothes fit them just right, how their voice was warm and melodic but sharp when it needed to be.
And then, just as you thought you might burst from the tension building between you, the class came to an end. The bell rang, and the sound was like a sudden exhale. You immediately began to gather your things, but the weight in the room—between you and Hange—felt like it wasn’t going anywhere.
Just as you were about to stand up, you heard their voice again, this time softer, almost hesitant.
“Are you planning on heading out right away?”
You froze, fingers frozen mid-air as you looked up, meeting their eyes. Hange had that quiet smile again, but there was something more in it now, something subtle, something you couldn’t quite name. “I’ve got a question. Just a quick one, after class, if you have time.”
You swallowed, your throat dry. There it was again—that pull, that unspoken connection. “Sure,” you said, before you could second-guess yourself.
As the classroom emptied out and the last few students trickled out, you felt the pressure mount in your chest, the quiet tension stretching between you and Hange like a taut wire. They leaned against the desk, arms crossed casually, but their gaze never strayed far from you. And for a moment, you wondered if you were imagining it, if this strange energy was all in your head.
“Okay,” Hange started, voice low, their eyes flicking between you and the notes on the desk. “You had a question about transcription, right?”
You nodded, but as you started to speak, your mind went blank. It was hard to concentrate, to focus on something so academic when everything in your body was telling you to notice the way Hange’s hand rested on the desk, the way their lips curved into that soft, knowing smile. Their soothing voice being the only noise that you could hear in the classroom where only the two of you are in, aside from the occasional buzz from the ceiling fans. The noticeable veins in their arms did not help either, the way they rolled up their sleeves as they flip through pages, answering your questions in a way that is considerate and easy for you to understand.
And for just a moment, you wondered if maybe, just maybe, they were as aware of the tension between you as you were.