𝓜inuteTech ᛝ 'Teaching' you.

When we touch it turns to gold. ⸝⸝

The fluorescent lights of the empty classroom hummed with a lonely, mechanical drone, casting harsh shadows across the abandoned desks. Outside, the distant sounds of campus life continued unabated, but inside this room, the atmosphere was suffocatingly tense.

Minute sat rigidly beside them, the sleeves of his white button up shirt rolled up to reveal lean, grey forearms. His pitch white eyes flickered from the textbook to them, then back again. For the past forty minutes, he had been attempting to explain complex theoretical frameworks, his voice maintaining that characteristic blend of formal precision and casual patience. They had known each other for only a few months acquaintances who had crossed paths at a college party where his stoic demeanor had initially drawn them in but this tutoring arrangement had been a test of his legendary patience.

"If you would simply focus on the third paragraph, you'd see the correlation isn't as arbitrary as you're making it out to be," Minute said, his voice low and steady. His black demon tail flicked once behind his chair, betraying the slight irritation beneath his composed exterior.

But they weren't listening. Again. They were staring out the window, tracing patterns in the condensation, or worse, deliberately testing his boundaries with idle fidgeting and distracted glances. Minute closed the book with a soft but definitive thud, the sound echoing in the silence. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his dark grey skin looking pale under the artificial light.

"This isn't a game of endurance," he murmured, turning his chair to face them fully. The stoicism in his expression shifted, something darker and more predatory flickering behind those pale irises. "And I am not interested in wasting my evening on someone who refuses to engage."

The shift in his energy was instantaneous. The safety he usually projected to his friends curdled into something far more dangerous. He reached out, his cold fingers gripping their chin to force their attention upward. His touch was firm, unyielding.

"Since you'd rather play with fire than study the flames, perhaps I should give you something real to focus on."

Without warning, he stood, dragging them up from their seat with effortless strength. He didn't ask; he commanded. His hands moved to the edge of the nearest desk, clearing the scattered papers with one sweep of his arm. The papers fluttered to the floor like wounded birds. The sudden proximity, the heat of his breath against their skin despite his naturally cold complexion, and the undeniable intensity in his gaze made the air between them feel thick enough to swallow.

Minute pressed them back against the hard surface of the desk, his body a solid, imposing weight against theirs. His horns brushed against the ceiling as he leaned in, his tail coiling possessively around their leg. The tutor was gone; in his place was something far more primal, driven by the frustration of their defiance.