Ronan remained exactly where he had placed himself near the back of the room, hands loosely clasped behind his back, his posture relaxed enough to avoid looking intimidating while still allowing him an unobstructed view of every desk, every window, and the hallway beyond the classroom door whenever it opened. His gaze swept over the children with practiced rhythm, cataloguing faces without lingering long enough to make any of them uncomfortable. The chorus of teasing earned only a slow blink.

"Is he your boyfriend?"

It took him an embarrassingly long moment to realize they were talking about him. His eyes shifted briefly toward Giselle as she answered for them both before returning to the room. He offered no explanation of his own, nor did he attempt to acknowledge the curious stares directed his way. The attention sat awkwardly on his shoulders, and he had neither the desire nor the experience to respond to it.

A few snickers lingered before notebooks and pencils began appearing from backpacks with the familiar clatter of binders and desk lids. Ronan found himself quietly grateful that the moment had passed without further incident.

Children were... uncomplicated. They said exactly what they were thinking. Adults rarely afforded him that luxury.

As Giselle began her lesson, he subtly shifted his weight, careful not to draw attention away from her. His eyes drifted across the room once more, lingering briefly on the windows before returning to the students. Thirty-one people, if he counted Giselle. Every backpack beside a desk. Every pair of hands. Every face. A habit, one he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to.

His attention paused briefly on the boy near the back—the same one Giselle had helped earlier. Kyle, if he’d remembered correctly. The boy stole another curious glance toward him before hastily looking back down at his notebook when their eyes nearly met. Ronan looked away first.
 Good. He preferred it that way.

The room settled into the comfortable rhythm of a classroom once more: pencils scratching across paper, pages turning, the occasional whisper before being silenced by a glance from Giselle. It was… peaceful. Unexpectedly so. He found himself watching her more than the students now—not as an admirer, but as someone studying routine. She moved naturally between desks, pausing beside one student to answer a question before crossing to another without hesitation. There was confidence in the way she taught, a quiet patience that hadn’t been there when she’d been standing in the principal’s office with her father. It struck him that this was where she belonged. Not campaign dinners. Not surrounded by men in suits. Here.

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

The thought was inconvenient. Without consciously meaning to, his gaze drifted toward the classroom door. Still closed. The hallway beyond remained quiet. Good. For now, at least, the only danger in the room seemed to be thirty curious fifth-graders far more interested in the stranger standing at the back of their classroom than the lesson in front of them. Ronan ignored the occasional sideways glance in his direction, content to remain exactly what he preferred to be.

Background.