"Roxas?" As the name left my mouth, there was a distinct burning presence on my lips; alcohol, or that of guilt. Both were rushing around in my body, slightly buzzed.

At first glance, all I could think was, oh shit. Having a student see me in this state had always been one of my worst fears- with my bright locks messy from countless of curious strangers who wanted to run their greedy little hands in it whilst I danced, and my shirt wide opened to reveal my toned torso (Marluxia's words, not mine) which dripped in a sensual sweat (when you're an English teaching, throwing in adjectives comes naturally, alright?), and a beer bottle in hand. Not one teacher wanted any of their students to see them drunk and sexually aware of their surroundings.

But thinking again, sense washed over previous thoughts. "I see you party a lot." What the hell is he even doing here in the first place? The blond tried to play it cool, but I could see the guilt in his eyes, in his body language as he collected himself from the crash.

"I see you do too." He cleared his throat at this, taking a few steps back in an awkward manner. The next thing I know, my hand is latched around his wrist and bringing him closer. "What are you doing here, Roxas? This place has age limits and you know that. How did you get in?"

"None of your business, Axel."

I raised an eyebrow at his sudden use of my first name. "I'll let that slide because we're not in a school environment. But this," I said, raising his arm up with a glare, "I'm not letting you get away with. So tell me."

"Does the school know about how you party on school nights?" They don't give a shit what I do as long as it's not illegal, I want to respond, pressing my lips together.

"Do your parents know that you do?" He kept trying to pull away, struggling to get out, but couldn't. Bet he didn't think I was going to be so strong for a teacher.

"You look like a male prostitute," he mumbled, letting out a grunt as I tightened my grip. After a few more failed attempts, he finally gave up on escape. He knew he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. "A really bad male prostitute." But I see him looking. His expression looks anything but displeased. His eyes shot back up to look in my mind, his face an odd shade of pink- though not from the heat.

"Oh really?" I asked with a curious grin, fingers flexing lazily around his narrow wrist.

He just gave me this odd stare, not sure whether to be afraid or confused at my sudden interest in selling bodies for pleasure. "...I wouldn't pay money for you, that's all I'm saying. It'd be a waste of cash and time."

"All the guys think I'm worth it." I gave a light wave to a few men at the bar who had offered me a drink but I had refused. Too much beer on a school night leads to one bitchy day at school. Roxas' eyes went wide as they waved back with their goofy smiles and shot glasses.

"..You're really a-"

"No! Geesh, I'm just kidding. Don't believe everything someone says. Which, might I add, is something I gotta tell the bouncer when I'm done dealing with you. Now where is it?" The student didn't even get half way through his question before I started patting him down, looking for the item.

He squealed protests of 'don't touch me there' and 'I don't know what you're even talking about' continuously, not used to the feeling of hands examining his body. There, I thought with a smirk, finding the ID tucked in his back pocket (it wasn't like I was trying to molest him or anything, so get your panties out of a twist).

I flashed it to him, victorious. "Fake ID, age nineteen. You know, this piece of plastic isn't too bad of a fake."

"Hey, give that back! It's not yours!" He swallowed, blue irises bugging out like a little kid's after losing their family pet, or something like that. I merely shrugged, shoving the thin card into my pocket without another thought.

"Not anymore. You really should have been more careful about who you bump into in places like these," I sighed, shaking my head like a disapproving parent, or ironically, teacher. "You could run into a rapist, a drug dealer, or even your English teacher."

"Warning's kind of late." Roxas muttered, rubbing his newly released wrist, because I knew he wasn't going anywhere without his ID. "So... can I please have it back? I won't tell anyone you were here, or even use it again."

"Then why do you want it back?"

"...It cost a lot, so please, just hand it over and I'll leave."

"No." The word came out before I could realize what I was saying. No? "You're not getting it back before I ask a little something of you."

I watched my student shift uncomfortably, thinking for a brief moment. I guess he was debating on whether my favor would be worth the struggle to get his ID back. "...Fine. What is it?"

"Come with me to that cafe on Main, just the two of us." I had the ID. I could have just shoved it into my pocket, said 'fuck no', and leave the place to go tell his parents. But I didn't, I wouldn't- and I didn't know why.

And neither did he. "You mean... like a date? Isn't that illegal? I'm a freaking minor!"

"...So is your ID, but nothing stopped you there," I smirked at his face, obviously swallowing his guilt. "Look, that's all I ask, Roxas... Just for us to talk. And then, if this 'date'-" I received a glare, "-hey it's your word, not mine... Anyway, if this date goes well, you get your ID back.

He pressed his lips together, in a rather adorable way, pondering his options. He could always run and forget the silly hunk of plastic taunting him in my grip. Or he could allow me to take him out, play the game I had set up for the two of us. I wasn't sure which of those he would choose in that moment, with the way he casually rocked on his heels.

"One date, or casual meeting," Roxas finally choked out, "and that's it. After that, I get it back?"

"After that, you get it back." I reassured him, flashing him his ID once before slipping it back to my pocket for safe keeping. "After school tomorrow, meet me outside my classroom at two fifteen. I'll see you then."

It was time for me to leave the club. I gave him an airy wave before pushing my way through the flesh of the overly excited adults, swerving their hips carefree, just like I had been doing before that teenager arrived here. Now, I had more than homework and Marluxia to worry about when I got home. But the worst part about this night, above anything else, is that his eyes didn't hold fear, or worry, or disgust when I made my offer:

Roxas Strife, if I wasn't mistaken, was excited; whether he, or I, liked to admit it or not.