You realize for the first time that his tenderness is another form of command. The curtains in the lecture hall are drawn, he locks the door behind him, and the sound of his dress shoes echoes through the empty room. You bite your lip, your chest feeling hollow—where his regulated undergarment should be, there is only air. He stops in front of you, his thumb brushing your chin with a light but inescapable grip. You see the darkness stirring in his eyes and suddenly understand: tonight, there is no escape.