For a moment, neither of us breathed. The quiet inside the car felt heavier than the winter air outside—dense, electric, trembling with everything he had tried to hide for so long.
Gabriel's fingers loosened around the steering wheel. Slowly, deliberately, he turned his whole body toward me. His knees brushed mine. Heat rushed up my spine.
"I shouldn't have brought you here," he murmured, voice low, almost ragged. "But I couldn't think about anything else since last night. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't teach. I couldn't pretend."
I swallowed. "Pretend what?"
"That you don't undo me," he whispered, eyes pinned to mine. "That I'm fine. That I can stay away from you."
He dragged a hand through his hair—frustrated, exhausted, honest in a way he almost never allowed himself to be.
"I've spent weeks telling myself this will pass."
His gaze flickered to my mouth.
"It's not passing."
My chest tightened painfully.
He leaned back, exhaling unsteadily, like the weight of that confession nearly crushed him.
"You deserve someone uncomplicated," he said. "Someone your age, someone who doesn't carry the kind of darkness I do. Someone who won't ruin your future."
"You're not ruining anything."
"You don't understand—"
"Then explain it to me," I said softly. "Explain why you brought me here if this is so wrong."
His hands clenched.
Because I already knew the answer.
He did too.
He looked at me for a long, agonizing moment before he whispered, barely audible:
"Because I wanted to be with you today—more than I wanted to do the right thing."
The words crashed into me like a wave.
He wasn't hiding anymore.
He wasn't pretending.
He wasn't pushing me away.
Not in this car.
Not in this space that only existed because he broke his own rules to bring me here.
My breath trembled. "And what do you want now?"
His jaw tensed, eyes darkening in a way that made my pulse skip.
"You," he said.
A single word.
A truth he had tried too long to hold back.
Silence fell.
Heavy.
Charged.
Irreversible.
He suddenly opened his door and stepped outside, slamming it shut behind him. I startled, heart hammering. But he wasn't walking away. He leaned both hands against the roof of the car, bowing his head as if trying to breathe.
Trying to steady himself.
Trying not to break again.
I watched him from inside—the shake in his shoulders, the way cold air wrapped around him but couldn't cool whatever war raged inside his chest.
After a long moment, I got out too.
The air was crisp, icy. A faint wind rippled across the lake, carrying the quiet sound of water brushing against the dock.
Gabriel didn't turn around.
I approached him slowly, my footsteps soft on the gravel. When I stopped beside him, he finally lifted his head. His eyes were red at the edges, not from tears but from the strain of holding himself together for far too long.
"You shouldn't have followed me," he said, voice hoarse.
"I always will."
His breath hitched—just barely, but enough.
He looked away at the lake, then back at me, searching my face. "I'm trying so hard to protect you."
"You don't have to protect me from yourself."
"You don't know what you're saying."
"Then let me learn," I whispered.
His control snapped.
He grabbed my arm—not roughly, but with a desperation he couldn't hide—and pulled me close, stopping only when our faces were inches apart.
"You think this is simple?" he whispered fiercely. "You think it's just attraction? Just curiosity? I haven't felt anything this intense in years. It terrifies me. You terrify me."
"Why?"
"Because I can't lose you," he said, voice trembling. "And I haven't even had you."
My breath stopped.
He looked down, forehead nearly touching mine, his voice collapsing into a soft, broken confession:
"I'm scared I'll destroy you. And I'm just as scared that I'll destroy myself if I stay away."
A shiver went through me—not from fear, but from the rawness of his words.
"I'm not fragile," I whispered.
He shook his head. "You're eighteen."
"And you're acting like that makes my feelings less real."
He flinched.
Not because he disagreed.
But because he knew I was right.
The wind picked up, brushing my hair across my cheek. Gabriel reached up instinctively to tuck it behind my ear—then froze halfway, realizing what he was doing.
But I didn't move.
I leaned into his touch.
His hand grazed my jaw—feather-light, trembling.
"Don't do that," he whispered, voice breaking.
"Why?"
"Because I don't know how to be careful with you anymore."
He stood there, fingers cupping my face, breathing unevenly like I had pulled something out of him he never meant to show.
The lake shimmered behind us. The world was quiet, isolated, untouched.
There was no classroom.
No students.
No rules.
No curtain to hide behind.
Only him.
Only me.
And everything he'd been trying to bury.
He dropped his forehead against mine, inhaling deeply.
"I shouldn't feel this," he murmured. "But every time I look at you, I want—"
His voice caught.
He swallowed hard.
"I want things I have no right wanting."
I closed the distance between us by a fraction. "Then want them."
He exhaled sharply, his breath brushing my lips.
His fingers tightened ever so slightly at my waist.
"Don't tempt me," he whispered.
"I'm not tempting you," I breathed. "I'm choosing you."
Those words…
They were the final thing holding back the last wall in him.
He shuddered, eyes squeezing shut—because he wanted to believe me.
He already did.
But he was still fighting himself.
"This could ruin everything," he whispered.
"Or it could save us," I said.
His eyes opened—burning, tortured, desperate.
He looked at me like I was the one thing he wasn't supposed to touch…
And the one thing he couldn't walk away from anymore.
"Tell me to stop," he whispered again, voice barely steady.
"I won't."
His hand slid from my jaw to the back of my neck, pulling me infinitesimally closer.
"Please," he breathed. "Just once. Give me a reason to walk away."
"I won't," I whispered. "Because I don't want you to."
He inhaled sharply—broken, hungry, terrified.
And for the first time, Gabriel didn't pull back.
He didn't hide.
He didn't deny.
He didn't pretend.
He let himself want me.
Completely.
We stood at the edge of the lake, breath mingling, hearts pounding, and something inside him finally gave way—not a full break, but a surrender.
A surrender he had been fighting for far too long.
And his voice—barely audible—sealed it:
"Then God help me… I can't stay away from you anymore."