She didn't know how long they stayed like that—her face pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her, his heartbeat steady under her ear. It could've been minutes or hours. The world outside felt distant, unimportant.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost careful.
"Were you crying earlier?"
She felt her cheeks heat. "…Maybe a little."
He exhaled, a mix of guilt and frustration. "I hate that I made you feel that way."
"You didn't make me," she said quickly. "I overthink too much."
His hand gently lifted her chin.
"Even so. I should've checked on you sooner."
She looked up at him, eyes searching.
"So why didn't you?"
He hesitated—for only a moment.
"Because I'm terrified of wanting more than I should."
Her breath caught.
"More?" she whispered.
"Yes," he said without flinching. "More than I have any right to want from you."
Her chest tightened painfully. She took a small step closer, rising on her toes so her forehead barely brushed his collarbone.
"And what if I want the same?"
He froze.
She felt the tension shift—subtle, but unmistakable. Like the air between them had thickened, grown warmer.
"You don't know what you're saying," he murmured.
"Yes. I do."
His eyes darkened. Not with anger. With restraint.
Dangerously thin restraint.
"You're eighteen," he said softly. "You're supposed to be discovering life, not—"
"I am discovering it," she interrupted, voice trembling. "With you."
His jaw tightened.
"Don't say things like that."
"Why?"
"Because you don't know what it does to me."
She swallowed hard, her heart racing.
"What does it do to you?"
He closed his eyes, as if fighting himself.
When he opened them again, they weren't calm anymore—they were filled with something raw.
"It makes me want to cross lines I've been trying to respect."
The confession sent heat rushing through her entire body.
"And what if…" she whispered, "…I want you to cross them?"
His breath hitched.
For the first time, he stepped back—just one step, but enough to show how dangerously close he was to losing control.
"Don't tempt me."
"I'm not tempting you."
"Yes," he said hoarsely. "You are."
She took a step forward anyway.
"Then tell me to stop."
He stared at her.
Silent.
Tense.
Struggling.
And yet—
He didn't tell her to stop.
"See?" she whispered. "You won't."
His hands curled into fists at his sides.
"Because I don't want to."
The sentence hit her like a spark.
Something shifted in the room.
Something irreversible.
Slowly, she reached out and touched his shirt—just lightly, fingertips brushing the fabric.
He didn't move away.
He didn't breathe.
Her voice was barely a whisper.
"Then stay with me tonight. Not because I'm sad. Not because I need comfort. But because you want to."
His eyes closed for a long moment—pain, desire, fear, and longing fighting in every breath he took.
When he opened them again…
He looked at her like she was the one thing he could no longer walk away from.
"I can't promise I'll keep my distance," he said finally.
She swallowed.
"I don't want you to."
Silence.
Then—
His hand reached out, slowly, deliberately, fingers brushing her cheek with a gentleness that contradicted the tension in his body.
"Then this…" he murmured, voice low and unsteady, "might change everything."
She looked into his eyes.
"It already has."
The distance between them was no longer distance.
It was invitation.
It was choice.
It was a moment neither of them could take back.
And neither of them wanted to.