The evening sky had already darkened by the time they returned to his apartment. The city lights blinked alive, scattered across the skyline like restless stars. She followed him inside quietly, her steps light, almost hesitant. It wasn't because she was scared of him—it was because she could feel something shifting between them, something heavy, something too close to the truth she had been avoiding.
He closed the door behind them, the soft click echoing louder than it should have.
He didn't speak at first. He simply set down his keys, loosening the cuffs of his shirt, as if buying himself a moment to decide how to face her.
She stood in the middle of the living room, her hands clasped in front of her, fingers fidgeting with each other.
He looked at her—really looked—and something inside him softened.
"You were quiet the whole way back," he said gently.
She swallowed. "So were you."
His shoulders rose and fell in a slow breath.
"Because I was thinking."
"That sounds dangerous," she whispered, attempting a tiny smile to ease the tension.
But instead of smiling back, he stepped closer.
"Not dangerous," he said. "Just… honest."
That word alone made her heartbeat tremble.
She lowered her gaze, but he reached out, fingers brushing under her chin, lifting her face to his.
"Look at me."
She did.
And it felt like the room narrowed, everything else fading out except the way he studied her—carefully, intensely, like he was memorizing every detail.
"I don't like the idea of losing you," he said.
The confession hit her harder than anything he'd said all day.
"Lose me?" she whispered. "Why would you lose me?"
"You're young," he said quietly. "You have choices. A whole life ahead of you. People your age—your friends, your classmates… they belong in your world. I don't."
"You do," she said instantly.
He blinked.
She rarely spoke with such certainty.
"You do belong," she repeated, stepping closer. "If you didn't, I wouldn't be here."
His jaw tightened—not in anger, but in something raw and unguarded.
"Do you know what scares me the most?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"That one day, you'll realize I'm too old for your world. That one day, you'll look at me and regret choosing someone like me."
Her breath caught.
The thought alone made her chest twist painfully.
"That's not going to happen," she said, almost stubbornly.
He let out a quiet, shaky laugh. "You can't promise that."
"Then let me try," she said, her voice trembling but firm. "Let me prove to you that I want you. Not because you're older. Not because you're different. But because… you make me feel safe. And seen. And wanted in a way no one else ever has."
His breath hitched lightly.
She rarely said things like this out loud.
But when she did—it slipped straight past his defenses.
He cupped her face with both hands, his thumbs sweeping gently along her cheeks.
"You don't know what you do to me," he murmured.
She didn't move away.
"Then tell me."
He didn't speak immediately.
Instead, he pulled her into his arms, her cheek pressed against his chest. His heartbeat was steady—strong—but too fast to hide.
"This," he said softly. "You make me want things I told myself I shouldn't want."
Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt.
"I don't want you to hold back," she whispered.
He closed his eyes, his chin resting against her hair.
"That's the problem," he murmured. "I don't think I can anymore."
Her breath stilled.
The world stilled.
And for a long moment, neither of them moved—caught somewhere between fear and longing.
Then, slowly, he loosened his embrace just enough to look down at her.
"You're not going anywhere," he said quietly.
"Not tonight."
"Not tomorrow."
"Not until you decide you want to."
She touched his chest lightly.
"I'm already here."
His resolve broke a little at that—just enough for him to lean his forehead against hers, his hands warm on the sides of her arms.
He whispered her name like a confession.
She whispered his like a promise.
And in the quiet glow of the room, neither of them took a step back.