He peers over at me. His attention holds a level of intensity that makes me squirm under the weight of it. He can be so intimidating, but I’m fucking attracted to it, regardless. “It is,” he replies, eyes on mine. “How has your winter break been?”

We return to classes on Monday. The break flew by entirely too fast, but at the same time, I’ve been looking forward to going back because it means I get to see him again. “It was nice. I visited my parents in Dallas for Christmas. How was yours?”

“That’s great, Cash. Glad to hear that. Mine was, uh, fine.” He averts his gaze again. I get the feeling his break was, in fact, not fine, but I don’t want to intrude by asking him to go into it if he doesn’t want to. The song changes to Say It Ain’t So by Landon Tewers, playing while we fall into a thoughtful silence. Every once in a while, we’ll glance at each other. It isn’t awkward—it probably should be, but it isn’t.

After a few more songs, he finally speaks. “We shouldn’t be here together. I know this, yet I keep putting us in this position.”

“What have—”

“Please,” he pleads. “Let me finish.”

“Okay…” My hands rest in my lap as I give him my full attention, anxious about what he’s going to say.

“We shouldn’t be here. Lines have blurred… Hell, lines have been crossed, erased, completely demolished, with you. I’m aware this is wrong, but…”

His gaze lifts to meet mine again, and there’s an emotion I can’t quite name in his eyes. But I know how it makes me feel, and it’s like nothing else. “But you make me feel different. You make me feel seen and appreciated, and that’s something I haven’t felt in many years. It’s no excuse, I know that. I just needed you to know. I haven’t stopped thinking about Portland or that night in my office since they happened.”

The raw honesty is overwhelming and moving. It’s clear as day this is hard for him. He’s battling himself, trying to deny his feelings, and apparently losing, if him being here with me is any indication. My throat is tight as I try to put words to how I’m feeling. Nothing seems good enough. I want to make him feel better, but I also desperately, selfishly, want him to give in to his feelings. I want him to indulge in me.

“I haven’t stopped thinking of those nights either,” is all I manage to get out. Despite the windows being down, the air is stifling. And the pull between us is powerful. I’m not sure who moves first, but somehow, we both meet in the middle, his forehead resting on mine.