Duke yanked himself back from Norman like the boy was a live wire, chest heaving, eyes wild with the kind of panic that makes your stomach flip upside down. One second longer and he would have kissed him. Actually kissed him. Lips on lips, no take-backs, no pretending it was an accident. The thought alone sent ice water racing through his veins even as heat still licked at every inch of skin where they had almost touched. He could still feel the ghost of Norman's jaw under his palm, soft and warm and so damn alive it hurt.
Norman stayed planted in the chair, staring up at him with those enormous blue eyes that looked equal parts heartbroken and defiant. His lips were parted, cheeks flushed a furious pink, breathing coming in short little bursts like he'd just sprinted a mile. The kid looked wrecked in the best possible way, and Duke hated himself for loving it. Hated how much he wanted to dive right back in and finish what he'd started.
"We can't," Duke rasped, the words tasting like ash. "This ends here. You walk out, we forget it ever happened, and we go back to professor and student. That's it."
Norman let out a tiny, broken laugh that sounded way too old for nineteen. "You really think you can just flip a switch and pretend your heart isn't trying to punch its way out of your chest right now?"
Duke spun away, bracing both hands on the edge of the desk so hard the wood groaned. He needed distance. Needed air. Needed anything to stop the frantic thudding in his ears that sounded suspiciously like "kiss him again, you idiot." He squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm your professor. You're my student. There are rules. Consequences. I could lose everything."
"And I could lose the only person who's ever looked at me like I matter," Norman shot back, voice cracking just enough to slice straight through Duke's defenses. He stood up slowly, chair scraping loud in the sudden quiet. "You think I'm scared of rules? I've spent my whole life following them. Good grades. Good behavior. Keep your head down. Smile when it hurts. I'm done."
Duke turned just in time to see Norman take one step closer. The boy was trembling, fists clenched at his sides, but his chin was up, eyes blazing. Brave. Stupid. Beautiful. Duke wanted to shake him. Wanted to pull him close. Wanted both at once.
"Get out," Duke said, quieter this time, almost pleading. "Please. Before I do something we can't undo."
Norman searched his face for a long heartbeat, looking for cracks, looking for lies. Whatever he found made his shoulders slump just a fraction. He gave a small, sad nod. "Okay. But I'm not sorry for any of it. Not the paper. Not today. Not almost kissing you."
The door opened and closed with a soft click that felt louder than a gunshot.
Duke stood there alone in the sudden silence, heart still racing like he'd run a marathon. He sank into his chair, elbows on knees, face buried in his hands. The office smelled faintly of Norman's shampoo now, something clean and citrusy that made his throat tight. He dragged his fingers through his hair, pulling hard enough to sting.
He was drowning.
Straight-up, no-life-vest drowning.
Every rule he'd built his life around since the funeral felt like wet paper now. Every wall he'd stacked so carefully was crumbling because one reckless nineteen-year-old had looked at him like he was worth risking everything for. Duke laughed, low and bitter, the sound echoing off the bookshelves. What a joke. He was supposed to be the adult. The responsible one. The one with the answers.
Instead he was sitting here shaking, hard enough that his knees knocked together, remembering the exact texture of Norman's skin under his thumb. Remembering the way the boy's breath had hitched. Remembering how easy it would have been to close that last inch and taste him.
He stood up fast, paced the tiny room three times, then stopped at the window. Outside, the campus was dark, lamplight painting gold puddles on wet stone. Somewhere out there Norman was probably walking back to his dorm, heart in his throat, wondering if he'd just blown up his entire freshman year.
Duke pressed his forehead to the cold glass. "What the hell am I doing?"
The reflection staring back looked like a man on the edge of something huge and terrifying. Eyes too bright. Jaw too tight. Cheeks flushed like he'd been running. He looked alive. Actually alive. And that scared him more than anything.
He thought about the empty house waiting for him. The guest room bed. The silence that used to feel safe. Now it just felt like punishment.
He grabbed his coat, slung it over his shoulder, flicked off the lamp. The room plunged into shadow.
Walking across the quad, wind biting his face, Duke kept his head down. Every step echoed with the same stupid, traitorous thought: You almost kissed him. You wanted to. You still want to.
By the time he reached the fountain he was breathing hard, chest tight, pulse roaring in his ears. He sat on the cold stone rim anyway, elbows on knees, staring at the dripping cherub like it might have answers.
It didn't.
But the night air was sharp and honest, and in that quiet, Duke finally let the truth slip out between clenched teeth.
"I don't want to stop."
The words hung there, small and reckless and true.
He tipped his head back, stared up at the black sky, and let out a shaky laugh that was half groan.
Somewhere across campus a boy was probably curled up in bed, replaying the almost-kiss on loop, heart racing, cheeks hot.
And here Duke sat, thirty-two years old, falling apart because a freshman had cracked him wide open with nothing but wide eyes and too-honest words.
The wind picked up, carrying the faint scent of rain.
Duke stood.
He started walking home again, slower this time.
And with every step, the doubt didn't disappear.
It just got louder.
Because he knew one thing with bone-deep certainty: tomorrow he would see Norman again.
In class.
In the hallway.
In his office if the kid was brave enough to show up.
And when he did, Duke wasn't sure he had the strength left to push him away.
Not anymore.
Not when every part of him was screaming to pull the boy closer instead.
The house on Maple Street waited ahead, dark windows watching him approach.
Duke paused on the porch, key in hand.
He looked back at the path he'd just walked.
Then he whispered to the night, voice rough and full of wonder,
"God help me... I'm already gone."
The door opened.
The darkness swallowed him whole.
But the ache in his chest burned brighter than ever.