Chapter 11 — “Just Stay… Please.”
633 Words
The apartment was silent except for the soft hum of the heater. Midnight air pressed gently against the windows, and Lily lay curled on her bed, staring at the dim light leaking under the door.
She couldn’t sleep.
Not with the tension from earlier buzzing under her skin.
Not with the memory of almost—almost—touching him in the living room.
Her chest felt tight.
Too tight.
When she heard him moving quietly in the hallway, something inside her snapped.
She slipped out of bed, opened the door, and whispered into the shadows:
“Professor Hale?”
He turned. His hair was messy, his t-shirt slightly wrinkled, eyes tired but alert the moment he saw her.
“Lily? What’s wrong?”
She hadn’t planned the words. They just came, soft and fragile.
“Can you… stay with me? Just for a little while?”
He froze.
A breath.
A blink.
“Lily…” His voice was low, as if holding back a storm. “Are you sure?”
She nodded slowly, her fingers twisting the hem of her shirt.
“I just… don’t want to sleep alone tonight. Please.”
Something in him cracked at that word. Please.
He stepped forward, but cautiously, like approaching something he wasn’t sure he deserved to touch.
“Okay,” he murmured. “I’ll stay.”
They walked back into her room together. She climbed onto the bed, her heartbeat loud in her ears. He hesitated only a second before he lay down beside her—on top of the covers, leaving respectful space.
But she didn’t want space.
Lily shifted closer, whispering, “Can you… hold me?”
He exhaled sharply, eyes fluttering closed for a moment, as if fighting himself.
Then he slowly, carefully, wrapped an arm around her.
Warm.
Strong.
Steady.
She tucked herself against his chest, feeling him tense at the contact.
“You’re trembling,” she whispered.
“I know,” he murmured back. “I’m trying not to… cross any lines.”
His breath was uneven, brushing the top of her head. Lily rested her hand lightly against his chest, feeling his heartbeat speed up under her palm.
“You’re not,” she said softly.
Silence stretched between them—thick, warm, magnetic.
But as minutes passed, as her breathing softened against him, something in Professor Hale shifted. His hand gently traced the curve of her shoulder, hesitant at first… then bolder, sliding up to brush a strand of hair from her neck.
She shivered.
He swallowed hard.
“Lily… don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make me forget every boundary I set.”
Her breath hitched. His hand hovered at the side of her neck, thumb brushing her skin—
And then he leaned in, because resisting had become impossible.
He pressed a soft, slow kiss to her neck.
Barely there.
But enough to steal the air from her lungs.
She gasped softly, turning her face toward him just a little.
Not pulling away.
Not stopping him.
His lips lingered for a second too long, his breath warm against her skin, as if he was memorizing the moment.
When he pulled back, his voice was rough, guilty, aching:
“I shouldn’t have done that.”
“But I wanted you to,” she whispered.
He inhaled sharply, forehead gently resting against the back of her head as he held her tighter—like letting go would break something between them.
“That,” he said in a low, shaken voice, “is exactly what scares me.”
She curled deeper into his arms, heart racing, and whispered:
“Don’t be scared tonight. Just stay.”
And he did.
He held her until she fell asleep—
Even if his own heart didn’t rest at all.
- Writer
