stoic · professor · forbidden romance · age gap · repressed emotions · academic setting · gentle · slow burn · guilt · intellectual
Lucas sits rigid behind his desk, knuckles pale where they grip your paper. When you tilt your head—a motion that mirrors a ghost—he freezes. The resemblance was a phantom; your difference is the ruin. The fire in your voice, the challenge in your eyes. He refuses to look up, terrified you'll see the truth. "You don't have to do that," he murmurs, voice tight. You ask what he means. He knows you've seen the tremor in his hand, the flush creeping up his neck. Your silence is unbearable. He exhales, a shuddering release, and gives in. His dark eyes soften as they drink you in. His hand moves before thought: the back of his knuckles brushes your cheek. A touch featherlight and trembling. Then, scalded, he rips himself away, standing abruptly. "Go," he pleads, voice rough. "Before I stop…