my professor, my obsession || cillian murphy

chapter eleven

  Cillian's apartment was small, but it was the perfect size. There were intricate floor to ceiling bookshelves filled with worn leather-bound books. Soft, muted lighting from vintage brass lamps, casting a warm glow over the cozy space. A deep green velvet sofa complemented the antique wooden coffee table, adorned with an assortment of quill pens and ink bottles. A large rug covered the hardwood floors, which enhanced the small atmosphere. Their small writing desk near a bay window which offered a view of the quaint courtyard below the apartment complex, while a vintage typewriter sat. His bed was big, bigger than needed for one person, with dark green sheets that matched the color of his many potted plants around the room. His apartment had a timeless charm, it was beautiful.

"Wow," I exclaimed in a small gasp, "this place is so cool..."

Cillian remained silent, then walked over to his dresser to pull out a pair of a sweats and a hoodie.

"Put these clothes on; I just washed them." Hesitantly taking the clothes, I mumbled a quiet thank you, accompanied by a shy smile.

"The bathroom's a little messy, just a warning," he said. I nodded, still trying to process the surreal realization of standing in his apartment. "Thank you," I repeated.

"Don't thank me," he insisted, shaking his head. "Now go change; you're still shivering."

I nodded and went to the bathroom. It had pastel-colored walls, adorned with some cute vintage prints. The subtle patterns on the shower curtain added a touch of playfulness as well. And it was hardly messy at all.

I removed all my wet clothes, and put on his soft, warm clothes that made me feel safe and secure. Folding my soaked clothes, I placed them on the counter. As I walked out, Cillian, seated on his couch with crossed legs, reading a book, looked up promptly. Adjusting his glasses, he stood up, flashing a gentle smile.

"Feeling better?" he inquired.

"Much better," I affirmed. "I'm sorry..."

He dismissed it with a shake of his head. "Don't say that. You have nothing to apologize for."

Closing the distance, I took a step closer, yet he held his ground. "I know, but," another step, "I don't want to be a burden or anything."

He tilted his head, displaying a hint of confusion. "A burden? Please. You're quite the opposite."

Despite the familiar fluttering in my stomach, I still had one lingering question. "How did you find me?" I finally asked, my heart racing.

Cillian's gaze momentarily dipped to the ground, then swiftly returned to mine. "Clementine, I knew you were there today," he revealed, causing my eyes to widen. "You followed me in, didn't you?"

Speechless, humiliation and confusion blended as I gazed back at him, my face tinged with embarrassment. Amused by my reaction, he laughed and took a step forward.

"I'll take that reaction as a yes," he chuckled, deepening my humiliation.

"I..." I was speechless, not knowing how to salvage this awkward moment.

"Don't be embarrassed," he teased, taking another step. "If you want to know how I found you, ask yourself why you followed me into that cafe today. They're the same answer."

Jaw dropping, my mind raced to comprehend his words. I attempted to gather my thoughts, but it was all too much to take in at once. I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I was literally standing in my professor's apartment, in my professors clothes, now only inches apart from him.

"What are you saying?" I asked, my tone laced with hope, yearning for this to be true yet struggling to fully embrace it.

He gazed at me, a subtle glimmer of amusement dancing in his eyes. "What do you think I'm saying?" he questioned. I swallowed nervously, the words on the tip of my tongue, but uncertainty held me back.

Unable to articulate the feelings, I closed the distance, stepping even closer to him. Standing on my tiptoes, I pressed my lips against his, hoping for him to kiss back.

He didn't.

Flushed with embarrassment, I took a step back hastily, immediately regretting while the urge to apologize remained lodged in my throat, unspoken.

Cillian looked at me, his expression unreadable. "Clementine..." the room was eerily quiet, the tension between the two of us growing. My stomach twisted in embarrassment as I stared back at him, face red.

"I...thought you liked me," I finally said, my voice laced with confusion and disappointment.

Cillian maintained a hushed demeanor, yet he came closer to me anyways. His eyes briefly scanned my form, accompanied by a subtle nod.

"I'm your professor," he uttered, almost as if he needed the reminder.

"That doesn't matter," I retorted sharply, "you like me, right?"

We stood mere inches apart, locked in unbroken eye contact. "I can't..." he murmured, shaking his head slightly, steadfast in maintaining his gaze on me.

My brows knit together in a blend of frustration, confusion, and disappointment. "But..." I started, grappling with my emotions, "you said—"

"I know what I said," he interjected. I inched closer, closing the gap between us, trying to persuade him further. I was desperate for the next step. "Fuck," he muttered to himself, eyes shutting in frustration as if he were holding himself back.

"It's fine," I persuaded, "we both want this, right?"

Cillian's eyes opened, revealing a pained expression as he looked down at me. "It's wrong—"

"It's fine," I insisted. Bridging the distance, my hand gently clasped his. "I want you, Cillian. Don't you want me?" I questioned, hopeful for an affirmative response.

Cillian gazed down at me, his free hand finding its place on my waist. He leaned in, breath grazing my neck. "Fuck, Clementine," he muttered, his dark hair brushing against my cheek, "you're making this incredibly difficult for me."

His proximity was electrifying, and I fought the urge to succumb to the temptation. I bit my lip harder, a silent battle waging within me as I resisted the desire to kiss him once more.

"Cillian..." I said his name, dragging out the letters. I was desperate for him, I was so close. I couldn't believe I had even gotten this far, and it was still hard to comprehend that I wasn't in a dream. "Don't be afraid," I told him, my hands finding their way up his chest.

Cillian suddenly grabbed my wrists, stopping my hands from traveling up any further. He stared down at me with an unreadable expression, the grip on the wrists tight yet oddly comfortable.

"Stop," he told me, his eyes locking with mine again. "Don't do that," he said, yet he still wasn't letting go of me. I shook my head, because I wasn't going to stop, I didn't want to. And I didn't think he wanted me to either.

"Cillian—"

A sudden surge of emotion halted my words as his lips collided with mine, the impact resonating through every fiber of my being. Time seemed to stand still as the warmth of his hands touched me, confirming that this wasn't a dream. The reality of the moment settled in, and the intensity of the kiss swept away any doubt. It wasn't a figment of imagination; it was undeniably, unquestionably real. As we released, a surge of astonishment held my gaze captive. My eyes widened, and an overwhelming sense of shock rendered me momentarily speechless. The air hung heavy with the lingering intensity of the moment, leaving me caught in a suspended state of wonderment.

It was absolutely unbelievable.

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