Dance to This [kth]

t w e l v e

ミ★
twelve
❝slow burn❞
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"I-I don't know. . ." I trail with flushed cheeks in a response to his request.

With trembling lips, the nerves that had once been gone while running across the grass have taken over me. I suppose the reality of him rekindling my feelings has caught me off guard. I no longer think that I'm convincing myself that he wants this, but now I'm stricken with an alternate truth— that he actually does want this. With me. Which me?

Professor's desirable gaze has now been strictly on me for a few minutes. There is a twinkle in his eye from the overcast of light illuminated by the lamp post, and it has given him an insidious demeanor that excites the fear within me; consequently, my uneasy tendencies are full force.

"Why?" is what he asks of me.

My mouth is agape due to my flurried state. His dangerous eyes dance back and forth between my eyes and mouth, anticipating the words that will just barely escape me.

"What?"

He doesn't come closer to me, but by the way he shifts his weight in his stance has gotten me on edge like he has. I'm clutching my left hand in a fist to stop my audible anxiousness. I don't want to seem afraid of him, I convince myself. I'm not afraid of him.

"I'm asking why you can't make a decision," he elaborates lowly.

I exhale a quick breath and swallow hard, "I. . . I'm scared to make the wrong one."

I can't focus with him staring at me so closely. Is this what it feels like to have feelings for someone who talks to you? A never ending free-fall of twisted emotions and dark thoughts?

My eyes are everyone to try and comfort myself with his presence; his hair is swiped so nicely back to expose his forehead, and the dominating features of his face: his structured jawline, bold brows, plump lips. . .

"Does this feel wrong?"

A lump has grown in my chest. My eye flicker to the empty parking lot and barren school building. There is no one around, yet there is this pressure equivalent to a million eyes. I think I'm the one staring scoldingly at myself, but I want to make it stop. Is this wrong of me? If it is wrong, why does it entice me so much?

I don't want to say the wrong thing to him. "I don't kn—"

"Yes you do," he accuses. "Talk to me. I want to know what you're thinking."