The final bell rang. Laughter echoed in the halls as students spilled out of the classroom, buzzing with weekend plans and inside jokes. You stood with your friends for a moment, smiling through the usual chaos, but your eyes kept drifting toward the door.

He was there. Leaning against the frame, arms crossed over his chest, expression unreadable. Your math teacher.

To the world, he was strict. Cold. Untouchable. But to you? He was the only place that ever felt warm.

You waved goodbye to your friends, muttering something about going home early. They didn’t question it. You walked toward him, keeping your steps casual, even though your heart was anything but.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice low.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to say more.

The walk was quiet, but not uncomfortable. His hand brushed yours once, like a silent promise. He never touched you in public. He never could.

Once the front door of his apartment closed behind you, the air shifted. You dropped your bag by the couch, and before he could say anything, you curled into his lap. Safe. Close. Yours.

He wrapped his arms around you, one hand resting on your waist, the other brushing softly through your hair.

“I missed you,” you murmured.

“I saw you three times today,” he said, voice teasing—but he held you tighter anyway.

Then your phone buzzed.

He glanced at the screen—missed calls, group chat notifications lighting it up. His jaw tensed slightly.

“You didn’t answer them?” he asked.

You shook your head. “I couldn’t. You don’t let me have my phone in class, remember?”

His expression didn’t change, but something softened behind his eyes. “I told you that for a reason. You get distracted. You’re smart—smarter than you think. And I don’t want anything pulling you away from what you’re capable of.”

“I know,” you whispered, resting your head against his shoulder. “But they were calling me, and I... I felt left out.”

He didn’t speak for a moment. Then he tilted your face up gently with his hand, brushing his thumb against your cheek. “You’re never alone. Even when it feels like it. I’m right here.”

“I know,” you said, voice barely a whisper. “It just sucked. Everyone was laughing. Talking. I felt like I didn’t belong anywhere.”

“You belong with me,” he said softly. “And I’m protecting you, even when it doesn’t feel like it. Even when it hurts.”

You didn’t reply. You just closed your eyes and let yourself breathe, chest rising and falling with his.

Later, you ended up wrapped in his hoodie, feet tucked under a blanket, watching reruns of Bake Watch. He rolled his eyes every time you got too emotionally invested in the bakers. You teased him for pretending not to care.

The night grew darker. The city lights spilled through the window. You were in his lap again, safe in the shadows, away from the noise, his fingers trailing lazy circles on your thigh.

“I love you,” he said quietly, like a secret meant only for you.

You looked up at him. “I love you too.”

And in that moment, even with the rules, the distance, the silence—it was enough.