𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | ✓

61

He stops in front of me, his expression is pained. "I'm sorry."

I narrow my eyes and gaze at him with a slightly tilted head.

Again he thrusts his hand into his hair, not meeting my gaze. His shoulders hunch and he shakes his head. "I'm so sorry." He shuffles his feet, shifting weight from one foot to the other. "I don't know what I was thinking," he hurriedly says then groan, "this is so messed up."

My mouth hangs open, I can still feel the toe-curling sense of his lips moving over mine, but I overlook it and stand up. "Uh... I'm confused."

Finally, he looks up, and shame and guilt swim in his beautiful eyes. "I- this," he fumbles, motioning his hand towards the space between us. "Can't happen, a-and I don't know what I was thinking. I-I wasn't thinking straight, fuck." He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes.

I frown. "Um... just to make things clear... I kissed you first."

He gives an incredulous laugh. "I know." He throws his hands up and I'm pretty sure his glasses were a mere second away from flying in the air and crashing to its destruction but he catches it at the last moment.

"But you are going through trauma, and I'm not. I'm the older one and supposedly the mature one, the one who isn't supposed to make these sorts of mistakes. Fuck I'm your professor!" he exclaims the last part as if he had completely forgotten that part. "I shouldn't have done that," he mumbles as if he's talking to himself.

"I wanted to-" I start but he shakes his head.

"No, you didn't, and I understand that and it's fine, you don't have to explain yourself to me or make up reasons. I get it, you're going through a rough time and I happened to be here, it's fine really... but," he pauses and inhales sharply.

Irritation scraps my insides and I hardly stop myself from snapping at him to stop thinking instead of me and telling me what to think too.

"We can forget it ever happened," he suggests, raising his eyebrows, a hopeful gleam in his eyes.

I bite my tongue to stop myself from pointing out not long ago he was the one who said, by pretending you can't change the reality. But seeing him, how unhinged and shaky he is, wallowing in regret and shame, I decide to go along with his plan, for his sake.

"Okay."

He nods with more hope, regaining his composure bit by bit. "It was a thing in a moment, we'll move past it... like nothing happened... and it won't change anything between us."

"Sure." I cross my arms in front of my chest.

"I'm still your professor," he states. Then groans under his breath, "Fuck, I just committed a crime." He walks to the kitchen, leaving his glasses on the dining table. I follow his movements with my eyes, observing his changing expressions and shifting emotions.

Spencer opens a cabinet, choosing a bottle of whiskey, and a glass, he pours two fingers for himself and downs it in one go, not even flinching once.

Without his glasses he looks much younger and standing behind the kitchen island, he appears alone and confused. Almost lost.

I clasp my hands in front of myself and gulp uneasily. "I'm sorry."

My voice snaps him out of his thoughts, his glazed eyes land on me, and with a blink, he's back to his assured self. "Don't, it's not your fault. I should have..." he trails down, gaze falling away from me. He draws a sharp breath and looks at me. "You've had a long day, I suggest you rest and don't worry yourself with other things." His features soften, melting my heart. A side of his lip twitches upwards in a feeble smile.