He stepped closer instead.
Close enough that she had to tilt her chin up to keep looking at him.
Close enough that her breath brushed his mouth.
"You don't care?" he repeated quietly.
"I don't."
Her voice didn't shake.
But her pulse did.
He could see it in her throat.
Feel it in the way her chest rose too fast.
"Then stop looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you dont me to leave."
Silence.
Heavy.
Her eyes flickered for half a second.
That was enough.
He grabbed her wrist when she tried to step past him again.
Not violently.
Firm.
"Where are you going?"
"Away from you."
"Why?"
She turned sharply.
"Because you don't know what you want."
"And you do?"
"At least I'm not pretending I don't feel anything."
That landed.
Hard.
His jaw tightened.
"You think this is easy for me?"
"I think you're scared."
His hand tightened around her wrist.
"I'm not scared."
"Then stop acting like it."
He took a step forward.
She instinctively stepped back.
Until her lower back hit the lockers in the gym corridor that led toward the changing rooms.
Metal.
Cold.
Nowhere left to move.
"You want to talk about scared?" he said low.
"You built an entire world and hid inside it."
"At least I stayed."
"You disappeared."
"I was right here!"
"In a mask."
Silence.
Both breathing harder now.
"You weren't supposed to matter," he said again.
Her eyes softened for half a second.
"I didn't plan it either."
"You weren't supposed to get attached."
"Like that's something you control."
His hand slid from her wrist to her waist.
Not rough.
Not soft.
Just there.
Grounding.
"You don't get to break me and walk away," he said.
"I'm not breaking you."
"You're trying."
Her voice dropped.
"I just want you to stop being afraid of something that hasn't even happened."
"And what's that?"
"Getting your heart broken."
He let out a breath through his nose.
"You think that's nothing?"
"I think it's worth it."
That hit him harder than anything else she'd said.
His eyes searched hers.
"You'd risk it."
"Yes."
"For what?"
"For this."
She didn't move her hands away from him.
Didn't step back.
Didn't lower her eyes.
"For whatever this is."
The gym corridor felt smaller.
Hotter.
The air thick between them.
"You don't even know if this lasts," he said.
"I don't need it to last forever."
She swallowed.
"I just need you to stop treating it like it's already doomed."
That silence again.
The dangerous one.
His hand slid lower along her waist, fingers pressing into her hip as if he was trying to anchor himself there.
"And if I can't?" he asked.
"Then don't."
Her voice barely above a whisper now.
"Just live it."
His forehead dropped against hers.
Breathing mixing.
"You're asking me to jump."
"I'm asking you to stop holding the edge."
She felt his grip tighten slightly.
"Don't look at me like that," he murmured.
"Like what?"
"Like I'm already yours."
Her heart jumped.
"And what if you are?"
That was it.
Something shifted.
His hand moved from her waist to her lower back, pulling her closer.
Her body pressed fully against his now.
No space left between them.
No pretending distance.
He looked at her like he was trying to decide whether to walk away or lose control.
She made the decision for him.
Her hands slid up his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt again.
"Stop thinking," she whispered.
"I can't."
"Then let me."
He kissed her.
Not like before.
Not angry.
Not snapping.
Slow.
Deep.
Like he was tasting something he wasn't sure he deserved.
Her hands moved to the back of his neck.
His to her hips.
The metal lockers behind her vibrated softly when he shifted closer.
She felt him hesitate.
Felt the restraint.
The fear.
"I don't want to hurt you," he said against her mouth.
"Then don't run."
Her fingers tangled in his hair slightly.
He exhaled slowly.
"You make this impossible."
"No."
She looked straight into his eyes.
"I make it real."
He stared at her.
Searching.
Fighting.
Wanting.
His hand slid under the hem of her shirt at her waist.
Just skin.
Warm.
Electric.
Her breath caught but she didn't move away.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't stop him.
"You still want to leave?" he asked softly.
"No."
"You still don't care?"
Her lips parted.
"…no."
That was the first honest word she'd given him tonight.
His forehead rested against hers again.
His voice lower.
"If we do this… we don't half do it."
She nodded slowly.
"No half."
His hands tightened at her waist, pulling her fully into him again.
The kiss deepened.
Slower.
Hungrier.
But controlled.
Eyes opening between breaths.
Not hiding.
Not escaping.
Looking.
Choosing.
Her fingers slid down his chest, gripping his shirt again as if she needed to feel something solid.
He pressed his forehead to hers again.
"You're not allowed to disappear."
"I won't."
"You promise?"
She held his gaze.
"I promise."
For a long second, neither of them moved.
Then he pulled back slightly.
Not leaving.
Just enough to look at her.
"Locker room," he murmured.
She swallowed.
"Why?"
"Because if I keep kissing you here… I'm not stopping."
Her pulse jumped again.
She didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
He took her hand.
Not dragging.
Not forcing.
Just holding.
And led her toward the changing room door.
The light inside was dimmer.
Quieter.
The noise of the gym fading behind them.
The door closed.
Not slammed.
Just shut.
And for the first time that night—
neither of them tried to run.
He didn't give her space to rethink it.
But he didn't rush either.
He backed her slowly toward the lockers again, hands sliding up her sides.
"Tell me what you want," he said.
She held his gaze.
"I want you to stop being afraid of loving something that might hurt."
His breath caught.
"That's not an answer."
"It is."
Her hand slid along his jaw.
"I want you. Not the version of you that keeps one foot out the door."
His hands tightened at her waist again.
"And if I can't promise forever?"
"I didn't ask you to."
Silence.
Their breathing louder now.
"You want this to be simple," he said.
"I want it to be real."
He stared at her.
Then slowly — very slowly — he lowered his head, kissing her again.
Not aggressive.
Not frantic.
Deep.
Committed.
Her back hit the lockers softly.
His hands traced the curve of her waist again.
Her fingers moved through his hair.
Their foreheads rested together between kisses.
Eyes opening.
Meeting.
Not hiding.
Not pretending.
"Look at me," she whispered.
He did.
And for the first time since she had known him —
there was no escape in his eyes.
Only choice.
And he chose her.
He kissed her again.
Slower.
Longer.
And this time—
neither of them pulled away.
The locker room lights flickered faintly above them.
She could still feel the heat of her workout on her skin — sweat cooling slowly, heart not fully steady.
He noticed.
Of course he noticed.
"You're burning," he murmured, fingers brushing along her damp collarbone.
"Training," she answered, but her voice was softer now.
His hand slid down her side, palm warm against skin that was still overheated from running.
she stepped back toward the showers at the end of the locker room. The tiled floor was cool beneath her bare feet. The air shifted there — humid, slightly warmer, the faint metallic scent of water lingering from earlier use.
She turned the knob without breaking eye contact.
Water began to run.
Not freezing.
Not hot.
Just steady.
Steam started to rise slowly between them.
He watched her step under it first.
The water soaked her hair, darkening it instantly, sliding down her neck and shoulders, tracing the lines of her body like it was mapping her.
She closed her eyes for half a second.
Then opened them again.
He stepped closer.
The spray hit his shirt first, soaking the fabric against his chest. He didn't stop to take it off. Didn't rush. Just reached for her.
His hands slid around her waist.
Then lower.
Then tightened.
She inhaled sharply as he lifted her.
Effortless.
Her back met the cool tile wall, water cascading down between them.
The temperature contrast made her gasp — cold ceramic against overheated skin.
He held her there, one arm under her thighs, the other supporting her back.
Her legs wrapped around him instinctively.
Their bodies pressed together, wet fabric clinging, heat rising despite the water pouring over them.
"You always push yourself like that?" he asked, voice low near her ear.
She tilted her head slightly, water running down her jaw.
"Only when I'm trying not to feel something."
His grip tightened just slightly.
"And what are you trying not to feel?"
She didn't answer.
Instead, her fingers slid through his wet hair, pushing it back from his forehead.
His mouth found hers again — slower this time, deeper under the steady rhythm of the water.
The sound filled the space.
Water hitting tile.
Breathing growing heavier.
Skin sliding against skin.
His hand moved from her thigh to her hip, fingers pressing into her as if anchoring himself to something real.
She could feel the strength in him — not aggressive, not rough — just controlled, held back, barely.
He shifted slightly, adjusting his grip, pressing her more firmly against the tile.
Her breath caught again.
Not from fear.
From the intensity.
"You're shaking," he murmured against her mouth.
"Cold," she whispered.
He leaned back just enough to look at her.
"No."
His thumb brushed along her jaw, catching droplets of water that mixed with her flushed skin.
"You're not cold."
She held his gaze.
Water streamed between them, running down his neck, across his chest, over her shoulders.
Her fingers trailed down his collarbone, over soaked fabric, feeling the heat beneath.
"You don't have to hold back," she said softly.
His eyes darkened.
"That's not the problem."
"Then what is?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he lowered his mouth to her neck, slow, deliberate, not rushed — feeling her pulse beneath his lips.
Her back arched slightly against the tile.
The cool surface grounding her while his hands were anything but.
He pulled back just enough to look at her again.
"If I let go," he said quietly, "I don't know where it stops."
She cupped his face with both hands.
"Then don't stop."
The water ran hotter now — steam thickening the space, softening edges, blurring everything except the way they were looking at each other.
He shifted again, lowering her just enough that her feet brushed the tile floor before lifting her back up, changing the angle, changing the pressure.
Her nails pressed lightly into his shoulders.
Not pain.
Just need.
His mouth found hers again, deeper, slower, the kind of kiss that wasn't about urgency — but about claiming something neither of them were pretending to avoid anymore.
Her forehead rested against his as their breathing grew heavier.
"You're going to make this impossible," he murmured.
"It already was."
He smiled faintly at that.
Not cocky.
Not victorious.
Just undone.
He lowered her slowly this time, letting her feet touch the tile fully, but he didn't step away.
Didn't create distance.
His hands stayed at her waist, thumbs tracing small circles against her damp skin.
Water continued to fall between them.
Neither of them spoke for a few seconds.
Just looked.
Just felt.
Just stood there with the truth of it hanging heavy in the steam-filled air.
He brushed his nose lightly against hers.
"You're not allowed to disappear."
"I won't."
"You promise?"
She nodded once.
"Yes."
He leaned in, kissing her again — softer now, less urgent, but somehow deeper.
The water kept running.
The tiles stayed cold.
But between them —
nothing was.