FROZEN LINES

CALEB A week after Professor Elliot Ward told me I was “just another student,” I found him halfway up Frost Ridge with a twisted ankle. The hiking trail curled through the mountains just outside Silverpine, a narrow path cut between snow-dusted pines and jagged rocks. Most people stuck to the lower trails this time of year, but I liked the quiet up there. I’d almost reached the halfway point when I heard the sound. “Hello?” I called. For a moment, no one answered. Then, from somewhere off the trail, a familiar voice snapped, “I’m perfectly not fine.” I frowned. That voice. I stepped off the trail and around a large pine tree. Professor Elliot Ward sat on a flat rock near the edge of the path, one leg stretched stiffly in front of him, the other bent awkwardly. Snow clung to the dark fabric of his coat. He looked up. Of all the people to find him, it had to be me. For a second, neither of us spoke. “Mr. Foster.” I crossed my arms. “Professor.” He looked an

CALEB The silence at the table didn’t last long. Professor Elliot Ward stood abruptly, gripping the edge of the table as he pushed himself upright. The movement was careful, but I could still see the irritation in his shoulders. “This was a mistake,” he said. He reached for his cane and turned towards the hallway that led to the restrooms and the back exit of the club. I watched him go for about three seconds. Then I followed. The hallway was quieter than the main room, the music fading into a dull thump behind the walls. A few dim lights cast long shadows along the narrow space. Ward was halfway down it when he noticed me. “For the love of—” he muttered under his breath. “Mr. Foster.” I leaned one shoulder against the wall . You forgot something.” His eyes narrowed. “What.” “The part where you pretend we didn’t just match on a hookup app.” Ward closed his eyes briefly, he was definitely gathering the last threads of his patience. “This conversation,” he sa

CALEB Professor Elliot came back on a Wednesday. The hallway outside was quieter than usual, a couple of students lingering near the door . One of them leaned toward the other and whispered, “He’s back.” I pushed the door open and stepped inside. Ward stood at the front of the room, flipping through a stack of papers. The cane leaned against the desk within reach, and the injured leg was stiff when he shifted his weight, but otherwise he looked the same. I dropped into my usual seat halfway back. For a split second, his eyes lifted. They met mine. And then they moved on. Just like that. No reaction. Nothing that suggested we’d crossed paths in a club two nights ago while he sat there trying very hard to pretend I didn’t exist. “Open your books,” Ward said, setting the papers down. He started writing on the board, moving carefully but refusing to reach for the cane. The stiffness was obvious if you were looking for it. Which, apparently, I was. I leaned back in my chair a

CALEB His eyes widen slightly as he releases my shirt, pushing against my chest to create distance. His expression is a mix of shock and panic as he scrambles to regain composure. "Caleb, we—this can't happen," he says, his voice firm but shaking slightly. He takes a step back, his injured leg limping slightly. I raise an eyebrow, a smirk playing on my lips. "Can't happen? Feels like it's already happening, Professor." Eliot's gaze darts to the door, and before I can react, he makes a swift move to grab his cane and slip past me. "I need to go," he mutters, his tone clipped. I'm taken aback, but I recover quickly. "Eliot, wait—" He doesn't look back, his long strides eating up the distance to the door. I watch, amused, as he makes his hasty exit, leaving me standing there with a raised eyebrow. I can't help but chuckle to myself as I watch Eliot's hasty exit. Yeah, for someone who's supposedly injured, he sure moves fast when he's motivated. I take a deep breath, running

ELIOT I shouldn't be here. I've told myself a hundred times that I'm crossing a line, that this is a mistake. Yet, here I am, standing in the shadows of this parking lot, waiting for him. The flight was a blur, fueled by...I don't know what. Impulse, maybe. Or stupidity. I've been his professor for an year, and every time I see him, I feel this pull. It's wrong. He's my student, and I'm his teacher. Boundaries exist for a reason. Caleb was walking towards me, a smirk on his face,he knows exactly what he's doing to me. I try to keep my expression neutral, but I can feel the tension building. "Professor. Didn't peg you as a stalker," he says, raising an eyebrow. I feel a flicker of annoyance at the word, but it's quickly replaced by awareness. "Huh. I thought you said you'd not come, Professor," he says, a grin creeping onto his face. "Guess you can't resist the Caleb magic." I try to keep my cool. "I said it wasn't a good idea. Didn't say I wouldn't." He's closer now, e