Our lips meet.

My arms twine around his neck, in need of a lifeline as I finally break down the dam between me and my pent up emotion. I am drenched in instant relief... for all of two seconds.

Slater pushes back on my shoulders lightly, startlingly unaffected as I give up and pull away. I feel my cheeks flush with colour as he stares right into my transparent gaze with a look of self-contradiction.

"Quorra, we can't do anything like that," he finally says, soaking up the rejection in my eyes with a softened expression.

I'm left stripped of words. The most I can muster is an unintelligible murmur of dazedness.

I quickly move myself away from him, embarrassment burning my body as I turn for the door, lost.

"Quorra, listen," Slater calls out in that damned voice, "University regulations ban romantic relationships between stu-"

I interrupt him by whipping around, "Can you just stop being such a goody two shoes for once in your goddamn life?!"

He stills, as if paralysed.

"You don't know enough about my life to judge me, Quorra."

My frustration fuelling my reply, I step closer to him, "Yeah? Well I know your name is Slater Hartley, that you're an English Professor at a shithole of a university, that you had a sister called Addilyn who committed suicide, that you have perfect parents and a perfect life, that you are definitely a virgin because you are so uptight, and you apparently have a thing for eating meals with teenage girls."

He closes his eyes and rests his head in his hands, "You don't know how many of those things are incorrect. I'll say it again. You don't know enough about my life to judge me."

"Just as I should, I guess," I mutter, before leaving the room.

As soon as I'm walking down the corridor, alone, my thoughts come rushing like a swarm of bees. I resist the urge to pull at my hair in hopes of the pain drowning out the sound of their incessant buzzing.

All I end up doing is fighting with him, even when a few moments ago we would be fine.

You were more than fine, my conscience giggles.

I grit my teeth and lock my jaw, teeth grinding together as I plant my feet more firmly into the ground to ease off some of my anger. Shut up, I tell myself. Not. Funny.

I should have just known he would never like-

I'm suddenly knocked off my feet and to the ground.

My butt hits the hard floor first. I wince as pain rips through my body, and look up through a squinted gaze to a head of blonde hair.

"Oh shit, sorry, Quo," Grant apologises, reaching out a hand with a look of regret, "I didn't see you around the corner."

I shake my head and take his hand, pressing the mute button on my pain, "It's alright, I wasn't looking where I was going."

A smile as bright as the sun lights up his features.

His hand lingers on mine as he answers, "Hey, what about that tutor session now?"

I pause.

I guess I need something to take my mind off what just happened...

What happened between me and him in the past was just a fluke. Everyone makes mistakes.

I meet his eyes with a half-hearted smile, "Sure. Want to grab some coffee first?"

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee is enough to take my mind off certain things for a while. I can stomach a delicious, frothy drink much easier than a hearty meal, after all.

Grant sits down opposite me and slides over my cup with a warm smile, "One caramel latté for the lady."

I accept the drink with a nod and take a long sip. The scalding hot beverage singes its way down my throat but delivers satisfaction nonetheless.

Grant takes a bite of his brownie, reminding me that he never asked if I wanted something to eat. How sweet.

"Thanks," I say, meeting his eyes for a moment.

"No problem," he reassures, curling his hands around his hot chocolate, "So, how have you been doing lately?"

I already feel more at ease around him, thanks to the wonder that is coffee.

"Alright. Working hard but it's paying off," I shrug nonchalantly.

"No major problems, right? If there are any, I can sort them out for you," he promises as I quickly shake my head to deny any.

His face lightens up, "Awesome. Should we head back to my dorm now? We can drink these on the way back."

I nod and we get up, heading for the door.

"Okay, hang on," Grant suddenly says, happy exterior plummeting.

I look back in wordless question as he sighs.

"I feel like," he begins, as if doubting himself, "you're holding back from being how we were before because of what happened in the past."

Well what the hell do I reply to that.

"Uh."

I look left and right.

"Thought so," the light disappears from his eyes, "Look, I can't take away how I feel about you... but I can hide it. Can we just start over?""

My entire body freezes. Isn't that asking for a lot? For me to forget that incident, his confession, and the fear that would radiate from my skin upon seeing him? That's impossible; I wouldn't be able to pretend even if I wanted to.

"Sure," my mouth answers.

Well fuck me.

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

I laugh and grab the English textbook, whacking him over the head, "Grant, I think that's offensive!"

He grins and dodges a second hit, "What? It's true. All these people we are studying are old and irrelevant."

I cock an eyebrow, some part of me urging me to disagree, "Then why do you put so much effort in and do so well?"

At my question, he laughs, leaning closer to fixate his twinkling eyes on mine, "That's the trick to succeeding in life, Quo, you suck up to the bosses like Hartley and get to the top."

I pause, looking down at my lap and trying to steer the conversation away from our professor.

"Even if you don't like what you're doing?"

"Especially if you don't like what you're doing," he emphasises, swinging back in his chair.

With a roll of my eyes, I disregard his words, "You give shit advice, Grant."

For the past hour, we've been cooped up in Grant's room talking about everything and anything but our English class. My doubts about him melt away drop by drop at every dazzling smile he offers me, but a dark thought lingers in the back of my mind that I refuse to shed light on.

Things feel normal again, like before the incident happened, and before all the Hannah drama.

Hannah. I wonder how she's going to feel about me befriending Grant again.

"So tell me, Quo," Grant asks, lacing his fingers together, "How does it feel to live with an eighty-year-old trapped in a thirty-year-old's body?"

So far I've managed to successfully avoid all conversation ab-

Wait, what did he just say?

"Huh?" I blink.

He gives me an odd look, before rephrasing, "Hartley?"

"Oh," I stall with a faker-than-Martha's-boobs laugh, "He's 23 actually."

Grant just looks at me, simultaneously questioning my knowledge of Slater and waiting for me to expand.

"It's alright," I answer in short, holding his intrigued gaze.

We end up in a staring competition, both of us desperate for the other to break eye contact.

"Isn't it weird?" he prods further, "Living with your teacher?"

I don't even try to hide the sigh that I heave out, "Grant, I really don't want to talk about him right now. Can we just get to revision or something?"

"Has he done something to you?" he ignores my plea, abrupt anger flaming up in his eyes.

My eyes bulge out their sockets, "No! No no no, he would never," I laugh anxiously, "I ju-"

"Never? Why would he never?"

I stop and give him a confused look, "I don't understand the ques-"

Grant springs forward, "Does he like you?"

I quickly push back on his shoulders, feeling heat creep down my neck as I attempt to redirect the conversation, "Grant, I really don't think- GRANT, GET BACK HERE!"

Before I know it, I'm chasing him down the corridor.

"Grant, if you dare go up there I'm dissolving our friendship again!" I threaten, but he must not hear me because he continues to stride at a leisurely pace, still staying a good few metres in front of me.

How unfit have I gotten?

Haha. That's funny. You were always unfit.

Our chase continues up the stairs, and I nearly trip over one in a desperate attempt to snag the bottom of his shirt.

By the time I reach the top of the staircase, he's already scanning the doors for H2, and by the time I've caught up to him (and start gasping for air), his knuckles have already rapped the door twice.

Do you know that sickening feeling you get when you know that one hundred tonnes of shit are about to hit the world's largest fan? It decides to take the form of a boa constrictor and tightens around my neck until I can't tell apart a circle from a square.

There comes a moment where I'm so sure that no-one will answer the d-

The door opens slightly, just enough for the indescribably gorgeous face of Slater to peek out.

As if I wasn't breathless enough.

"Mr Lincoln? Quorra isn't in and I don't suggest you go after her," he begins, crossing his arms.

I must be hallucinating because I swear I can see a strip of uncovered torso from what the door doesn't cover.

His chocolate eyes suddenly sweep to mine.

"Ah, Quorra, I didn't see you there. Come i-"

Slater is cut off by Grant stepping forward and painting his features with a menacing glare, "Don't touch her. What did you do to her?"

I snap out of my daze and look away from the muscular outlines on Slater's torso.

"Grant, he didn't do anything. Please, can we just leave?" I beg, feeling Slater's gaze on me.

Tugging on his arm does nothing.

Grant pushes on the door, exposing another strip of tanned skin, "So you like her? Too cowardly to admit it?"

My eyes widen and I pull on his free arm harder, "Grant, he doesn't. Let's just go!"

I'm ignored by both males, who pin each other down with narrowed eyes.

Oh god, I'm going to die.

●（=｀～'=） ●

Any predictions for the part ii? Should Quorra be getting close to Grant after what happened last time?

Also, I know these past chapters have all been full of drama, but I'm just building everything up... *mysterious fade to black*

Over and out,
Spud 🥔