Grant brutally shoves open the door.

It flies backwards and Slater barely manages to move to the side in time, delivering the brunt of the force to the wall.

"Okay, okay, okay, okay, stop," I intercept, standing between them.

My mind suddenly slows as I take the time to appreciate Slater's chiselled upper half. Not bad for a full time teacher, I think to myself.

My gaze can't help but linger, but when it finally does lift to Slater's, I'm blushing all over again. His eyes are already on mine, still full of ferocity towards Grant but sprinkled with amusement for my ogling.

"Can you put on a shirt first?" I ask, just as Grant charges past me and pushes him back into the wall.

I almost choke as the desk rattles and a picture frame wobbles on its nail. Trying to tug away Grant's grasp, I soon realise that Slater doesn't need my help. He pulls away Grant's hand with an obsidian expression, crossing his arms over his built chest.

"What has made you so forward with your dislike of me, Mr Lincoln?" Slater questions, his formal tone unfaltering, even in the heat of their disagreement.

Grant is not as calm and composed as he replies, "Maybe it's because you're a shady character hanging around my friend," he snarls, before an evil smile takes over his features, "or maybe it's because your new boss just so happens to be my father."

I'm left gaping like a fish out of water but Slater doesn't seem to miss a beat.

"Cool," he comments casually, the word so foreign to his tongue.

I find the energy to laugh, and both heads turn to me.

Slater's intense gaze reminds me of what happened earlier, and I quickly downcast my eyes to stop him reading me like a book.

Slater continues, "But that doesn't matter to me right now. Please leave, because as a professor at this university, I still have the right to file complaints against students. With enough valid complaints, it is university law that the student be expelled at the earliest convenience, regardless of whether aforementioned student's father is the manager or not."

"My father could easily rewrite university law, Professor Hartley," Grant grits his teeth in aggravation but remains smug.

I watch the two go back and forth like an intense game of table tennis.

"This university hasn't changed its laws for 27 years, I think you'd have some trouble getting it approved by your father's boss."

Grant still seems unconvinced, but heads for the door anyway, "Believe what you want. Come on, Quo. You can stay over at mine tonight."

I unfreeze myself before I process what he said and every muscle in my body locks up again. Stay over at his?

Slater steps closer to me, completely irritated with Grant at this point, "She's not going anywhere, Mr Lincoln. Students must sleep in their assigned beds in their assigned rooms. And I know personally that she will be a lot safer with me than with you."

Grant looks over his shoulder at me, cocking an eyebrow, "You really gonna stay with this dude over me?"

"We just made up today, Grant, and I don't even fully trust you anymore. Slater hasn't done anything to me," I defend, scowling at his derogatory description of the Greek god next to me as 'this dude'.

"You know what?" Grant asks, "Go fuck yourself. Why don't you fuck each other actually - 'Slater' seems up for it. I'm done pretending to be your friend, Quorra."

Before he can leave, I get the last word in, "Well I'd rather fuck him than fuck you!"

As soon as the door closes with a BANG! that shakes the walls, I melt into a puddle of mumbled English.

"God, I'm so sorry, I did not mean that in that way," I swear, turning to a  stock-still Slater in frantic apology, "Well... I mean, I did, but don't take that t-to heart or anything. I just said it to rile him up because he was leaving and I didn't want him to have the last word since that would make him think he's won and he really hasn't because he's a total dickhead and also just really annoying because he thinks that we're friends again after all he's done, and assumes that I can easily trust him agai-"

I stopped by a finger pressed against my lips.

"I'm going to pretend that such suggestive, vulgar language never left your mouth, young lady. Also, I would make you explain why you even formed a relationship with him again after what happened, but I know we are both more than glad that it's over for now, so I won't," he says, but I'm still far too distracted by his finger that I don't register his words.

Eventually, I find the strength to pull away from him and scowl, "Can you stop calling me 'young lady'? I'm eighteen."

"Well I just got called 'dude' and I'm 23," he counters, turning around to grab his shirt from his bed.

Feeling blessed, I watch the muscles in his back tense and relax as he slides on the cotton material. What just happened is swept out of my mind as easily as water down a drain as I stare at the model before me.

Such perfection.

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◈ѕlaтer нarтley◈

"How did you convince me to do this," Quorra groans in the passenger seat of my car, holding her head in her hands.

I shake my head as I turn right, seeing the restaurant up ahead, "You agreed, Quorra, now you must deliver. You owe me a meal for today anyway, we have not had one yet."

I hear her sigh helplessly beside me.

Soon after, I'm parking the car outside the restaurant and heading inside. Before I can walk around to Quorra's side, she's already out.

She looks over at me, anticipating my actions with a snort, "Why are you so formal? This isn't a date, mate."

"Manners are not specific to one situation," I state as we walk inside, "Perhaps you should learn some."

Her jaw drops as I walk past her, holding open the resturant door for her as a warm gush of air welcomes me.

"Come on, my friend is waiting."

She scoffs at me before walking inside and mumbling, "Special child."

As soon as we enter, I search the room for Lucas. His head of unruly curly hair is usually hard to ignore, and I almost instantly spot him sitting at the bar, nursing a glass of warm-brown liquid.

Without thinking, I take Quorra's hand and guide us towards him.

He notices me soon after, a familiar grin brightening his face, "Hey, D!"

I return the smile, "Hey, Lucas. Hope we didn't keep you waiting for long."

Lucas' eyes trail down my arm to Quorra's and my joint hands. I hastily pull away from the position, a strange feeling stirring in my chest.

"And who is this gorgeous lady?" he asks, flashing Quorra an a-million-watt smile.

"Quorra," she introduces herself, "Nice to meet you, Lucas. I take it you and Slater are old friends?"

He pulls a face, "Friends, yes, but I'm not quite as old as D. I'm 22. And who are you in relation to him? Girlfriend...?"

I watch her reaction carefully, though she manages to hide behind her hair with a forced laugh, "Student."

Lucas gives me a look.

I ignore him blatantly, adjusting the cuff of my blazer.

After Lucas downs the rest of his drink, we all walk towards a free booth. Quorra slides in first, followed by me, Lucas opting for the place opposite us. A waitress stops by a moment later, giving us all menus with a practised smile.

"Slater," Quorra whispers under her breath, even though Lucas still looks up with an omniscient smile, "Why does he call you 'D'? Isn't that a little rude?"

I can't help but laugh, and I hear Lucas chime in too.

"It's a shortened version of my middle name," I explain, amused, "It's a bit on the long side but Lucas was obsessed with it when he first found out so he used to call me 'D' when we were younger, and it stuck."

Quorra tilts her head in question, "What is your middle name?"

I offer her a mysterious smile, "I'll tell you after you finish your food."

She looks less than excited by my proposition, but turns back to the menu anyway with a heavy sigh.

"The fettucine alfredo looks good," Lucas pipes up, closing his menu.

I nod, "Alright, I don't have any preference so I'll get that too."

We both glance at Quorra, who is already flitting her eyes between us and scratching her neck.

"Well now I feel like I have to get it. Okay then," she smiles through her awkwardness as I laugh and raise a hand to call a waitress over.

She arrives shortly after, notebook in hand and pen poised.

"What would you like, sir?" she asks.

"We'll have three plates of the fettucine alfredo, please," I answer politely.

"Okay, thank you. Please order your drinks at the bar once you have decided," she gestures behind her to the wooden bar, dimly light by yellowed lights, before smiling and walking away.

I turn back to Lucas and Quorra, "Alright, choose your beverages now."

"Beverages," they both snigger.

I look up at them, thoroughly missing the joke, "Beverages?" I repeat again, not hearing the hilarity of the word.

Quorra laughs, elbowing me in the side, "Yes. You talk like an eighty year old."

"How is 'beverage' an eighty-year-old-person word?" I frown, "I feel attacked."

Both shake their head and laugh under their breath, forcing me to realise that allowing these two to meet each other may have been the worst decision of my life so far.

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I feel Lucas smirking at me out of the corner of my eye. After ordering our drinks, I finally appease him and turn to my right with a resigned, "What, Lucas?"

He laughs, "You don't even realise it, do you? You are adorably innocent, D."

Fed up with his agreement with Quorra, I give him a blank stare.

"What crucial piece of the jigsaw puzzle of life am I missing, O Wise Lucas?" I ask, realising immediately after that old friends like Lucas brought out the worst side of me.

He grabs his drink as the bartender sets it down, taking a sip to create a dramatic pause before he answers.

"Quorra," he starts, directing both our attentions to where she sits, hands folded in her lap, "is most definitely flirting with you."

I raise an eyebrow. Instantly, the memory of Quorra trying to kiss me (and succeeding) is reawakened.

"Flirting?" I repeat, the word foreign on my tongue, "Don't jump to conclusions, Lucas. She's my student."

"I feel like that is your excuse for everything, D," Lucas sighs, "Love is love."

At that, I laugh, leaning back against the bar, "I've known her for a few months at most, and neither of us has shown any interest in the other. Love is not in this equation."

The white lie leaves my lips easily, although the memories of Quorra calling me attractive and kissing me are branded into my mind. I often feel somewhat of a pull towards her, but surely that is not one of romantic interest. She's probably just incredibly hormonal and will stop to take note of any guy. Surely...?

"Dude, I know you have the hots for her too," he replies with a scoff as I give him a flat look.

"I do not hold such a thing for her," I deny, though I can't help but admit my interest in her, "she simply... intrigues me. She is not your average student, Lucas."

"I don't think teachers usually worry over their pupils the way you obsess over that pretty lady over there. What normal teacher takes his student out to eat? You do realise that this would be a date if I wasn't here, right?" he says, drawing my gaze over to Quorra.

She catches my eye and flushes with colour before looking down at the table.

Flirting? I shake Lucas' claim out of my head.

"Perhaps, but you are here. And besides, she's been acting completely normal," I say confidently, knowing that my observant nature would have picked up on any extraordinary behaviour.

"Really?" Lucas chuckles, "Then she doesn't even know she's doing it. The universe put you two together. I'm shipping Slorra."

He even throws in a wink at the end, thoroughly exhausting my Lucas-tolerance for the day.

"I've noticed how she gets all red in the face if you even look at her, and how she's always sneaking glances at you when you aren't paying attention. And I'm also almost sure that she was looking at your butt as we walked over to this bar. Is Slater Hartley actually oblivious about something for once in his life?" he reinforces his argument.

I don't say anything, dumbfounded.

"Just keep me updated, yeah?" Lucas finishes, getting the final word in as the rest of our drinks arrive and we head back to the table.

I set down Quorra's drink in front of her as we arrive, taking my seat next to her. Lucas grins opposite me, knowing his words are looming over my head.

Quorra's voice brings me back to reality.

"You are such a posh nugget," she comments, "Who orders sparkling lime water when there's a chocolate brownie drink on the menu?"

I shake my head at her capacity to insult anything I do, "I am not posh. I just enjoy sparkling lime water."

She mutters something along the lines of me being 'weird' under her breath, before taking a sip of her chocolate drink.

Lucas gives me that same, overused smirk, mouthing a certain phrase that sticks in my mind.

She so likes you.