● qυorra neverѕea ●

"Okay, group five, please present your project next," Slater looks over at my group as group four returns to their seats.

"Wait, what was our project on again?" Martha-Make-Yourself-Useful-For-Once-In-Your-Goddamn-Life asks stupidly, head cocked to the side and corner of her lip raised in the most unattractive expression man has ever seen.

Joseph stands up first, pausing before heading to the front, "The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde', of course. Didn't you do your assigned part of the project?"

We all head to the front, preparing for the worst.

A dizzying feeling washes over me as soon as I turn around to face the room full of students. I grip the folder in my hands securely, ignoring the fact that I am probably crushing all the pages I worked on over these past few weeks.

"You may begin," Slater says, writing something down on his clipboard and sliding his glasses on.

"Good morning and welcome to our presentation on George Orwell's 'Mr Jekyll and Dr Hyde'," Martha-May-Have-Not-Done-Her-Research introduces with an oblivious smile.

I clear my throat and reintroduce the project, "Good morning and welcome to our presentation on Robert Louis Stevenson's 'The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde'."

The audience of students all laugh in unison, as do the rest of the members of our group.

"We will begin with an analysis of the context and background the novel revolves around. At the time, reputation was an incredibly important value to the population. How you were perceived by others was more significant than how you viewed yourself..." Joseph begins, as I find myself tuning out until my segment.

The presentation passes smoothly for the next fifteen minutes, Slater looking up from his clipboard now and then to nod in agreement. He catches my eye once or twice but I look away before he can do any serious damage to my cheeks.

"So to wrap up this discussion, we will quickly run through the morals and lessons that we can take away from this novel. Martha-May?" I finish my section with only a few stumbles, holding back from giving Martha-May a ridiculous nickname.

"What?"

I look over at Martha.

She's looking at us in confusion as she asks, "Did I have to do something?"

Again, a mutual laugh passes over everyone - except the rest of the group.

"Martha, that was the only part we gave you," Joseph whispers under his breath, "Even Clara and Jesse did their parts."

"Miss Jameson?"

We all look up at the sound of Slater's voice. Martha turns flirtatious, sending him a coy smile, "Yes, sir?"

"Please explain why you didn't complete your part of the project. A huge part behind this project was learning the skills of co-operation and self-discipline, which are values that are very important in the working world."

All of a sudden, a pang hits me in the stomach. And the head. And everywhere, all at once.

My legs and arms are screaming at me with this aching pain that feels as if it's emanating from inside my bones.

I feel as if I'm shaking, but I can't tell if I physically am. My brain hurts but I don't know from what, and all the sounds in the lecture hall are gathering into one, huge, muffled cloud of uninterpretable cacophony. It concentrates in my ears and rings like a bell.

I don't know when it happens, but the folder in my hands clatters to the floor at some point. Papers fly everywhere.

The noise in my ears stops.

I blink and look up to the stares of fifty students and one, concerned professor.

All the colour drains from my face and pools under my feet.

"Miss Neversea?"

Something rises in my stomach. It reaches past my hollow chest and claws its way up my throat, a caged animal set free.

Before I know it, I've run out the room with my hands slapped over my mouth.

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I sit away from the toilet bowl, cough painfully, and wipe away the involuntary tears running down my face with the back of my sleeve.

All I threw up was water since I didn't eat a thing this morning.

It's not like I'm even purposely trying to skip meals anymore, it just happens. My body has learnt that the only food it gets is during that one meal I have with Slater in the evenings.

I stand up from my raw knees and flush the toilet, stepping out of the cubicle. While I rinse my mouth and face at the sink, I catch an eyeful of myself in the mirror. Helpless eyes sunken into a pale face look back at me.

Is this what I wanted?

My tired legs carry me out of the same door I ran through fifteen minutes ago. The lecture is thankfully over by now, but as soon as I step off the tiled floor, someone steps in front of me.

I look up to warm brown eyes tinged with worry.

"Are you alright?" he asks quietly.

My throat feels too dry to reply. Instead, I shake my head.

He radiates heat, tempting me to lean my head against his chest, but I decide against it. Shaky on my feet, I'm glad when he places a hand against my lower back and soundlessly guides me towards the elevator.

As soon as we're alone in the confined spaces of the elevator, he pulls me to his side.

"You need to stop before you give me a heart attack," he says, fully serious.

I shrug and gather the remnants of my voice to reply, "Then you'll have to help."

His eyes shoot down to mine for a second, as if something is bothering him.

"I suppose."

I find myself leaning on him, his warmth irresistible to the developing iciness in me. His hand excloses mine a moment later, and in any other instance, I would have blushed, but there is not enough life in my body to do so right now.

Two hours later, I'm tucked into my bed with approximately seventeen layers on. It seems slightly excessive, although I can't deny that I feel better already.

"You know, I feel fine now. Can we go do something worthwhile?" I ask, feeling a lot more alive than I did earlier.

"No, you're on bedrest until I say, Quorra. Clearly, your body keeps switching between exhaustion and excitement," Slater announces, giving me a dangerous look when I sit up.

I sigh loudly and lie back down, "But I'm fine. Just feed me some food and I'll be back to normal again."

"Your recent normal or actual normal?"

I don't expect such a snappy response. A sort of guilt weighs me down as I glance over at him. He's already looking at me and doesn't appear to want to retract or rephrase his words.

"Actual normal," I confirm.

With a sceptical look, he crosses his arms over his chest, "As in you are willing to gain at least five kilograms, eat three meals a day, and stop timetabling every second of your day with work?"

I gape at him, slightly offended, "Five? You get three, mister. Swimsuit season is coming up."

He looks annoyed, "You were tiny to begin with anyway, and summer isn't arriving for a couple months."

I ignore the first half of his sentence and shrug, "I'm starting early."

"Fine - four kilos, three meals a day, and lighter work," he says, "And that's final."

I cross my arms in dissatification, but agree, "Fine then. What are you going to do?"

He sits down on his bed, loosening his silk tie, "Me? I don't need to do anything, you're the one who needs to return to good health."

I glare at his perfectly structured face, "You're getting sassy. And I think you need to find a new normal too because you are most definitely the most robotic person I've met. Let loose a little and drop the built-in thesaurus."

He distracts me for a moment by unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt. After realising his subconscious action in my presence, he quickly stops and leans his elbows on his knees to reply.

"I think I'll pass," he rejects, "I have my hands full already."

I suddenly feel myself grow defensive, "With work? I don't see how it's fair for you to scold me about overworking myself, when clearly that is all you do as well. "

I shift into a sitting position, dismissing his irked expression, and pull my tangled hair together into a ponytail.

"Come on, let's do something," I say, switching the subject as we appear to run into a dead end, "Spontaneity is going to be your new best friend."

Sorry, Lucas, I think in my mind. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I wait for a response. I instead get a sigh and an insult.

"You are the most adamant person I have ever met."

I grin, "I'm taking that as a compliment. Let's go."

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We end up simply sitting in Slater's car and driving around aimlessly.

"I don't know why I haven't driven back yet," he sighs, "You are infuriating, Quorra Neversea."

I just slap a grin on my face, watching the gorgeous roadside scenery fly by, "I don't know why either. And you are also infuriating, Slater Hartley."

I catch him giving me a look out of the corner of his eye before we take a left into a more open area. We appear to be in a broad field of greenery, with shrubs and dewy flowers scattered across the flatland. Trees stand tall and proud, surrounding the border of the gigantic empty field as their branches sway obediently in the gentle wind.

"Wow, it's beautiful," I find myself saying in a hushed voice full of awe, "Can we stop here?"

"Here?"

I turn around, disassembling my pressed-up position against the window. His voice is doubtful as he glances around the area, slowing the speed of the car down slightly.

"I don't know," he finally decides, looking uneasy, "we've been driving around for twenty minutes now, maybe we should head back. This place doesn't look very safe either; it's deserted."

I let a laugh ripple through me as I nudge him, "Is Professor Hartley scared?"

His face returns to its normal, nonplussed expression, "No - and it's sir or Slater. We've been through this before. I just don't think a lecturer and student should be spending time together alone so often. I have a lot of marking to do as well, regarding your class' presentations."

My face has never looked more displeased than it did in that moment. After giving him a flat look for a while, I sigh and cross my arms over my chest, leaning back against the soft leather of my seat.

"'Fraidy cat. I'm not going to jump your bones or anything," I mutter grumpily, watching the picturesque field disappear into the distance as we drive right through and out of it.

Slater debates over a response, definitely noticing my glare. Exhaling heavily, he runs a hand through his soft, thick hair.

How do you know its soft?

I don't know. It looks like it. Don't all hot guys have lusciously soft hair?

"That's not what I meant, Quorra. I meant that a lecturer and a student aren't meant to interact outside of the classroom, bar perhaps a half-hearted greeting in the corridor," he rephrases, but it hits home just as hard.

I glance outside the window to distract myself for a while, the sky of pastel blue littered with ivory clouds not doing much to lift my spirits.

"You know what?" I change my attitude, sitting forward and snapping my head to my right, "I'm not giving you a choice."

His eyebrows furrow together, "Excuse me? I'm the respected elder in this situ-"

Knowing it annoys him more than anything, I interrupt him, "This will be good for both of us. You need to stop being so damn perfect all the time, and I need to get some... shit off my shoulders."

'Shit' being his rejection of you? my inner voice snickers.

No, I answer to myself snappily, 'shit' being all the work and exams I have coming up, and this sudden new demand that I gain weight and work less.

Yeah, okay.

"If you tell me what shit you're talking about, I'll go."

At first I'm shocked that he swore. And fuck me, it sounded hot.

Then I wonder why he even wants to know what is bothering me.

And lastly, I'm just surprised that he is agreeing with me for once.

"Do you normally swear?" I ask, narrowing my eyes as he realises his slip-up and rubs the back of his neck bashfully.

Clearing his throat, he flickers his gaze to me for a split-second, "My apologies. It's an old habit of mine that resurfaces sometimes."

I redden even at the thought of a younger Slater throwing out a cuss word in every other sentence.

"I wish it would resurface more often, it makes you sound more human," I admit, "What made you quit?"

His answer is instant and detached.

"You've changed the subject. What stuff is on your mind?"

Touchy subject, I take note.

I watch his grip on the steering wheel tighten and his jaw lock uncomfortably tight. Taken-aback, I turn to face the front again, observing the white lines on the endless road before us race past in an attempt to escape the sudden cold atmosphere between us. With a nervous bite at my bottom lip, I decide to let the situation slide.

"I don't want to talk about it," I supply vaguely, "And especially not with you."

Something flickers and fades in his eyes, "It might help."

We drive in silence for a few unbearable minutes.

Well, who else would I tell? Hannah isn't exactly cosy with me right now, and I don't want to bother Lara so close to her wedding.

"I'll only tell you if you tell me something about you too," I compromise, "And something meaningful, because what I'm going to tell you is."

At first I regret giving him the condition, as he stiffens up and his eyes glaze over with an unreadable emotion. I expect a rejection of my offer, but surprisingly, I get the opposite.

"Fine," he nods, but remains closed-off and tense, as if the flap of a butterfly's wing would make him jump.

He focusses hard on the road and swallows. Anxious is not an emotion I'm used to seeing on his faultless features, and it's not one I'd like to see again.