By the time evening rolls around, my dismal attitude has withered away. Slater has managed to keep me preoccupied - in PG ways.

Obviously.

I've grown accustomed to a more open, laid-back Slater. Even though I first thought that side of him impossible, he's actually been... normal for the past few hours. Turns out, when he doesn't overthink every single sentence he speaks, he actually sounds like the generic 23 year old...

I blow a tuft of hair out of my face, glaring at Slater opposite me, "This is the most boringest game I've ever played. I'd rather do my work than this," I insult the board game sitting between us.

...except for the fact that he has the interests of a centenarian.

He laughs at my reaction, a low pleasing sound that I've memorised, "Quorra, we started ten minutes ago. And please avoid double negatives, they are a pet peeve of mine."

My eyes widen as I gape at him, disregarding his correction (besides, isn't everything a pet peeve of his?), "Ten minutes? Kill me now."

We're interrupted by a knock at the door.

Both of our heads turn to it.

Setting down his in-game money, Slater gets up and jogs to the door (giving me a shirt-clad yet dizzying view of his toned back), opening it to a particular ginger-haired, emerald-eyed girl.

"Ah, hello, Sir. I was looking around for you to submit my assignment but you weren't in your usual lecture hall," Hannah greets mannerly as I crane my neck to see past Slater's tall build.

When her gaze meets mine, her smile broadens. Slater notices our exchanged greetings and steps aside, "Come on in."

She nods in appreciation before walking in, handing him a presentable plastic wallet on the way. The door shuts behind her as Slater places her assignment on the desk and resumes his position on the floor.

Hannah sits on my bed, legs neatly draped over the side as always.

"No lectures today?" she asks as I shrug, my initial glee upon seeing her replaced by the dread of needing to tell her what happened.

When I don't reply, Hannah's attention switches to Slater, who sits with a straight spine, reverted back to a blank-faced drone. I deflate at the realisation, missing the playful side to him already.

"Are you not feeling well, Sir? Usually if our class doesn't have English lectures, you'll still be in your hall," Hannah asks, worry filling her eyes as her gaze flits between the two of us, confused as to why neither of us are answering.

"Did I interrupt at a bad time? I apologise, I can come back later," she gets up to leave.

Guilt consumes me as Slater looks at me pointedly.

Instantly, the magic of our shared moment disappears and I'm left, bare, staring straight in the face of vulnerability. My heart drops to my feet.

"N-no, Hannah, wait. It's fine, you can stay," I quickly stop her, dread overbrimming as she turns back around hesitantly, "Really."

She sits back down, cautiousness present in her stare as she flits her attention between the both of us, waiting for an explanation. Judging by the unreadable, quiet expression residing on Slater's features, he's not going to be the one to talk.

"Something just..." I decide to get it over with, feeling my ignorant happiness flicker and fade away like a candle flame, "happened."

I can see that even Hannah, born with an inherently polite and understanding personality, is struggling to lock away her curiosity. Her gaze fixates on me, like a scientist analysing a subject.

"Grant happened," I mumble, after an uncomfortable silence.

"He... happened?" she repeats, before realisation overtakes her feminine features, "Wait - are you alright? Are you talking about the other day when he confronted you outside the lecture hall?"

All I can do is stare at her, paralysed by the memories infiltrating my mind. I feel a hand rest on mine and quickly retract it, icy fear and triggered memories chilling me to the bone as I look up, meeting the worried eyes of Slater.

My heart pounds in my chest as I swallow and place my hand back down, hating that he's gotten to me this badly. Hating that I've let him get to me this badly.

"Quorra? What did he do?"

It comes out all at once, like a dam has been broken down. I tell her about my first encounter with the ill-intentioned side of Grant. I tell her how he felt me up and then dropped hints at liking me. I tell her how he nearly kissed me one day and his confession that he'd 'always wanted' to be with me. I remind her how he lied about being in a relationship with her, trying and failing to make me jealous.

Her eyes grow wider and more watery as each story passes. At this point, I can't even stop. Everything comes pouring out without a filter, the concentrated mass inside of me slowly melting away as each piece of information leaves my lips.

Then I tell her about yesterday night. I tell her about how after she left my room, I didn't change into pyjamas, brush my teeth, and tuck myself into bed. I tell her how I went to his room. I tell her how he invited me in. I tell her everything.

Slater listens attentively too, as if this wasn't his second time hearing it. By the end, I'm a bundle of nerves and tears that I refuse to let fall. I bring my hands up to my face to hide them, but all the held back emotion finally has a release and it's not about to lose its only chance.

I hear quiet conversation exchanged between the two as I curse the abundance of emotions running rampant inside me and try to recollect myself. The soft click of the door closing brings me back to my body as I crumple up the remainders of vulnerability in my system and throw it as far away as I can.

"Quorra," Slater sighs, a hand gently pressing my head to his chest, "You are making this really difficult for me."

I sniff, welcoming his warmth, "Making what difficult?"

Before he even answers, I feel his gaze on me. It provokes a fluttery feeling in my core as I close my eyes.

"The quiet concealment of my affections," he reveals in the most unnecessarily decorated fashion I've ever heard.

I wordlessly shake my head, embracing the small smile that curls the edges of my lips despite my tears. At this point, I'm simply enjoying this rare moment where I like someone and he genuinely likes me back.

"Well, why conceal anymore?" I ask, trying to forget my despair as I manage to restrain another wave of tears, "We've already been thrown in the deep end."

The rumbling sound echoing in his chest entices me to pull back to look up at his amused expression, my despondency melting away immediately at his perfect image. I wipe my cheeks hastily as I realise how pitiful I must look.

"Quorra, there's plenty of reasons," he shakes his head but maintains his irresistible smile at my abrupt forwardness.

I raise an eyebrow, shaking off my sadness and forcing some strength into my tone, "What if I said I didn't want to graduate or get a degree?"

He really laughs at that, provoking my lips to turn down.

"You wouldn't throw away the rest of your life for me, Quorra. You've done enough for me already, and there's no need. Your eyes should be set on getting your degree so you can support yourself and become independent," he does what he does best and lectures me like a small child getting in trouble for the first time.

I was kidding about not wanting to get my degree, but his complete aversion to a formation of any non-platonic relationship between us has something pricking me in the chest.

I sigh at the guilt he fails to hide from his tone, "Stop feeling guilty about what happened. I'm over it, so you should be too."

Okay, I'm the last thing from 'over it', but being around a depressed and remorseful Slater all the time sounds unpleasant to say the least.

His hand releases my waist to rub the back of his neck while he ponders over a reply.

"Quorra, I can't help it. I can't believe you suffered that because of me. If I hadn't've gone out that day and if I'd just paid closer attention, I maybe could have gotten him expelled before-"

"I'm going to kiss you again if you don't shut up, and I know you don't want that."

I don't know what made me say it, but it worked in getting him to stop talking. Instead, he looks at me in a mix of curiosity and surprise, trying to decode the emotion on my face.

"I'm fine, I've come out of this a stronger person," even though I feel twice as weak, I don't say, "so you don't have to feel bad. I was about to get you fired over something as petty as my... my virginity. It's stupid anyway; it's not a real thing to be honest. Surely people just made it up. You know, a lot of people don't even have a 'cherry' to pop in the first place between accidents like bike-riding can make it burst without penile penetration, and overall, some people just aren't born with a hym-"

I don't voluntarily shut up. No, of course not - once my trap starts running it doesn't stop until every possible thought that is even vaguely related to the topic at hand has left my mouth. Rather, I get forcefully quietened by a pair of lips on mine.

Slater's.

Holy fuck.

I'm kissing him - no, he's kissing me.

Before I can overthink or he can pull away, I link my arms around his neck and drag him closer until he's pinning me back against the side of my bed. He tastes like the fruit pastilles we were eating earlier but the addictive flavour only encourages me to deepen the kiss.

All of a sudden, and way too soon, he disconnects our lips.

"I'm sorry, you were rambling and I didn't want to hear much more after 'penile penetration'," he offers as an explanation, somehow completely calm and composed.

I shake my head in carelessness and pull us close to each other again, craving his kiss like an addict.

He smiles knowingly, tongue running across my bottom lip lightly and sending a flurry of tingles down my spine. Satisfied, I press myself closer to him and thread my fingers through his hair. Slater responds with an appreciative moan, and the sound alone makes me blush so hard that I fear passing out amidst the greatest moment of my eighteen years of life.

It's as if I can hear his overthinking come to a screeching halt and he finally lets loose, arms pushing against my lower back so that he can lean over me. The back of the bed digs into me, and I thank god that I'm already on the floor, since if not, I would have fallen.

An intense heat thickens the air as sudden thoughts plague my mind.

I feel a cold hand crawl up my leg.

Sharp nails digging into my skin and tearing off my shirt.

Pain in my stomach and groans of someone else's enjoyment drowning out the screaming of my pleas.

A whisper in my ear.

You were perfect.

I don't realise that I'm sobbing until Slater pulls away from me.

My crying fills the gap between us. I'm sure my cheeks are as flushed as his as he looks down at me with conflict in his eyes, reddened lips parted in speechlessness.

My mind is a mess of emotions as I drop my face into my hands and let the storm break loose of its confinement. I feel a different hand on my leg, and a warm breath at my ear. I hear soothing murmurs and gentle strokes smoothing the back of my shirt.

"Why can't I forget," I mumble despairingly, wishing the world would just stop carrying on when my whole life has been yanked to a halt.

"Quorra, calm down," Slater soothes comfortingly, though not patronisingly, wrapping his arms around me tighter.

I shake my head, a sharp pricking in my chest infecting me with a pain that corrupts my entire body, "I can't, I can't," I insist as he tries to wipe away my tears, "I can't forget."

He continues to talk to me quietly, but I can't hear any of it. My raging thoughts consume me completely and drain me of energy. There's nothing I want more than to forget; I want to forget his evil eyes and his manipulative words; I want to forget his deceiving smile and forceful pushes; I want to forget it all.

I turn my head to the side and plant a kiss at the base of Slater's neck. Almost instantly, he tenses, hands around my waist freezing in shock. I harshly rub away the tears left on my cheeks and shakily continue my trail of kisses up his neck, thoughts of wanting to just simply forget tormenting me like my shadow.

"Quorra, stop," he sighs, hands rising to my shoulders to gently pry me away.

I refuse and let a final tear slip down my cheek, "No. Help me forget, Slater."

I dare to look up and meet his conflicted gaze.

"Please."