I force myself into action, slowly lifting my tired body into a sitting position like a zombie rising from the dead. I rub my eyes and run my hands through my hair, reaching for my phone on the bedside table and squinting at the time.

6am.

After the less than peaceful day yesterday, I had fallen asleep before it even got dark. It's no surprise that I'm awake so early; with all the thoughts running around in my head lately it's been impossible to find any peace of mind. I'm just starting to care less though. They don't want to amend things with me and I don't ever plan to revive the horror of the past few days by bringing it up.

I'm sure I'll find it somewhere in my cold, dead heart to forgive them someday. Forgive them? They didn't really do anything to intentionally hurt you.

Maybe I have been irrational this whole time. Maybe this whole thing was a mistake. I sigh heavily, lifting the covers off me and getting out of bed to take a long shower. After a brief glimpse of a slumbering Professor Hartley, I head for the bathroom.

The past is in the past.

(A/N LET IT GOOOO LET IT GOOOOOOOOOOOO I AM ONE WITH THE WIND AND SKYYYYY LET IT GOOOO LET IT GOOOO YOU'LL NEVER SEE ME CRYYY)

After half an hour of scalding hot water that warms my skin with a reddish hue and shrivels up my fingers like raisins, I dry myself off and find solace in a comfy shirt and ripped jeans. I step into the main room, finding the light already on and casting the furniture in a golden glow.

"Good morning, Miss Neversea," Professor Hartley's voice greets, clouded over by sleepiness.

I look up, pushing my damp hair aside to shoot him a hesitant smile, "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

Did you sleep well?! Am I a fucking 70 year old? Dear god, what's happening to me, who even says that anymore?!

A chuckle leaves him, "That's an odd pleasantry for you. I'll answer nonetheless - I slept well."

I nod, awkwardly hovering in the doorframe as the memory of us yesterday infiltrated my mind. I should probably explain myself.

"I don't want to make a big thing out of this, but I'm sorry about yesterday. My parents always send me into reckless and stupid mode. I've never had a great relationship with-"

"You don't need to explain yourself. It was a harmless kiss - it's forgotten," his lips turn up at the corners.

Never.

"Thank you. So do you have any lectures today?" I ask, to get away from my thoughts.

He stands, "Unfortunately, working as a lecturer means I don't get days off at this university - so yes, I do," he answers with a heavy sigh, a habit he doesn't often let slip.

I have to stop myself from showing my surprise on my face. This is probably the most human he's seemed since I've met him. The mature, serious, blank-faced Professor Hartley has emotion? Wow.

I have to ask.

"You don't seem all that happy about it," I observe as his eyes shoot to meet mine, questioning.

His gaze turns steely, hardening like an object submerged in liquid nitrogen.

"Am I not your tutor, Miss Neversea? Shouldn't you be more careful about what you say?"

This time I can't restrain the taken aback expression that invades my face. I glance downwards, "Sorry," I mutter.

Touchy subject...

His usual demeanour returns in the blink of an eye and I find myself holding my breath as he stalks around the room, grabbing various items before closing the bathroom door behind him.

What was that about?

Later that day, I find myself in Grant's room as he finishes off some work. I throw and catch a basketball in boredom, my hair splayed out over his pillow.

"Shouldn't you be done by now? You've been working for hours," I sigh, whining like a child as he pauses to look back at me.

"Not really, university is just a buttload of work. In fact, shouldn't you be working too?" he fires as I sit up and put down the basketball and give him a flat look.

I blow a strand of hair out my face, "Isn't university meant to be a learning curve? I don't want a repeat of primary and secondary school; I really don't feel like reliving past failures all over again. Uni is meant to be fun, not work work work," I heave a sigh, feeling my mind switch into depressed mode.

Grant seems interested, "What even happened in your past education? You always seem so down and negative when the topic of school comes up."

I huff, "Nothing. I was just never good enough. Can we go now?"

Without waiting for a reply, I pull my shoes on and head for the door.

"Quo, don't be like that, you've gotta open up to me at some point," he answers unexpectedly.

Usually when I refuse to give him an answer, he goes with it and lets it slide. I tug my wrist out of his grasp but stay grounded, "I'm not obliged to tell you anything."

I turn my head back to meet his gaze, and find him a lot closer than expected. I try to move back but he only moves in closer.

Uncomfortably close.

Ublinking, his eyes dart down to my lips.

I don't return the favour, the surprise in my veins freezing like ice and anchoring me into place. As he leans in closer, I can't find it in me to move. My heart stampedes against my chest, but not in a good way. He stops less than an inch away, tongue running across his lips like a wolf ready to devour its chosen victim.

"Quo, I've wanted to do this for so long."

Aaaaand unfreeze. The rap of knuckles against the door prompts me to jump a meter away from Grant and scramble to find my footing as I plummet to the floor. My butt hits the ground first but the pain doesn't register and Grant stands up, wide eyed as well.

I turn towards the door as Grant hurries to open it, meeting the baby blue eyes of Martha-Marinara-Meatballs.

Jesus Christ, she follows me like a shadow.

"Ah, Martha-May! Sorry, Quorra, can you step out really quick?" Grant asks, stumbling over his words with a flustered expression.

Seriously? She barges in and he asks me to leave? Whatever, staying would results in an awkward conversation. I stand up swiftly and head for the door, slamming my shoulder into Martha-Menstrual-Cycle as the door follows soon after. I make sure to disobey his orders and leave the floor completely, pressing the button for the top floor in my frustrated daze as I cross my arms.

Why am I angry the poor guy has feelings for me? I don't know, maybe because now we're friends I'll see him constantly and he'll keep trying to make a move. Godammit, Quo, stop being so goddamn irresistible, I mentally slap myself as the elevator doors ding! open and I head to my room.

Thoughts swirl around in my head, each one screaming for my attention. I almost walk straight into the door but it conveniently opens and saves me from a swollen forehead. My hands reflexively stretch out in front of me but now that the door is open, they land on a hard body.

I retract my arms the split second I feel a chiseled abdomen, eyes downcast as Professor Hartley pauses for a moment before stepping out the room, "Hello."

Cringing as if he had dragged his fingernails down a chalkboard, I return the greeting, "Sorro."

Dammit, Quo. My half-sorry-half-hello elicits a chuckle out of him as he shakes his head and walks off down the corridor (probably to one of those lectures he dreads).

"Quo! There you are, w-wait! WAI-"

I slam my room door shut loudly as soon as I catch a glimpse of Grant barrelling down the corridor. His hurried knocks come soon after, "Quorra, come on, let's talk about it."

I back away from the closed door, shaking my head, "No! Let's forget it happ- AAH!"

The back of my knees hit Professor Hartley's bed sooner than expected and I tumble back into the covers.

"Shit," I mutter, quickly getting off his cologne-infested bed before my hormones convince me to stay and soak in his scent.

... not creepy at all.

"Quo! Quorra, are you alright?"

Realising that I've been registering Grant's calls as background noise, I force myself to answer, "I'm fine! And let's not talk about this right now!"

Silence.

And then he speaks.

"Are you jealous that I invited her in and told you to leave?"

What? Is this even Grant I'm talking to? Where's the funny, kind, sometimes quirky attitude I've become accustomed to?

"No! Grant, I don't like you like that. I just left because she annoys me."

I realise how harsh my words sound a second too late. Wincing, I head towards the door, waiting guiltily for a response. Can you really blame me though? I've never have anyone actually like me before. It has always been the other way around - Tommy Rascan in reception for his ability to find every item I lost (although now I think about it he was probably the thief of them in the first place), John Evers in year three for being my partner after everyone excluded me, Matthew Poleski in year five for getting me a premade birthday card with three handwritten words in it (in my defence, the ending words 'Love, Matty' were incredibly misleading), and Jacob Starling throughout secondary school for his dreamy eyes and personality.

I pull the door open, but the current source of my guy problems is nowhere to be seen.

Oh jeez - I may have taken this a step too far.

◎granт lιncoln◎

As Quorra leaves the room, I run a hand through my messy hair, meeting Martha-May's eyes as she chews her gum pretentiously.

"What? Why did you call me?" she asks, walking closer in her form-fitting attire and tapping away on her phone.

"Come on, I've known you since we were kids, don't I deserve a little more than 'what'?" I ask, hoping to get her on my side to increase my chances of her agreeing to this deal.

Her makeup-coated eyes flicker up to me, squinted as if she didn't understand my humour, "What?"

I lean away from the desk and exhale, "Never mind. I have a deal for you."

Instantly, she pays more attention. She slides her phone into her bra and tilts her head at me, "I'm listening, boy."

Turning a blind eye to her nickname, I open the desk beside my bed, glancing in to make sure the notes were still there, "Alright," I begin, extracting the wad of newly-printed notes, "Here is £400."

I swear I see her eyes glaze over with dollar (well, pound) signs as she reaches out for the money, pausing halfway, "What do you want in return? I don't do the whole taking-your-virginity-for-money thing, Grant."

"I'm not a virgin," I scowl.

"Oh yeah?" she asks in disbelief, "Who took your v-card then?"

I narrow my gaze, "What's it to you? Moving on..." I hesitate before continuing, "in return, I want you to set me up with one of your friends."

She raises a perfect eyebrow, "One of my friends? Why?"

With a shake of my head, I hand her the money, "Take the money, no questions."

"Fine," she sighs, accepting the cash, "Which one do you want? Clara and Jesse already have boyfriends."

The look that I give her illustrates how much I don't care, "Whichever one is left."

"I have a feeling you only care about using them as an object. Do you not have a thing for any of them?" she interrogates further as I cross my arms over my chest, this encounter taking me back to our childhood days where I wasn't allowed to do anything without her poking her nose into everything.

"I said no questions. Do you want the money or not?" I snap, patience running shallow as she steps back, hands up.

Patting the wad of notes in her pocket, she heads for the door, "Alright, I'll set you up with Hannah."

I nod, satisfied.

This better work.

●（=｀～'=） ●

... What's up with Grant? And what's up with Prof. Hartley's snappy attitude in the beginning? Dun dun dunnnnnnnnnnn.