A/N: Hello Beans! It's the same long chapter. I hope you're getting used to my new update time, because I am (I know I repeat this a lot but some people have still been asking) and will be writing from London for the next three months. There is no update next week on Wattpad (I will release bits on Inkitt so if you'd like to go over there...) because it's Flight School update week eeeheeeee. 

Enjoy the chapter! And let me know what I should do for Vanilla's birthday special, since October is coming up realll fastttt.

____________________________

[Vanilla]

Chef Palmer was known to despise students who never understood the concept of punctuality. In fact, she wanted so much to prevent this that she had a list of names pinned to the noticeboard at the front of the class marking out the number of times (and number of minutes) someone was late. This called for the construction of a decent apology in which I'd commenced the moment Leroy and I parted ways, devising ways to word an excuse that didn't necessarily sound like one.

Either way, it didn't help that my mind had been thoroughly occupied with all the investigative journalism I'd been doing for Layla Tenner's oddly lacking performance in the cross-year. That, and the um. The other thing.

Bracing myself, I knocked twice and waited for a cue. Surprisingly enough, it never came—which was odd because I was so sure that Chef Palmer would have, by this point, been waiting at the door and preying upon whoever it was she was expecting. Nerves numbing the tips of my fingers, I pushed open the door and was at once met with the most unexpected round of applause and erupting of cheers.

"Congrats, man!" "Honestly didn't think you could do it." "You weren't disqualified!" "Guess it wasn't luck that you were good in class."

I had mixed feelings about the things I was hearing. One; I'd never in my life had to react to cheers and applause since, well, there wasn't a need to be doing that and two; I couldn't quite tell if the cheers were actually compliments or something else disguised as such. It was fairly hard to tell the distinction.

Either way, I wasn't the sole receiver of this rare phenomenon because the next thing I knew, Si Yin was waving at me from the front of the class, standing beside Chef Palmer with the strangest smile on her face. It resembled a cross between insane joy and her greatest attempt to prevent it from showing on her face, resulting in what seemed like a demon-possessed grin.

"What, are you going to stand at the door all day, White?" Chef Palmer's impatience and her smiles were apparently not mutually exclusive as she gestured for me to steer clear of the doorway. "Stand beside Xu and let me continue."

Afraid to defy her orders and incur the wrath of the palm—I mean, our homeroom teacher... was what I meant, um. So I stepped in, slowly and warily, without so much as sparing the rest of the class a glance. Needless to say, all eyes were on us and it wouldn't have taken a genius to figure this out.

"As I was saying," Chef Palmer went on as soon as I took my place beside Si Yin, tightening my grip on the strap of my bookbag for assurance. "For two out of the three first years participating in the cross-segment to be from our class is a great achievement and I want you all to learn from Xu and White. As leading examples of strong-willed, professional and adaptable budding chefs, I will be appointing them as class president and vice-president respectively. Any objections?"

Chef Palmer's first instinct had been to look around the class for opinions but the only person who had anything to say was the girl standing up front. "Uh," Si Yin had her fingers wriggling in the air and a sheepish smile on her face. "Yeah, I'm objecting to no one objecting to me...? Like. I can't be class president."

Our homeroom teacher appeared mildly amused. "Hm. So I take it that you're turning down the offer? CPs get opportunities to go on learning journeys. They also take part in interschool competitions when we have them, so it's a huge chance for culinary majors like you to get a head start in the industry..." Si Yin was shaking her head and waving her hands at the same time. Then, she got to nudging me in the side.

"Yeeah, okay that sounds very cool and all but I still don't like the sound of class president because responsibilities. How about," she got round to swapping places with me, so that I was, all of a sudden, closer to Chef Palmer. "Va—Julian. Be the... uh, thing? He's so much more responsible than I am and a less distracted leader. I can be vice-president. Cool?"

Chef Palmer blinked, appearing slightly confused. "White is not a culinary major. He has no part to play in interschool competitions nor as much to learn as a budding chef on learning journeys."

The simplest assessment of logic would reveal the several flaws in Chef Palmer's claim, whom I'd never once regarded as a person of bias, let alone one who allowed it to get in the way of proper judgement. Si Yin didn't seem to quite get what she meant.

"Huh? I'm confused. So, you mean, there's a requirement?" She seemed to be looking around for clues, including the notice board that had every announcement pinned up on it. "All class presidents have to be a red? Doesn't that limit your choices in the first place?"

"Well it's not exactly a requirement, but we've never really had nutritionists or critics as class president before." Chef Palmer's doubt soon translated into the conducting of a vote. This, however, didn't exactly turn out to be the best of ideas.

Five to four was what they proceeded to announce, clearly demonstrating a lack of will to make a concrete decision. Fearing escalated tensions and heightened prospects of embarrassment, I suggested leaving the matter for another day. This was primarily due to the row of students seated at the back of the class, whispering to one another and creating quite the distraction at every giggle and laugh.

"Yeah exactly. Why can't we do this another time, Chef?" One of them happened to agree with my proposed solution. "It's not like the role's fixed. CPs can get their titles taken away and plus, these two haven't taken any exams yet. They weren't the ones handling game like rabbit in the middle of the forest. Violet's the one who won. Not them."

Alright, the voice in my head acknowledged the point they were trying to make, casually noting the flippant tone they'd used in wording their argument. At once, I could tell Si Yin was mildly (or severely, I didn't know which because she tended to maintain the same look even on a spectrum) annoyed. To prevent her from prolonging the time we were taking to resolve this matter and finally take our seats for the start of homeroom, I stepped on her foot.

She turned to me with narrowed eyes and lips that looked as though a lemon had been in her mouth.

"As long as everyone's fine with that, then," Chef Palmer gestured for us to return to our seats. "I'll move on to briefing you about duty rosters. They've just got them printed for every class, so... here's ours." She held up a piece of paper that appeared to have our names printed under five categories, all separated into a table.

They worked according to rotations; meaning that while the teams were fixed, each would be assigned a different duty every week—namely, gardening, Line production, farming, service and... and storeroom?

"Stock-keeping and accounting for the thousands of products the school imports every single day. But access to the storeroom doesn't mean you can steal a couple of blueberries," Chef Palmer warned with an eye that swept the rest of the class. "All duties have the contact numbers of the people in charge printed beside the title, so find your name for the first week and get ready to start your duties tomorrow. And since we are twenty, one team of three gets to prance around duty-free every week."

A girl seated a table away from the noticeboard had taken the liberty of sending a picture of the list in the class group chat, triggering a simultaneous checking of phones all at once. I spotted Si Yin's name at once in the very first column of names. Under 'Farming.'

"Hey!" She had turned and called across the person seated in front of me and behind herself. "You get to pick strawberries! Leave some for me and make sure they're sweet."

I glanced down at my screen, scanning for my name before finally stopping at the last of 'Gardening', which I was pretty sure had more to do with weeding than picking strawberries but I suppose a pebble can dream.

==============

The overarching concept of campus accommodation could be divided into three hierarchical categories. Residence halls were for the general student body—ordinary dormitory rooms featuring shared bathrooms and common areas on every floor—and were open to application all-year-round. A more luxurious option would be the spice lodges, which were exclusive and could not be applied for unless invited.

How Leroy landed himself a spot in the spice lodges along with Raul and the rest of his closer friends was a miracle; and to be assigned a lodge that was the farthest away from the main study buildings was a nightmare. Admittedly, Cayenne had the greatest view of the Hudson river. This, I'd noticed from the past couple of visits I'd made as his personal AB tutor and wondered about the possibilities of hosting barbecues in summer out on the patio.

"Oh hey!" Raul was the one to answer the door, poking his head out before letting me in. "Didn't know you were coming today."

I blinked. "He didn't say?"

"Uh, his light's off," laughed his lodge mate, closing the door behind him while I surveyed the empty common area. "Dude's probably asleep. You're... study date? Play date? Or date, date."

"I'm here to save his grades and this is the treatment I get in return," I huffed, watching Raul make himself a cup of coffee while typing something on his phone. "So, um. Were you surprised by the results?"

He glanced up from his phone, appearing to think. "Mm, not really. I mean... yes, and no. I haven't seen Tenner around yeah? Poor her."

"Exactly. You'd think she would be demanding an explanation or being more vocal about it," I pointed out. "Have you heard anything from her team members?"

Raul shook his head. "I don't know them..." He then seemed to realize that I'd been standing idly by the couch for some time. "Uh, you need me to show you to his room?"

"Oh no. Well," I paused, glancing at the second floor that was slightly visible from where I was standing. "It's rude to enter someone else's room when they're sleeping, isn't it?"

"Yeah but you guys are—" He stopped abruptly, as though he was about to choke. "Uh, mm. I think you can just go in and I mean, he gave you the code, right? So. And anyway, he takes afternoon naps all the time especially when he has the late shift. It's just you came over quite a bit last week so you haven't seen him napping."

This was a rather surprising bit of information, especially since I would never expect someone like Leroy to be an afternoon napper. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to acknowledge the additional effort he was putting in for AB, and so giving Raul a nod of thanks, I started up the stairs and found myself in front of my student's door in less than a minute.

I knocked once. Twice. And then, after confirming that he would there most likely be asleep, keyed in the code on a digital number pad beside his door and opened it. Mhm.

Asleep.

Closing the door behind me with a sigh, I placed my bag on the ground beside his bed and paused. What an odd sleeping position. It was a miracle that he hadn't woken up from the numbness in his right arm, placed underneath his head while he laid on his side in seeming peace. Grabbing the pillow that he wasn't even using, I decided to drop it on the owner's head. It fell to the side without much of an effect, so I was in the middle of considering alternatives when he began to stir.

And by stir, I mean open an eye.

"Join me," was all he said before closing said eye and returning to lying on his side, except rolling over and leaving the space in front of me empty. This was not in my list of alternatives.

"Well, if you're going to keep this up then I guess I'll be heading home since I wouldn't want to be teaching a bunch of pillows on the basics of accounting."

This seemed to work. He groaned, sitting up mid-sentence and running a hand through his hair that was not going to be tamed without water and a comb. I waited, pulling out the foldable coffee table and the cushions we'd used to sit on. He seemed to be taking his time on the bed, which led me to think that he'd somehow returned to dreamland when I realized all he was doing was looking at his phone.

"Is something wrong?" I asked upon observing the expression on his face. Mild annoyance.

His lips drew thin. "They're asking me to replace someone else who's supposed to be giving a briefing. For the new members." Turning back to his phone, which I assume he was using to resolve this, I heard him curse under his breath.

"Language, Leroy. And, well, what's holding you back?" I pointed out, producing a text on digital journalism from my bag. The latest edition from the school library. "Are you that reluctant to see your juniors?"

He snorted. "You know I don't really care about that."

"Hm," I blinked. "So what is it that you care about then?"

"You?"

He'd said this with narrowed eyes and a crooked smile, as though I'd posed a silly question—which the prideful voice inside my head did not find very accepting. Offhandedly, I expressed an absence of this said 'care', which hadn't been very obvious to its receiver.

"I'm serious," he stood and crossed the room, opening his closet for a change of clothes. And after removing his (hm, would that be a gym vest or a tank top or... I need to Google that) shirt, looked over his shoulder and met my gaze. "You'll wait?"

I sighed, holding up my book. "You could say I came prepared."

"Reading?" He laughed. "Sorry. I'll be back in less than an hour. You... hungry or anything?"

"Well the least you could do is buy me a drink as an apology," I suggested without real meaning, smiling in a way that would convey my sentiments accurately. This, however, did not seem to work.

"Yeah, I'll get you one," he picked up a bag that had been lying in the middle of the room and slung it over his shoulder. Looks like bag-packing wasn't necessarily a thing for him. "Chamomile?"

"W-who! What," I couldn't comprehend. "It's half-past three in the afternoon, Leroy. The sun's high up in the sky and it's too hot to be drinking that."

"It... could be iced," he shrugged, standing in the doorway and challenging whatever it was I had to say. I scoffed.

"Iced chamomile tea. Well I'd certainly bow down to you if you find that in any store."

The candle in his eyes flickered in a moment of mischief and right then and there, I found myself regretting every bit of my existence. Sealing the deal by repeating my exact words, Leroy left, closing the door behind him and leaving me alone in his room.

Admittedly, it was a weird feeling—to be in the middle of a bedroom that wasn't mine and having to entertain myself for an hour or so. The presence of the owner himself had perhaps made every visit fairly natural and easy to overlook details of him littered within four walls. The gym vest he'd just changed out of lay abandoned at the corner of his bed, strewn across the floor like its fellow comrades who belonged in the laundry basket by the closet.

Closing an eye to the mess that was his room, I laid out the remaining AB textbooks and past work to be continued before getting to my own reading. I'd also decided to keep myself awake with the rum and raisin chocolate bar that I was given earlier this morning by said owner of room. 

And just as I was about to lean against the bed frame behind me for a relaxing time, I felt something poking my lower back. A single glance confirmed that Leroy had stacks of notes and textbooks hidden under his bed; out of sight, out of mind.

I sighed, leaving my text on the foldable table and re-arranging the notes so that they no longer jutted out. But as soon as this was done and I had managed to fit them under the bed frame, the resulting consequence was the re-arranged, neat stack of notes giving way to a pile of first-year journals and exercise books beside it, all of which ultimately landed on an entangled mass of wires that appeared to be his phone, laptop, and camera chargers.

"God, this idiot."

Leaving all desires to read my text behind, I picked up the journals and, upon seeing that his bookshelf was filled with snacks instead of, well, books, I saw the need to give this entire room a good lesson of order and cleanliness. If Leroy was going to complain about not knowing where his stuff were, so be it. What absolutely ridiculous living conditions! How did I not notice all this, having dropped by multiple times already?

Strictly speaking, there wasn't much one could do, left alone in someone else's room. Apart from the monotonous scrolling through social media or anything technology-related, respecting their space and not touching anything was by right the polite thing to be doing. Yet, here I was: picking up the clothes strewn across the floor and sending them into their rightful place in the laundry basket, hanging up the gym vest which he might possibly want to re-wear, making his bed that he'd left destroyed and covers amok, arranging textbooks and journals neatly onto the shelf that once housed his snacks, now packed into a box and fit perfectly under his bed.

While the entangled mess of wires and chargers had me equally irked, it was more of a reach to be tidying up his electronics—including the cameras and lenses he had on his desk and the laptop that was balanced precariously on the window ledge, screen half-closed. Briefly, one could see that Leroy had been in the middle of either exporting something into the hard drive connected to his laptop or copying something over from the device itself. Closing it completely might result in the stopping of whatever progress it had gotten to, so I'd decided to leave it alone.

The urge to get an idea of what kind of pictures Leroy would take with that professional DSLR of his was strong. Knowing that snooping around someone else's room was not a sin that I had the mind to be committing however, I returned to my cushion in front of the foldable coffee table, resting my head on it and feeling the tick of boredom and sleep began to sound at the back of my head.

I gave the time on my phone a glimpse.

_________________

To: Just Let Me Impress You

If the reason why you're taking so long is because of that iced chamomile tea, I'm suing you.

_________________

Wiping hands with a Kleenex and throwing that into the bin from where I was seated, I felt the urge to remove my glasses and close my eyes for a quick refreshment of energy. Having attempted reading the first few pages of my book after sending Leroy a text, the swimming words only further encouraged a temporary rest in the form of closed eyes.

I sat back, unintentionally leaning on the bedframe behind me that was, oddly enough, more comfortable than before. And before I could turn or even open my eyes to register what it was my head was resting against—that soft, inviting comfort marked by a scent strangely familiar, unusually soothing—the instinctive voice in my head was lulling me to sleep with a naïve 'just five minutes.'

===================

[Leroy]

He was fast asleep, head resting against the side of my bed, tilted in a way that had half his face buried in the duvet. His steady breathing was enough to distract me from the rest of my room—in the cleanest state I'd ever seen it in. I closed the door and dropped my bag on the desk, turning to get a better view of him. He had forgotten to remove his glasses and they looked like they were about to slip off his nose that was small.

I bent down, reaching behind his ears to remove the spare before placing it on the table in front of him. It was hard to keep my fingers where they were without his glasses. His lashes were in full view, brushing the skin underneath his eyes and shivering every now and then. I put my jacket over him but being the light, sensitive sleeper he was, he stirred.

I stood to retrieve the paper bag that contained his drink while waiting for him to figure out where he was. He reached up to rub his eyes before registering my face. Or my back, since I was in the middle of pretending to put away my things and change out of my uniform.

"You're back..." he struggled to sit up, noting the jacket over his chest a little too late. "Have I—was I... good god, that must have been unsightly. I'm sorry." It was kind of the opposite, but I figured that was too much information. His ears were dusted with heat and he seemed to be staring at the spot on my duvet that he was sleeping on. This was after he'd put on his glasses.

"Were you bored?" I slipped the shirt over my head and was about to drop the jersey on the floor when I caught myself and tossed it into the laundry basket instead. "I got you the drink."

He was all ears. "What! Iced chamomile tea? I mean, they actually have that kind of thing in stores?" I nodded at the paper bag in front of him and he peered into it. "Unbelievable!"

I held back my amusement, cracking open the can of coke I got for myself. "Try it."

He slipped the plastic cup carefully out of its bag and paused at the logo printed on the side. Then, he turned to me with a look. "Really? Leroy?" His face said it all, but his eyes went back to the cup and the straw I'd stuck in. "You went all the way to your workplace just to get something that wasn't even on the menu? So—did you... did you make this yourself?"

I laughed, shrugging. "You didn't say I couldn't make it. Only that I had to get you a drink, so. Still counts." His reaction was to roll his eyes, but the smile on his lips betrayed the excitement I knew he was feeling.

It was the way the blue in his eyes would sizzle like sea foam on the surface of the ocean. The kind of gaze that pre-empted every change in his emotional state, deepening the moment he had the straw between his lips.

"It's—!"

"Different?" I finished for him, filling the space across the table for a better view of his reaction. "Chamomile with a strawberry and honey infusion."

He sipped on it further, both hands on the cup as though the excitement in it wasn't enough to be held with one. "Please tell me you weren't coming up with this instead of giving your juniors a well-informed briefing."

"Unlike someone," I wanted to tease, laying out the boxes of Chinese I got along the way for dinner. "I'm good at multi-tasking." Held out a pair of disposable chopsticks. He stared at it.

"Well, it's not my fault that I assign undivided attention to a task at hand, Leroy," he was still looking at the chopsticks. "And, um, is that...? Are you asking me to break it up for you?"

"No dumbass," I stuck the chopsticks in his face so that he would accept them. "We're eating. Chinese. Take-out." I nodded at the boxes on his end so that he would open them and he obliged, still stunned by my words.

"O-oh. Well, I suppose it is dinner time, but. I thought we were studying for your AB test on Thursday."

I paused. "How did you know about that?" I honestly wasn't in the mood to study but with the test on his mind, I was sure he wasn't going to take 'no' as an answer.

"You told me," he sighed, glancing at the label on one of the boxes and smiling a little. "Oh. Stir fried glass noodles."

"There's Kung Pao chicken and hand-shredded cabbage too," I pushed a bowl his way and pointed at the other two boxes. With my chopsticks. Just to see if he was going to correct me and he did; almost immediately.

"Don't point with your chopsticks, Leroy," he said before reaching for a dice of chicken and then giving it a nod. "It's not bad... was it expensive though? I'll pay for my half."

"Just eat," I told him, transferring half the noodles into my bowl. He seemed reluctant at first, but then got to digging in after watching me do so. I let him go on about the chapters that the test was going to cover and I was amazed how he knew better than I did since, uh, he obviously wasn't the one attending the class. Not like I was present myself, I mean. If sleeping counts.

He sipped on the tea I made him every now and then, and after a moment of silence and nervous glancing my way, cleared his throat.

"I wasn't expecting you to come back with a drink of such calibre, so," he looked up once before lowering his gaze back down at his bowl. "Thank you. I guess."

It was cute. I nearly choked.

"Thanks for cleaning my room."

"Oh! Um," he blinked, as though he hadn't been expecting something from me. "That's fine. Thank you for the meal. I didn't think you'd get dinner for me too."

"Thanks for waiting."

"I kind of fell asleep doing that though, so... I-I guess it wasn't very nice of me to be sleeping on your quilt like that but, um, thanks for putting the uh, the jacket thing..."

"Okay we should stop." I put more food in his bowl, knowing that I'd start drifting if he kept this up with that look on his face. "I'll clear this up and we can get to studying."

"Oh! Yes," he snapped out of the bashful state he was in. "I'll help."

*

I couldn't remember if it was the formula for the population or sample standard deviation that had the 'N' square rooted and I needed to check. Problem was, I'd told him I had it all down in my head and he wasn't convinced so I'd made a bet on the next couple of questions, saying that I didn't need to look at the textbook. Clearly, he was bad influence because I was now overestimating my own abilities.

My phone was on the bed, charging. The textbook was on the floor beside his cushion and he had his face buried in his readings for tomorrow. 'The Science Behind Taste.'

I decided to test the waters. "Tell me when's your birthday?"

He didn't bother looking up from his book, which was always the case because, yeah. 'Undivided attention to his task at hand.' Slowly, I reached over for the AB text while he came up with an answer.

"If you score a sixty percent for the test on Thursday then maybe I will." He kept his eyes on the page he was looking at.

"What the fuck I can't wait three days." I wasn't lying or pretending. The textbook was on my lap now, under the table. I felt for the marked page.

"It's three days, Leroy," he glanced up unsuspectingly, returning to his reading as soon as he saw that I had stuff written on the paper. "That's not a lot. Also, I don't think it's a good idea to be multi-tasking right now when you should be spending all that brain energy of yours on winning that bet. It'd be perfectly hilarious to see you running around with your collar button done up and your tie faultlessly straight."

"Three days is too long," I went straight to negotiating. "I don't have the patience."

Scanning the page for the formula, I thanked silent fucks I decided to check—it wasn't even a square root, it was a square and then rooting the entire thing, denominator and all.

"And I don't have the obligation to tell you my birthday either," he pointed out with a straight face and I was already slipping the textbook back to where I found it. "I also believe that cheating is an extremely cowardly thing, apart from the willingness to try and distract the other half with meaningless conversation, so." He looked up, straight in my eyes and I knew there was no resisting.

Defeated, I let him look at whatever it was I had on the examination pad, falling back onto the cushion with a groan. "Fine. I'll wear the damn tie how you like it."

He was grinning; or at least trying his best to hide the smile on his lips while pretending to look exasperated at my scribbles of math. I heard him saying something about not even being able to memorise the shit, let alone know where to apply it before sipping on the last of his iced tea. "I'll revoke the bet if you get the next question correct without looking," he said after sliding the papers back to me. "You get one hint and that's it."

"Someone's lenient today."

He reached up to adjust the glasses on his nose. "I was dreaming, thinking that you could do the rest of the questions without any help so I suppose you could say I'm currently being realistic."

I got to focusing all my attention and concentration on fucking square roots and standard deviations for the next half an hour. Begrudgingly. But also just 'cuz I was bent on proving him wrong. Miraculously, I nailed the first four.

Out of ten.

"Well, at least you're on your way to passing," was what he said after grading my work and I gave him the finger.

"Why's it screwing me over all of a sudden?" I didn't get it. "I got a B for the assignment."

"You can't possibly be expecting the entire course to be taught at a basic level, Leroy. Accounting is more than just plugging in the numbers to a fixed formula, which, might I add, you can't even memorise."

"Yeah but it's called accounting basics," I had a point and he seemed to realize it too. Either way, I was too tired to think so I thought of resting my head on the coffee table and letting the math pain go away. I did just that.

"Well! Yes, but... I mean, that could very well have been a figure of speech and strictly speaking, we are still technically working on the basics because the intermediate level is much harder than this, I assure you. Either way, I'm glad you got the first couple of questions correct because that would mean that you did get the hang of applying the formula but in the second half, you tripped up because you used the same technique without realizing that you first need to be figuring out the... deviation curve which I see you did not... and so you wouldn't know if..."

*

Oh fuck. I sat up. I fell asleep.

And this all I only got to realizing when I had my eyes half-open and my head still on the table, woken by the rustling of papers and shuffling of some other stuff. I glanced down at the equations on textbook I was sleeping on and got all the information I needed to understand what I'd been doing before god-knows-how-long I was sleeping.

That, and the side of my head was hurting. Like, physically—which meant that it wasn't a headache, but I didn't know why.

"It's late."

He was sorting books and notes into respective folders before packing them neatly into his bag. And then he was standing, and I don't know why, but I was all of a sudden wide awake when I finally registered that he was leaving.

"You're going?"

He paused, turning over his shoulder with a look that was a little different from how I remembered him to be before falling asleep. Shit, he must be mad.

"Well. What does it look like I'm doing?"

"I was wrong. I'll pay attention this time, I swear." My voice was throaty from sleep and I couldn't even tell if he understood exactly what it was I was trying to say but his expression changed to one of surprise.

"Oh um, I'm not angry or anything," his tone sounded reluctant. As though he had something to hide. "You've had a long day, I understand. I mean it quite literally, actually—it's almost eleven in the evening and I've already missed the last train so I'm left with the last bus, which departs in... ten minutes! Good god." He panicked after glancing at the screen of his phone, starting towards the door.

"Why?" I stopped him, rising and following while he retrieved his blazer at the coat rack. "Just stay the night."