My head's too heavy as if a weight is attached and pulling it down into the soft pillow. With each breath I take, Spencer Wright's intoxicating scent invades my senses more and more. I force my limbs to move and turn in my spot and lay on my side. The mattress underneath me is soft under my palms. Much softer than mine. It's enough to encourage my willpower to work harder and crack open an eye.

Black consumes me. A moment later the realization sinks in. I'm in Wright's room. I groan, my muscles ache but I move my arm paying no heed to the stiffness, rub my eyes and run my hand through the tangled mess of my hair.

The day's events rush back into my head with blinding speed, making my head pound.

I stare blankly at the window, catching glimpses of the sun sinking behind the horizon through the drawn curtains.

In the safety of the room's darkness, I let my thoughts run wild.

Even though Spencer told me not to blame myself for Dad's death, how can I not?

Maybe if I had tried harder, found a job instead of working on the solution, I would have been able to prevent this.

Perhaps if Mason wasn't paralyzed this wouldn't have happened. After all, I ruined my brother, his only son's life.

Maybe if I hadn't overlooked his odd behavior on Thursday, he still would have been with us.

I curl inwards and hug myself.

Thinking about him hurts. My first instinct is to turn back to being mad at all the people who left us alone, Benjamin Stewart who ruined our lives, but once again, Wright's words echo in my head and I stop myself from doing that.

Instead, I allow my mind to explore the pain, to face it, feel it.

Even though it makes my eyes well up again, I don't stop. Not even when my chest tightens and my heart aches, neither when it seems I can't breathe.

I let myself feel.

I mourn my father.

Once more, sleep invades me and I give in to it.

The next time I wake up, being in his room isn't unfamiliar, though I don't remember how I ended up here. Maybe he carried me while I fell asleep in the cemetery. I glance at the window and now the outside is dark too. For how long did I sleep?

Regardless of struggling to focus on anything, I feel much lighter, though my face is puffy and the room seems to swim before my vision once sit up on the bed, I don't go back to sleep. I press the heels of my palms to my eyelids, then press them against my temple hoping to ease the headache but it doesn't help.

I sigh and slide myself to the edge of the bed, throwing my legs off of it and my bare feet hit the dark wooden floor.

I frown and scan the floor, searching for my shoes and find them neatly placed at the foot of the bed.

A smile creeps to my face. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and in the darkness, I try to find a clock.

A small twin bell alarm clock on the nightstand shows it's past eight. But what surprises me, even more, is the glass of water, a bottle of pills, and a note. Under the nightlamp's faint illumination I read his messy handwriting sprawled across the small piece of white paper.

'The pills are for if you happened to have a headache.

Feel free to stay in the room if you don't feel like coming outside. I've left clothes for you, change if you want to, you should be able to see them if you turn exactly 180 degrees.'

I roll my eyes and bite my lip to stop myself from giggling. Though I do turn and exactly behind me, there's a sofa I hadn't noticed before, not even the first time I had come to his room, maybe he has bought it recently. But the clothes are laying on it.

I turn back to read the rest of the note:

'If you were hungry there is food in the kitchen (that is if you decide to turn to a ghost again, but if not, you can tell me and the rest will be solved)

You can find me either in my study or behind the dining table,

S. Wright'

I reread the note and can't stop myself from grinning like an idiot. His thoughtfulness causes an electrifying warmth to flood me. My heart flutters and the butterflies in my stomach go wild.

I don't even know how he does it. How he makes me forget about everything else... just like he did earlier today in the cemetery.

I ignore my irregular heartbeat and down a pill before standing up and walking towards the black sofa. I pick the white shirt and black sweatpants and narrow my eyes as a thought strikes me.

Maybe he likes white clothes... or maybe he likes seeing me in white. Because the previous time too, he had given me a white shirt.

Heat rushes to my cheeks and I shake my head. I'm being absurd. Without another thought, I remove my own black dress and wear the things he has laid for me and adjust their sleeves accordingly.

I leave my black dress on the plush loveseat and head to the bathroom and freshen up. After being convinced that I'm as presentable as I can be under these circumstances, with hesitant steps I head out of the bedroom.

Just as I step out, my gaze lands on Wright with his ruffled hair, seated behind the dining table, piles of papers and textbooks sprawled over every inch of surface, while he feverishly writes something.

As if sensing my gaze, his eyes jump on me, eyebrows raising slightly. "You're up." A small smile tugs at his lips as he twirls the pen between his fingers. "How are you feeling?"

With slow steps I near and him and offer a weak smile. "Better."

"Hungry?"

"Starving."

He nods and his gaze falls over the mess and he runs his hand through his hair. "Uh... just give me a moment to put these away." Getting to his feet clumsily, he throws his pen between the book and closes it.

"You don't have to do that, there's plenty of space." I wave my hand around and he halts.

"You sure?"

"Yeah." I nod and offer another smile.

He inhales sharply and again runs his fingers through his hair. His eyes are tired and unfocused. For a beat, he blankly stares at a spot near the entrance door, unfocused and so not like himself. But just as fast as it happened, it goes away as he draws himself to his full height and it's like a switch flickered off, turning him to his usual cold self.

With long and assured strides, he goes to the kitchen and I follow him closely and settle on one of the stools as he looks around the fridge.

I watch him closely, noting everything, as I plant my elbow on the black marble top of the kitchen island.

Unlike his fluid and confident movements in the classroom and almost every other place, Spencer Wright cannot seem more out of place in his own kitchen.

Finally, from the fridge, he takes out a pot, that I was ready to bet he'd drop it, and places it on the electric stove. For a solid moment, he vacantly stares at the black screen before pushing his glasses up his nose and bending down slightly to scan it. With his lips pressed into a thin line and furrowed burrows, he looks too cute to handle. Eventually, he taps a few of the buttons and I'm taking a wild guess he got it running.

Pressing my palm to my mouth to hide my on-growing smile, I mumble, "You know, I wouldn't have minded if you'd just microwaved it."

He shoots me a dirty glare and I grin at him before he again checks to make sure he has turned on the stove.

"Do you live here?"

His head snaps to me. "Excuse me?"

I shrug. "I really find it hard to wrap my head around the concept of a person living in a place but not knowing how to use its kitchen supplies."

"I do know how to use them," he scowls.

"If you say so." I smile and he rolls his eyes. After a second, I shift on my stool, laying both forearms atop the cool marble top, I say, "You don't know how to cook, do you?"

He glowers at me, amusing me further. "I do... but I just rather not."

"Because you'd burn down the entire building?" I bite my lip to stop myself from giggling.

He huffs and walks over to the other side of the kitchen, opening two cabinets until reaching the one he is probably looking for. "Any drink preferences?"

I quickly scan the bottles. "The vodka would be great."

He ignores me and picks up one of the wine bottles and I roll my eyes. As he moves to unscrew it, I drum my fingers on the countertop.

"So... can I call you Spencer from now on?" I ask.

He halts and glances at me. "Uh... yeah sure. It'd feel weird to have you calling me 'professor' in my home anyway," he answers, but his focus stays on the bottle. He places it next to me and goes to the other end of his kitchen, selecting two glasses and walking back to me. "But just not in front of other students," he adds as he pours some of the red wine for me, leaving his own glass empty.

"Thanks," I mumble and sip my drink, instantly surprised by the rich texture.

I arch an eyebrow at him. "So... what happened next? After you burned the car your dad gave you?"

∞ ∞ ∞

So this chapter was initially about 4k words and I had to break it into 2-3 parts (that's the reason if the ending feels abrupt).

Regardless, I just want to say, thank you so so so much for reading this very very messy story lol. Today marks the day that this story has the highest number of reads (about 4.5k reads) between all my other stories, and that's all thanks to you guys!

I really hope you're enjoying it (and I hope you stick around because the fun fun part (if you know what I mean ;) ) starts from chap 60 and I can't wait for you guys to read that and the following chapters ^^

Just a heads up, I've calculated once again, and it turns out this story might turn out to have about 85-100 chapters 👀 yeah my first plan was to keep it to a sweet 40 chaps lmao =)))))

Anyyyway thanks a lot for reading this story, I hope you're enjoying reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it =)

Don't forget to comment your thoughts and vote!

Love ya :**

Stay safe, happy reading <33