I press the ice to her forehead gently, pulling the duvet over the lower half of her fragile body. Her face is completely washed out and her body seem just as drained. She looks completely depleted of energy and life.

How many times has this happened now? This setting is becoming all too familiar and it's not a good thing.

Quorra winces at the cold sensation, stirring in her unconsciousness as I sigh.

I need to tell someone. What's been happening lately is not healthy and clearly nothing that I say is going to snap her out of it. Maybe finding her slumped over a stack of textbooks has been the final straw.

I glance over to the side table at Quorra's laptop, recalling the multiple times I've walked in on her and her sister's evening conversations over Skype.

Should I?

"What do I do with you, Quorra?" I murmur quietly into the room, removing the ice from her head and brushing away the bead of water that trickles down her temple.

After half an hour of mental debate, I find myself opening up her laptop and clicking on the Skype app.

She wasn't happy the last time you contacted her family, my conscience reminds me.

I block out my thoughts, reassuring myself that this is the right thing to do. This phase that she's caught up in is clearly causing her physical damage now; her cheeks are always sunken in and her skin pale, she looks eternally exhausted, and I'm almost certain that she hasn't eaten a grain of rice in the last week.

How long can the human body survive without food?

A little while.
But she's not drinking anything either.

That is enough to coax my finger into selecting 'Lara' from Quorra's contact list and tapping the call icon.

The thrum radiates from the laptop for half a minute as I let my gaze wander over to a sickly-looking Quorra. Her eyebrows are upturned with obliviousness and the peacefulness of sleep. For some odd reason, my heart thuds in my chest with anxiety. Will she be upset with me for this?

Never mind. It's for her own good.

I force myself to look back at the pixellated screen when Lara picks up.

"Hey, Q....uo... Damn, she wasn't lying. I swear, if I wasn't engaged..."

I turn my head at the odd greeting but return one nonetheless, "Hello, sorry to interrupt your day."

Lara laughs at my formality and smiles widely at the screen, "No problem, but I can't help but notice that you aren't my sister. Everything cool?"

I take in a breath, every muscle in my body tense, "Actually... Quorra hasn't been herself lately."

Lara stops ogling immediately and sits a little straighter, "What happened?"

"She hasn't been eating," already, I hear Lara shatter, "or taking care of herself in general. I found her unconscious at her desk."

I'm met with silence, and the guilt suffocates me as I flit my gaze over to a sound-asleep Quorra.

"I don't understand," Lara breathes, her overarching panic blatant, even through the poor resolution of the screen, "Why?"

She grows paler by the second as I look down at my hands, hearing the question I've been asking myself every day lately.

"I guess," I sigh, mood low, "the pressure got to her. She thinks your parents and I am against her. She pushed herself to study and locked herself away with her work. Her body couldn't take it anymore."

Still, the quiet prevails.

"But that's not why I called, questioning won't get us very far. Do you think you could change the direction she's going in right now?" I ask hopefully, quieting my voice as Quorra stirs.

"Wait," Lara pauses, leaning closer to her camera, "You seem to care a lot about her. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate it because my baby sis needs help sometimes, but I can't help but think that there's something going on between you. Is there?"

I look off to the side and reinstall my professional demeanour, trying to wipe the look off my face, "No, Lara. I assure you there never will be. Student-teacher relationships are against university policy."

Lara adopts an amused look on her face before she remembers her sister's state and resumes an upset one, "Do you need me to come over?"

I swallow nervously, glad that the subject has passed, "Ah, do you think that would help?"

The room is filled with Quorra's soft breathing as she turns her face into her pillow, looking void of energy. The dark blonde across the laptop screen struggles over a response.

"I think it would, but there's kind of something I was meaning to tell Quorra before," she appears uncomfortable as she plays with her hair, shifting the part to the other side.

Quorra suddenly stretches and rubs her eyes, about to wake up.

"I've got to go. Thank you for understanding, and if you do decide to come, I look forward to seeing you. Enjoy the rest of your day," I quickly end our conversation.

As soon as a taken-aback Lara nods and returns a somewhat forced smile, I shut Quorra's laptop and set it back down next to her bed.

● qυorra neverѕea ●

I sleepily rub my eyes and sit up, feeling physically and mentally drained as I always have for the past week or two.

"Good afternoon."

My eyes fly open as I sharply inhale, goosebumps rising on my arms at the sudden voice. As soon as I realise it's Slater, I press a hand to my chest, calming my racing heart. Lately, my senses have been hyperaware and I'm constantly jumping at every tiny disturbance.

"Hello," I greet back, feeling confused as I look around my dorm room, wondering how I got here.

What was I doing?

"I found you unconscious over your textbooks," he provides as I blink at him and mumble an 'oh'.

"Fuck, what time is it?" my eyes widen as I scramble out of bed and chase away the persistent, tired feeling that plagues my body.

I can hear the frown etching itself in his face as he replies, "That's 10p. I'm starting to realise that this money-for-swearing idea isn't working. I don't think you actually paid me a single pence yet. And it's 6:42."

"Crap," I mutter, pacing blindly as I click the home button on my phone to check my studying timetable that I've set as my background, "Ah fuck, I'm behind now."

With a groan, I collapse back onto my bed, unwanting to acknowledge that the weight in my chest is so heavy that only sleep can lift it.

Slater leans over me to grab my phone and check my background.

His gaze finds me, an unrecognisable emotion swimming in his dark chocolate eyes.

"This isn't healthy, Quorra," he addresses as I sigh and roll my eyes.

As he removes his glasses, I try to avoid his gaze that entraps me every time I'm caught up in it.

"You aren't my doctor," I defend, uncomfortable due to his lingering, analysing eyes.

The air surrounds us, thick with our battling emotions of worry and frustration.

"First I'm not your dentist and now I'm not your doctor? I realise that, Quorra, but I am your lecturer and your roommate."

I cross my arms, feeling belittled at his argument. When I don't supply a comeback, he sits down on his bed, sighing. I wait for him to break the silence first, despising this feeling of being attacked.

"Stop it," I decide to say, "Stop acting like you care so much. I do whatever I want with my body. If I'm not hungry, I'm not gonna eat. I know my limits and-"

"-and you've clearly exceeded them."

For a minute, I'm stunned that he even interrupted me.

"I'm still alive," I snap, gesturing to myself, "Who are you to tell me otherwise?"

He closes his eyes for a moment, as if to recollect himself, "Barely alive, Quorra."

I can't argue with that.

The heaviness in my chest builds further, a certain chill sweeping across me from head to toe. I lift my weighted gaze up to meet his, the soundless atmosphere strangling me tighter with every passing second.

"I know how you're feeling," Slater continues, as I silently abhor the softening of his eyes, "I know how it feels to think that everyone and their long-lost cousin thinks you are a failure if you don't achieve perfection."

"Then why do you teach?" I fire back, noticing the waver in my tone, "All teachers do is pressure their students to be top of the class and perfect. I'm nothing without a letter and a star next to my name, and I know it. Don't try to tell me otherwise, that's the only thing I'm even sure of now."

That sucks the words right out of him, but he doesn't look surprised by my outburst. I shift uncomfortably under the covers, leaning against the wall as I wait for another judgemental response. It doesn't come for a solid few seconds.

"Come out to eat with me."

The conversation has been turned on its head completely.

"What?" I squint at him incredulously.

He stands, hypnotic cologne following him as he glances at himself the mirror before turning to me, "You know, food."

All of a sudden, he seems casual and almost... friendly.

"No," I immediately reject, "that is the absolute last thing I want to be doing with my lecturer. Besides, skipping meals has saved me a lot of time."

I missed not having this gnawing greed inside of me, begging me to put something of substance in me, but it's worth trading for better grades.

"You have to at least drink some water. You can't survive without it for more than a few days, and even the rare cases don't last for more than ten days maximum. You are seriously pushing it, Quorra," he sighs, "I see the improvement in your grades. I see you putting more effort in during lectures and I'm glad that you have realised the need for you to succeed in this university, but none of that should come at the cost of your health. You've never looked so-"

"-stop it," I run my hands down my face, completely exhausted, "I know. I-I know, okay? Just stop it."

He stops, sensing that he's hit a sore spot.

"If I go with you will you just not bring this up again?" I resolve, regret already clamping down around my heart.

Slater seems to be deep in thought for a while.

"If you eat at least one meal with me a day, I will," he compromises.

I purse my lips. He treats me as if I have an eating disorder or something.

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

I prod at the rice in front of me, mindlessly fidgeting as Slater's gaze burns into the side of my head. He stands, side against the dresser, with his food in his hand.

After I refused to be seen with him publically in the canteen, he brought the food up to us.

"I should be working," I mumble, now realising the extent of the paranoia that's taken over my mind.

His response is laced with disapproval, "Quorra, I spent money on that food."

At that, I shovel a spoonful of fried rice in my mouth. Mixed with the acidic remnants of anxiety on my tongue, it tastes putrid. I hurriedly chew and swallow it, nervous under Slater's intense gaze.

"I'm sorry," I sigh, "I'm just distracted right now. I don't want to eat."

My English professor walks over quietly to sit down opposite me, setting down his food with a steely expression. I mentally prepare myself for a lecture, and not one regarding the use of techniques in literature.

He starts, his addictively silky voice distracting me for a split second, "Quorra, your body is being starved right now. You are not well and somewhere in that ambivalent head of yours, you realise this. I can't deny that you are doing much better academically, but you need to be spending more time on looking after yourself right now. Suddenly switching from... lax... to tenacious and hard-working is too abrupt for your mental and physical state. Take a break. I hope you actually absorb this advice, because trust me, I know what I'm talking about," his eyes search mine for a reply and if nothing else, I find myself latching onto that last sentence of his.

Slater Hartley... what an enigma.

I tune back into the rest of his speech, swallowing and looking down at my container of food.

"But then I'll go back to the old me. My grades were so low that no-one would be able to limbo under that damn bar."

"I just don't-"

"-No. You listen to me, Slater. I've worked my ass off since I was a kid, trying to accomplish what everyone around me did with a blink of their eye. Every time I did, I was knocked down by a shitty test result or a look of disappointment from someone I cared about. I just gave up by the time I was enrolled to this university but I've started again, and for once, it's paying off, and I'm finally proud of how far I'm getting. So why is nobody else proud of me?

"Why is everyone just constantly disappointed in me? I can try my best or my worst and still, no-one appreciates what I do. It's like I'm always in an unchanging state of feeling sick to my stomach! What the fuck would you do in my situation, Slater? No, you don't relate. You can't relate because you've always been able to please those around you!" I finish after a long while, the frustration building in my eyes and threatening to overflow.

As soon as the last sentence leaves my lips, he stands and leaves the room without a glance my way.