(April 2018 note: no changes have been made to this chapter. I just had to reupload because some spacing issues were irritating me. Chapter 51 is the latest update)

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"Stop her, quick! She's not in the right state of mind to be leaving right now!" I hear a deep, alluring voice instruct.

Moments later, the door I manage to unlock and open is being slammed shut again, and another pair of arms are yanking me backwards into a firm chest. I fight back but one look at Hannah, who stands at the top of the staircase, tells me there's no use.

I instead clench my jaw and stand upright, crossing my arms in frustration. Lucas stands in front of me, so I know exactly whose front my back is pressed up against right now.

"Let go of me," I bite out.

Slater lets go. I step away from him as if he is poison and glare at Lucas, purposely ignoring the male on the other side of me.

"For god's sake, Lucas, are you just going to keep me in here like a prisoner?" I ask, startling him, especially as he is still only clad in a low-riding towel from his shower, "It's your fault I'm reacting like this anyway!"

Lucas actually looks offended. He glares back and steps towards me, "Excuse me? Did you two not just spend the night together in the same bed? If anything, Hannah and I have resolved your relationship."

I gape at him, anger pumping through my veins, "How dare you insinuate that we-"

"Okay, Quorra, that's enough. Lucas, go put some damn clothes on you and your girlfriend. I'm not happy with you either," Slater orders with a steely gaze.

Lucas still looks irritated, but does as commanded, pulling Hannah along with him. I avoid her gaze, fuming.

"How dare he assume that after this many years, I'd just let you back into my life to fuck me over - literally and figuratively. What a dick!" I rant, "I've never had sex with you and I'm never going to at this rate, you giant piece of absolute dog shit! So you break my heart and leave with little to no explanation, then come back and expect to fuck? Are you out of your damn mi-"

"Quorra!"

I stop, breathing heavily as I look up at Slater.

"What?"

"Lucas is the one who presumed we fucked, okay? I didn't come here expecting that. For god's sake, sweetheart, I thought I was coming here to discuss fucking home decor with him."

My jaw unhinges for several reasons. For one, the reminder of how profanities sound coming from his lips is a shock. Second, the endearing term 'sweetheart' he casually inserts has me in a state of shock. Third, god, him swearing is the sexiest thing since chocolate fudge cake.

He catches the blush on my cheeks immediately, "God, don't look at me like that. Can you at least act like you aren't turned on right now so we can have a normal conversation?"

My cheeks redden more, half out of humiliation and half out of anger. With the nearly-uncontrollable urge to dump a pot of boiling water over his head, I march towards him, pointing an accusatory finger at his chest, "Excuse me? Turned on? I'm the furthest thing from turned on right now! I-I am so turned off! You have a lot of make-up work to do for me to even be turned on the tiniest, tiniest bit by you! You think I trust you? God, I trust myself more than you at this point. That's seriously saying something. So no, I'm not turned on! God! Ugh!"

I plant myself in a kitchen chair, burned out. I'm making an idiot out of myself. Didn't take much, did it?

"Alright, I get it," Slater states calmly, "You are not turned on and I'm sure I'm the furthest thing from attractive to you right now. But just hear me out."

If he only knew that both those things were wrong.

"I screwed up. God, I screwed up badly. I panicked, okay? I know I'm not normal, but I make mistakes like everyone else. I'm sorry that my worst one had to involve you, but I'm trying here. I didn't expect to see you again so soon, and especially not under these deceitful circumstances, but I'm glad I did. I'm trying to right my wrong. I know I don't deserve it, but if you just give me a chance, I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you."

I look down at my feet.

"I loved you," I suddenly state, out of the blue, "Maybe I didn't know it then, but I did. Why did you think leaving me was the best course of action?"

If my confession startles him, he doesn't show it.

"I thought that if we stayed in communication, you wouldn't be able to focus. Your grades weren't optimised while we were together, and as soon as I left, your grades did skyrocket. You successfully graduated yesterday, too," he explains, emotion heavy in his gaze.

"So you're saying you don't regret it? You don't regret leaving me for months and months and months without even a text to explain the full reason why? You're saying you'd do it again in a heartbeat? Put me through that, all over again?"

He stays strong and nods, "In a heartbeat. Look where you are now, sweetheart. You can lead a good life now and get a good job. Find a good guy and settle down."

I swallow, besieged by so many emotions all at once.

"You were my good guy," I mutter, brushing past him and running upstairs to lock myself in the spare bedroom.

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◈ѕlaтer нarтley◈

"This is only making things worse," I sigh, head in my hands when Lucas and Hannah come downstairs a few minutes later.

Having walked upstairs several times, once to get ready for the day and the other thrice to linger at Quorra's door, I feel utterly deflated.

Lucas pats me on the back comfortingly, "If things are so bad, they can only go uphill from here."

I scowl at the sound of his voice.

"Why did you do this? If you thought it'd give me closure somehow to see her in that godforsaken dress, then you were sincerely wrong. It has given me anything but," I sigh, "I want her back, Lucas. I don't deserve her; she won't end up with me; but god do I want her still."

Hannah contributes to the conversation after flicking the kettle on and sliding some bread into the toaster.

"Sir," I furrow my eyebrows at her use of the title, "with all due respect, you did really do her wrong. Complete abandonment for two or three years wasn't the best or most logical way to go about forcing her to focus."

I exhale.

"I know. I just don't know how to fix my mess without causing a bigger one. I should have never left her but for whatever reason, I authentically thought it was all I could do. Does that make me insane?" I ask aloud, my regret growing more intense the longer it lingers.

Lucas pours a cup of coffee and sits it down in front of me.

"Nah, mate, it makes you a bloody bastard. So go fix it," he tilts his head toward the stairs, "She's going to get more annoyed the longer you don't chase after her."

I frown, taking a sip of the scalding beverage and letting it sear its way down my throat. Hannah places two pieces of toasted bread on a plate and lathers them in nutella before setting them down in front of me with an uplifting smile.

"You can start by bringing her some breakfast. Don't mention anything about your fight until at least ten minutes have passed and don't just blankly stare at her. Good luck," she informs as Lucas hooks an arm around her waist and kisses the side of her mouth.

"Heed her advice, D."

With those motivating remarks, I exhale and grab the plate, making my way upstairs.

Every step of mine adds another ten grams of anxiety to my shoulders. It feels as if I'm walking to the principal's office and about to be excluded for some inconceivably evil crime.

Without giving myself any time to hesitate, I rap my knuckles on the white door of the spare bedroom where I know she resides.

No response, as expected.

"I have food," I try lamely.

The door shakes a bit before opening, as if she was sitting with her back to it this whole time. She's changed out of her beautiful dress into an oversized shirt with faded writing and shorts that I can just about see from under her shirt. They leave most of her legs bare, but I bring my eyes back up to hers, reminding myself again that she's not mine anymore. Not yet. Her hands reach out for the plate, blatantly evading my searching gaze.

"Give it and leave," she demands with an unchanging tone, evacuating all emotion from her eyes and making herself completely unreadable.

I move the plate out of her reach.

"Some manners would be nice, Miss Neversea," I tease out of habit, immediately catching myself.

She freezes at the name, the sides of her rosy lips turning down. Her gaze turns down, and I'm sure that if I could look into her eyes I'd see a million memories playing in them.

"Don't call me that either."

I tilt my head at my angel, "I cannot call you by your first or last name? What do I call you then, sweetheart?"

She shrugs, but I realise that she seems to have no problem with 'sweetheart'. It's become a favourite of mine, so I'm glad she is alright with it.

Giving in, I bring the plate down to her level and hand it to her. Retreating back into her temporary room, I notice that she leaves the door open - wide enough for me to enter as well.

I simply stare at it for a moment. Looking behind me, I see both Hannah and Lucas hiding around the corner, giving me sheepish looks.

Lucas mouths at me, "Good luck."

Without replying, I enter the room too and shut it behind me, not wanting them to snoop around or eavesdrop on our conversation. They may have been the catalyst for us finally meeting again, but they aren't about to interfere any more than that.

Quorra sits cross-legged on the bed, chewing on a bite of her toast.

"You can start by bringing her some breakfast. Don't mention anything about your fight until at least ten minutes have passed and don't just blankly stare at her."

I've already broken one of those things. To hell with it.

I try to lean as casually as I can against the wall by her bed, ignoring the fast beating of my heart against my ribcage.

"Sorry."

My apology hangs in the air between us. She doesn't say anything and places her plate of food down on the bed.

"Okay."

At first, I'm taken aback that she even talked. Afterwards, I register what she actually said.

I'm more than confused when I reply, "Okay? What does that mean?"

Not knowing herself, she shrugs, bringing her knees up to her chest and leaning back against the bed's headboard. The movement causes her to be closer to me, and though not by much, I notice it. My heart rate speeds up.

"It means," she starts, trying to figure it out herself, "I'm not going to have any chance of forgiving you if I don't stay civil. Sorry I nearly poured boiling water over your head."

"Huh?" I look left and right, having no recollection of that, "You never did that."

"Yeah, but I wanted to. Sorry."

We fall into another silence. Quorra fiddles with her fingers in her lap, a nervous habit that I notice she still hasn't been able to drop. I lift myself off the wall and walk around the bed to sit next to her. I hold my breath, waiting for a smack or punch in the gut.

Nothing happens.

I exhale. God, I'm too nervous for this.

"It's alright. I'm sorry if what I said wasn't what you wanted to hear. I know that I'm confusing you by saying leaving you was a mistake, and then saying that I would do it again if I had to. To be truthful, these past few years have been torture, and I'm ashamed to even think about what I put you through, but if it was necessary, I wasn't lying when I said I'd do it again. If, for whatever reason, that was what had to be done, I'd do it. If staying with me or even being in communication with me would have distracted you from your studies, I would have left you. In a heartbeat, like I said," I repeat my words from earlier, hoping I'm not just upsetting her more.

My angel remains quiet, only letting me see the tops of her thick eyelashes as she looks down at her hands.

"It's over now though. You've graduated. We can move on now," I finish, swallowing.

I analyse her for the next few moments. The steady rise and fall of her chest and the wiggle of her toes as she remains tense. I flit my eyes to her coffee-coloured hair and then down her arms to her fidgeting hands.

She's as nervous as I am.

"How much do I owe you?" she asks all of a sudden.

It's arbitrary and catches me off guard.

"You owe me nothing. I owe you the world," I respond earnestly.

She ignores me, "How much? For how many times I swore."

I instantly smile at the memories.

"It depends," I begin, her attention brought down to my hand which traces shapes in the soft mattress, "does me swearing cancel out some of your profanities?"

She laughs. The sound forces a smile onto my face. She looks up at me and pushes my shoulder, a playful touch that has my relief skyrocketing.

"Maybe, but you can only swap out a 'fuck' for a 'fuck'. A 'fucking' is surely worth more, right?" she extends the joke, and I notice how she moves closer to me, relaxing back into her pillow without even realising.

I smile at her, "Perhaps. But shouldn't 'shit' equate to a 'fuck' if they're both four letters?"

She shakes her head as if I just suggested we fly to the moon and back in a banana, "No, of course not. They have different letter values. Were you ever good at Scrabble?"

"I'll have you know that I used to be an excellent English teacher at a university," I counter, relieved when her smile doesn't fade.

"I don't know about excellent," she drawls out, looking at me with those expressive, naughty eyes.

I laugh, unable to stop it, "Excuse me, young lady?"

She moves closer to me too, challenging me with her eyes, "Yes, old man?"

I almost take real offence to that, and without a moment's thought, pull her further down the bed by her legs, eliciting a squeal of laughter.

"Old?" I repeat, throwing a leg over her in a straddle and hovering over her on my elbows, "I'm not much older than you, sweetheart."

At the endearment, her eyes brighten further. I take note of the response and mentally remind myself to say it more often.

"Mhm," she hums, her expression telling me she doesn't believe me, "Not too old to be harassing vulnerable 21-year-old women it seems."

I breathe out a laugh at that, "I don't think harassing is the right word."

With every word that leaves my mouth, her eyes are on my lips. I decide not to tease her about it, simply enjoying that I am still attractive to her after all these years.

"What is the right word, then?" she asks for the sake of keeping the conversation going, eyes following my tongue as I wet my bottom lip.

I lean in closer, focusing my own eyes on her lips, "Well, it could be replaced by many things. Poking..." I prod her gently in the side, memorising her little squeak of surprise, "Prodding..." I poke her other side and ignore her futile attempts to push me off her.

"Admiring," I mutter courageously, brushing my lips against the junction between her neck and shoulder and revelling in the soft skin and distinctly-Quorra scent I find there.

She squirms, a breath shakily escaping her mouth. Not yours, I remind myself before pulling away, unsatisfied with my dose of her but not wanting to take things further so soon after our reunion. She seems stunned.

"Or hey," I end, offering her an ear-splitting smile, "even tickling."

She blinks at me for a while, disorientated from our proximity.

"Tick-" she begins, but the rest of her word is cut off with a half scream of pain and laughter when I attack her sides.

I move my fingers around her waist and to her front, which instantly causes her to curl up like a prodded bug and squeeze her eyes shut tightly.  Grabbing both her wrists in one of mine, I hold them above her head, leaving her open and defenseless. I'm laughing too, but not for the same reasons as she is.

"Slater Slater SLATE- Sl-" she squeals, breaking her wrists free of my hold and trying to pry my hands away as they accidentally graze the soft curve of her breasts. I'm much too drunk on her laughter to be apologetic, "SLATER! Stop st- eek! SLATER!"

I roll her over to sit on top of me, finally giving into her cat-like scratches down my arms, and stopping my relentless torture. I'm grinning ear to ear but she is instead trying to catch her breath. Wisps of hair dangle in front of her as she glares at me playfully, a polar contrast to the smile threatening to break out on her plump lips. Her hands are pressed against my abdomen for support as she brings her heart rate down to normal, but I know mine will remain dangerously high as long as she is sitting on top of me with her bare legs tightly clamped down on either side of me.

I tuck the flyaways of hair behind her ear before dropping my hands to her legs. After tugging the hem of her already-short shorts down, I start to stroke a mindless pattern against her golden skin.

Looking into her eyes, I know I'm not completely forgiven or trusted by her. Not yet. But that's alright with me, because in this moment, I have her heart and she has mine.

In this moment, we are together, we are perfect, and that is enough for me.

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The outpouring of support in the comments of the last chapter absolutely touched me. Multiple of you guys also sent me private messages. You guys are much too thoughtful; I think I have the best readers in existence. Thank you, everyone, your kind words and care mean the world to me. I've been seriously struggling lately, particularly with GCSEs and exams approaching, so just about anything can set me off nowadays. I'm glad you guys are here to keep me sane.

That aside, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Quorra and Slater and slowly but surely making amends. Any predictions for the upcoming chapters? This story actually ends soon 😭😭

I love you.

Over and out,
Agent Spud 🥔