●qυorra neverѕea●

Professor Hartley begins the lecture, rambling on about something or other as I spin my pen around my finger in boredom. I've made little to no progress on the thick booklet I've been given but luckily I don't have to start teaching the rest of the class until next Frid-

"-which is why she will be guiding the class over the next few lessons. As expected, I will give in my two cents when she misses information you'll need for your exam. Miss Neversea, please come to the front."

... shmer?

Oh shit - he meant this Friday.

I quickly look up from my pen twiddling, instantly feeling uneasy as fifty pairs of awaiting eyes settle on me. With the confidence of a twig, I try to muster up an excuse. Well how on earth do I get myself out of this one? 

"I, uh, lost the booklet," I clear my throat, rubbing the back of my neck in a hopefully guilty fashion.

The dead look on Professor Hartley's face tells me he isn't buying it.

"I mean, I haven't done much of it. I, uh... I thought you meant next Friday," I add, desperately trying to revive the situation.

He walks closer to the front rows of desks. The front of the room is slightly raised, so when he stops a metre or two away from me, I'm exactly at eye-level with a place I really don't want to be eye-level with.

I cast my gaze away swiftly.

"Class, continue with other work."

I can tell from the deafening silence that not one student has even attempted to do 'other work'. Professor Hartley must notice too but he doesn't seem to care.

"You do realise who this university is for, Miss Neversea?" he begins rhetorically, marking the start of very different but just as boring lecture, "People who perhaps didn't do so well on their exams as they hoped they would do. You are one of them. You are not special in this room, and so I hold you to the rules that I hold everyone else to."

"In my defence, you weren't very cl-"

"-Blaming me, are we? See me after the lecture."

Oh wow, he sounds pissed.

He picks on me too much, it's his fault I annoy him all the time. If I was never roomed with him, I bet he wouldn't even take a second glance at me. As he walks away, Grant sniggers, "You got in trouble."

Jackass.

I scowl and turn to look at him bitterly, wishing that Professor Hartley could have heard him.

After yesterday, Grant hasn't brought up the near-kiss. I don't know whether that is a good thing or not. On one hand, it means I can avoid a very uncomfortable conversation with someone who is perhaps pursuing a different outcome in this relationship than I am. On the other hand, it means we'll just keep dwelling in this awkward silence that is just begging me to say something.

And me saying something never ends well.

As we just observed.

The lecture ends after many more minutes of me tapping away on the desk or biting on the ends of my sleeves as if I'm in primary school again. It's been a recurring habit of mine since I was a child but surprisingly not the weirdest. As soon as I realise I'm doing it, I roll my up sleeves and rest my cheek on my hand with a deep sigh.

The clock ticks past the hour once again and Professor Hartley dismisses everyone else as I stay glued to my seat. Grant wishes me good luck, "I'll wait outside," he offers as I shrug.

As the door shuts behind the last of the students, Professor Hartley slides on a pair of glasses, "Miss Neversea, you really need to be trying harder. I know it is difficult sometimes but you are in university right now. This is your second and final chance; if you mess up now, you don't get another."

I wasn't expecting a deep conversation. Biting my tongue, I force my reckless self to think through my answer and filter out the foul language,"You don't have to sound so mad. It's my life I'm screwing up, not yours."

He gives me a look, his glasses framing his sharp features perfectly, "And you don't have to sound so bitter. Miss Neversea, fix your attitude."

"Maybe I don't want to," I retort, realising it for myself.

With a moment's thought, he gets up from his position on his desk and walks over to my seat. We make eye contact immediately.

"Well," he crosses his arms over his chest, "I think you do. You attended this university for a reason. You could have dropped out; you had every opportunity to give up. But you chose to stay. Why?"

I look down at my nails and shrug, feeling belittled as I usually do in his presence.

It seems I don't have to give an answer for myself, "Because you care," he finishes, "and since you do, tidy up your act."

Getting the sense of finality in his words, I shove my folder into my bag and my pencil in my pocket, heading towards the door, "Alright," I mumble insincerely.

Just as I'm about to leave, he calls my name.

"And Miss Neversea, don't bite your sleeves. It's bad for your teeth."

Oh great, now he's my dentist too.

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

"How was it?"

I walk down the corridor next to Grant, bag weighing down on my shoulder like the weight of the unvoiced questions in my head.

I shrug, "Just him speaking down at me as usual. Thanks for waiting."

"No problem," he replies, "Friends wait for friends."

Friends. He...hehe...

We pass by several posters advertising a 'first-year festival!' with 'free food, drinks, and opportunities to make new friends'. I quirk an eyebrow in amusement, "Hey, what's this first year festival all about?" I ask Grant.

"It's some party tonight that one of the only clubs here organised to encourage first-years to socialise and settle in. All the first and second years are invited," he fills me in as I snort with a shake of my head.

"I'm so not going," I laugh as he shrugs.

"I dunno, I might if I get bored. Might uh... take someone with me."

We approach the end of the corridor, "Well if nothing else, we get to miss out on evening lectures."

As we enter the elevator and press our respective floor buttons, Grant rubs the back of his neck, "I, uh, want you to meet someone tomorrow."

I almost disregard those words as if they came out of my own mouth.

"What? Who?" I ask, nudging him playfully as his gaze flits from place to place indefinitely.

Please be another love interest...

The elevator opens at his floor as he answers, "Her name is Hannah. I asked her out the other day and she surprisingly said yes."

Phew! Thank god.

"Oh," I grin as he steps out on his floor, "Is she the girl you wanted to ask out that one time?"

He seems to stumble over his words, "Y-yeah. So I'll see you around?"

I smile, "Sure, see you."

By the time I'm back into my dorm room, I've realised how antisocial I really am. I spend ninety percent of m time outside of lectures in this room, either on my laptop or phone. The other ten percent is spent eating in the canteen. Then again, I often just take canteen food up to my dorm room anyway.

I leave my bag by the door and sigh at my shirt, which is fraying at the sleeves, reminding me of Professor Hartley's criticism.

I spend the next ten minutes chatting with Lara, happy that skyping has become a routine of ours.

"Have you sorted out an actual date for the wedding yet?" I ask, resting on my stomach with the laptop propped up against the headboard of my bed.

Lara smiles dreamily at the screen, "No, but I kind of want it to be soon. I can't wait to be Bennett's wife."

Happiness swells in my chest, along with jealousy, "I wish I could fall in love with a childhood friend. My life is a lot more complicated than yours."

"I was there once, Quo, you'll survive," she laughs her bubbly laugh, "And talking about your life - what's happening on your end?"

I avoid her gaze, instantly locking my memories away in a box in the deepest, darkest corner of my mind.

"I don't want to talk about it."

Even through the horrible resolution of the screen, I can see the dead look she gives me, "You did something bad, didn't you? That is exactly how you answered when you overfed my guinea pig, Lotte."

I bring my knees up to my chest, "It's not that bad..."

Well, if having sex with your professor is bad, a harmless kiss (as he phrased it) is nothing, right?

She looks at the screen blankly.

I said that out loud, didn't I?

"Lara, don't you dare-"

"-YOU FUCKING WHORE!" she gapes at the screen, before whisper-yelling, "You kissed him?! You kissed your mouth-watering, hotter-than-the-sun but still-your-teacher teacher?!"

I wince, quickly pressing the decrease volume button on my laptop, "It barely lasted two seconds, and besides he's my professor," I correct.

"Actually, I prefer sir."

I snap my head behind me so fast that my laptop's weak hinges swing shut, slamming the screen of the device down and hanging up on Lara.

I'm not a girl to blush, but as soon as I meet Professor Hartley's eyes, I'm the darkest shade of crimson known to man.

"You didn't hear that," I try to confirm, although it sounds like more of a statement as I try to cover up the hole I've dug myself into.

He places down his suitcase, "At least now I know what impression I give off to my students."

"Oh my god," I mutter under my breath, moving my laptop to the bedside table so that I can lean on my back and cover my face with my hands.

Professor Hartley enters the bathroom to change, giving me some time to hurriedly reopen my laptop and type out an update for Lara.

Lara: WHAT HAPPRNED WUORRA

Lara: DID HE SERIOUDLY JUST WALK IN

Me: YES YOU JACKASS

Lara: rip

Me: Faggot

As soon as he comes back in, I shut the laptop. I should just keep pre-made copies of my death certificate in my pocket, it seems that I need them quite often nowadays, I think to myself.

I recompose myself just in time as he enters, redressed in comfortable clothing. When his eyes meet my curious ones, I look away.

"How does she know who I am?" Professor Hartley asks, folding his previous attire and draping it across the table.

I hold back my sass to try and revive the situation, "I told her. By the way, her choice of adjectives weren't direct quotes - I only said you were cute."

Oh.

He nods, slightly uncomfortable, "Thank you...?"

He acts as if he's never been complimented before. Now that's cute.

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

I hang off the side of my bed, the blood rushing to my head like the current down a waterfall. Boredom fills me to the brim as I exhale deeply, my hair falling onto the ground beside me.

Professor Hartley has been in the room this whole time as well. Because of the party for the first years, all evening lectures were cancelled - for both students and professors. We've been stuck on this floor for hours now, and the awkwardness has melted away into complete and unadulterated monotony.

"What are you doing?" I ask my English professor, the dullness driving me insane.

An upside down Professor Hartley looks at me questionably before answering, "Marking essays from your class."

I snort but make no further comment as to how boring he is for a 23 year old. Normal people his age are out getting drunk and high, socialising with strangers, and having sex with every other object they see.

-not that I'm stereotyping or anything.

This guy is one strange person. It's as if he skipped the best years of his life and settled into a mature working environment too early.

I don't realise I've been staring at him throughout the journey of my train of thought until he blinks at me. My shirt start to fall down my torso so I take that as my cue to sit up. The blood immediately wakes up the bottom half of my body as I comb through my hair with my fingers and glance at him again.

"Shouldn't you be working on that booklet of yours? You haven't made a good first impression on me, Miss Neversea," he suggests, dark chocolate eyes flitting to the hefty stack of papers on my desk.

A frown replaces my passive features, "None of that makes sense. Can I just take a punishment instead of doing the booklet?"

As usual, he has a perfectly formulated reply as soon as the last word of my sentence leaves my mouth.

"The booklet is your punishment, Miss Neversea. And you cannot expect the work to be easy at university-standard. Would you like some help?" he tilts his head at me like a puppy as I heave a sigh and reach for the booklet.

"Fine," I succumb to his accusing look.

It lands in front of me on my bed with a dense thud. I flip onto my stomach, resting my cheek on my hands and grabbing a pen too. Professor Hartley carefully places all his marking materials aside before approaching, hovering over me as I flip to page twelve.

"Oh, Virginia Woolf. In my opinion, a lot more interesting than Shakespeare," he comments as I look up and to my left at him, uninterested.

Amused, he shakes his head, "Well what don't you understand?"

I bitterly jab my pen at the question asking me to analyse the interior monologue, "What kind of a question is that? And why on earth is that many marks? Professor Hartley - I can't even count that high."

"Why didn't you come to me sooner? You're holding up the rest of the class now. I expect you to catch up for next week," he says.

I scowl and give the wall an evil side-eye.

"I want a new teacher."

"You won't find one as 'mouth-watering'."

Did he just say that? I turn around fully, leaning back on my elbows and gaping at him. He gives me an unfazed look, as if what he said was nonchalant. An airy laugh of disbelief escapes me.

"Alright, you're human," I confirm with a chuckle, pushing him away by his shoulder and getting back to work on the booklet.