“Are you okay?”

A sweet voice woke you up.

You didn’t know how long Rose stood next to you, watching you sleep on your desk. You slowly lifted your head, rested it on your palm, and with your eyes closed, you gave her a nod with a little smile.

“I wait for the caffeine to kick in.”

“You’re drooling,” Rose pointed out.

Your eyes opened faster than the wind as you instantly wiped the drool from your mouth against your sleeves.

“If Professor Ren sees you like this, he won’t like it.”

You rolled your eyes and let out an exaggerated sigh.

“I’m not a jester who has to entertain the mighty King Ren just because I’m sitting in front of him. No matter what I do, he doesn’t like it anyway, so I don’t even care anymore.”

You knew Rose was only trying to be a good friend. But trying to warn you on an early Monday morning from the big, bad wolf who came through the opened door was not the best time.

“Sit down, all of you, and open your books on page sixty-six,” Professor Ren ordered while he placed his bag on the table.

The class became instantly quiet. Rose jumped back in her seat, and everyone did as the teacher told. You sat upright with your non-existent energy, admiring the clock that hung on the wall.

Today wore your psychology professor all black. Black blazer, shirt, pants, and classy shoes. Ready to go to a funeral. He was clean-shaven and his hair shined, possibly from the shampoo Rose had asked for.

“Damn who died,” you murmured.

Professor Ren slammed the folder down on the table and awakened the caffeine in you. The burning fire that gushed in his eyes was clearly visible. He must have heard your dumb comment. You rubbed your eyes and looked at the clock again.

“Wait a minute, you’re too early. We still have three minutes left before Headmaster Palpatine starts with his daily news and his prayers,” you remarked.

Professor Ren took his glasses from his little pocket and put them on his nose.

“If we start the lesson now, I’ll let you leave the class three minutes earlier for the fifteen-minute break. Is that a deal?”

His voice was calm and noble. You looked around as the entire class agreed with his suggestion and thanked him for being so kind. And this is how the psychology lesson began on page sixty-six with the significant title Psychological warfare.

The gripping lesson flew by quickly. This sounded more like a history lecture.

In the second hour, however, you noticed yourself slowly slipping away from the class. You closed your eyes, and the only thing you could still hear was your professor’s dark voice mumbling something.

Your memory took you back to how five days ago, your mother looked into your eyes while holding your chilly hands, telling you were in danger. That was one of the main reasons you fell asleep on the desk the second you entered the class.

In those last days, your poor brain just couldn’t perceive what danger your mother was talking about. Danger lurks around every corner. It comes in different shapes and colors, and the worst thing is, you don’t even know what to do about it. How to stop the unknown.

Now that the strange lady lived in the same house with you, you always came home late after school to find her and your mother in the kitchen. You never ate with them, although your mother asked you several times to sit with them. However, they did not want to talk to you about the danger. Therefore, when you were hungry, you went to the kitchen to take some food and returned to your room. If they didn’t want to talk about what was going on, neither did you.

Every night they kept you awake. You couldn’t understand what they were talking about. Most of the time, they laughed and chatted loudly. What a wonder the neighbors didn’t call the police.

On weekends, you went to sleep when the rooster crowed in the morning and woke up when nightfall was just around the corner. Because of your chaotic sleeping rhythm, your stomach didn’t give you any rest either.

When you got up on Monday morning to get ready for school with a slight headache, you walked barefoot into the kitchen. On the marble countertop, you found an empty bottle of Jägermeister and, on the floor, some broken glasses.

“All right, that’s it for today!” Professor Ren’s loud voice awoke you from your one-second nap. “Keep it low in the hallway. The other students are still working.”

You bent down to pick up your bag when you heard him continuing, “Everyone is free to go except “— he patted his fingers against your table as if he were playing the piano — “you.”

Ah, shit. Here we go again.

You dropped your bag and rolled your eyes at him. And that was a wrong move.

Professor Ren put his flat palm on your desk, pressing his weight on it. You could feel him staring at you, but you just looked out the window, ignoring everything. You didn’t have the energy for this.

You felt nothing, or maybe you didn’t know what to feel. What you once felt when you were alone with him vanished away. Or at least that’s what you thought it did. You were with your psychology professor, already isolated in his car in the distant darkness, and nothing happened. You had no reason to be afraid of the big, bad wolf. Although for him, you were a living little pig that could still run, and it seemed to you he did not like that pretty much. He probably already wanted to have you in his oven.

Everyone left the class quickly as usual, as you noticed Finn, Rose, and Poe waiting by the door for you. Professor Ren suggested to them not to wait for you. When they left, his eyes looked back at you. He leaned on his desk next to you and folded his arms in front of his chest.

“For as little as there is in your brain, I can’t imagine what makes it so heavy,” he quipped. “It’s not that hard to keep your head upright, so what’s the problem?”

Yeah, you probably deserved that.

You glanced at the door as you frowned. “You know, I wonder what other people think about us when—“

“Where is your hat?” he interrupted you.

You looked at him questioningly as you put your hand on your head, feeling the touch of your hair, remembering the hurry you woke up in the morning.

You shrugged your shoulders. “I forgot it at home.”

Somehow you still found it hard to look into his eyes. There was just something about him that made it hard for you to look him straight in the devil’s trap when you were sitting at your desk. It was probably because of the way he looked down at you from above that made you feel so much smaller and more fragile.

He nodded, briefly twitched an eyebrow, and looked back at his papers.

“I took the chance to have a look at your other grades.” He stood up and walked back to his table. “I noticed the only subjects in which you show exceptional results are English, history and physical education. The others are, well,… only average. I think it might be necessary for you to get some help.”

You scratched your head. “You mean like I need a psychologist or —“

“What you need is me.”

Your eyes went round. With curiosity, you shifted your chair closer in the hope to understand him better.

“We could meet up once or twice a month to talk about your problems. You could tell me where you’re stuck, what’s holding you back from getting higher marks, and we would try to solve the problem together. I could even give you some special homework for psychology. I would correct them and explain to you what’s not working. It might seem hard to get a good mark on my subject, and it takes a while, but it’s not impossible.”

You tossed your head back as a water boiling sound came out of your mouth that resembled an exhaled laugh. You tried to calm down your lungs from jumping as you looked at Professor Ren, who was trying to decipher your reaction with waggled eyebrows and a furrowed forehead.

“Hold on.” You paused and held a finger in the air. “You’re being serious.”

He narrowed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair. You tried to contain your laugh by keeping your mouth closed, as you eventually slowed down when you pressed your hand on your chest.

“What I really need is—“

“Your shoelaces,” he remarked, pointing with his finger at your black oxford shoes.

For God’s sake, this man really knows how to change the subject.

Before you had the chance to bend down and tie them, he added, “You look tired. Did you get enough sleep last night?”

Am I still dreaming, or—?

He sounded concerned, and through his glasses, you recognized how his eyes gleamed with a little spark of truth and interest in your answer to this. And then again, it surprised you how he didn’t already shush you or said something to keep your mouth shut.

“Yeah, slept like a baby,” you lied, trying to force a smile.

He tilted his head to the sight and shoved his hands in his pants.

“Your under-eye bags tell me something different.”

Okay, lying to him is useless when he has evidence that he can see. Noted.

“I just… kept overthinking, and — therefore struggled to fall asleep. Nothing more and nothing less.”

That was not a lie. It was more like an uncompleted truth.

“You certainly don’t overthink before you speak,” he commented.

And that’s where you draw the line.

“Okay, I’m out!” you scoffed as you hit your palms against the table.

Your expression hardened, and you turned your face away. You stood up, smashed your bag on your desk, and packed your stuff.

“This is your future we’re talking about! You’re at a high risk to fail this year if you don’t get the essential guidance from me,” he resolved gravely. “Are you really willing to lose this opportunity?”

“Yes!”

You lifted your chin and stared into his eyes that couldn’t follow your refusal. With his arms crossed and his knitted brows, he looked at you like nobody had ever denied him in his entire life.

“If it means being closer to you then already this line between our tables, then yes. I’m willing to lose it.”

When you heard your name coming from your psychology teacher in a loud tone, as you approached the door, which was a rarity, you stopped at the entrance and turned around to see he had not moved a meter.

“This is your one and only chance where I offer you my time and my patience,” he said calmly. “If you act selfish out of pure stupidity, then you’re even more ignorant than I thought you were. Think about my offer. And when you have decided, let me know.”

You scratched your nose and let a heavy breath out while you tried to sound relaxed and still respectfully.

“If you really think you’re encouraging me to accept your help by insulting me, then you really should reconsider why I laughed in the first place.”

And just like that, you left his sight. You did not hear him calling or running behind you to stare at you with his deadly gaze and whisper a threat in your ear. But he made you think and wonder if you just did the right thing. You hated to admit it, but he was not entirely wrong. You needed help. But not from him. Not after the way he treated you from the beginning.

In English, you assumed you would start analyzing Pride and Prejudice. To your luck, Ms. Rey mentioned to only finish the book in March.

During your last period, which was Math, you felt as if someone had punched you in the face. Mr. Hux nearly kicked Poe with his book when he rested his head on the bench.

Poe became a good friend to you and was practically part of the group. The looks Finn always gave him were explicit that he liked him a lot. Instead of confronting him about his interest in Poe, you waited for Finn to tell you about it when he was ready.

When the bell rang, you left the class and made your way to the choir, where you would see your charming new stranger again. An unexpected warmth appeared in your belly, and your brain flashed images of his unforgettable eyes, in which you could swim forever. You could even drown in them and wouldn’t mind it.

The smell of lunch in the canteen was all over the hallways. They always forget to ventilate. When you opened the front door, you could smell the relief of the fresh wind that blew through the air. It was soon about to smell like autumn in so many various ways.

But what you couldn’t smell was your unexpected fall at the stairs when you glanced at the gym before you tripped over the last steps.

You outstretched your arms to prevent falling on your face just like yesterday at home, but even this didn’t help, and you crashed on the hard ground.

Severe pain shot up in your left wrist like you would stretch a chewing gum from the floor. Your knees hurt too. You tried to move your fingers on your injured hand to get somehow up. You winced in pain, so in the end, you gave up and lay down on your left side. You put your injured hand on the ground, and with closed eyes, you hoped the suffering would reduce.

“Well, hello,” spoke a charming voice out of nowhere.

You opened your eyes, tilted your head, and saw the same guy who brought you home on the motorcycle not long time ago. The same guy who disappeared before you could thank him.

Since then, you never saw him in the hallways or in the canteen. It was nice to see him again before the rehearsal. If only differently and not like you, who looked like a starfish on the wrong ground.

“Vicrul, my friend,” you greeted him between your heavy breathing through the pain.

You held your balance on your right arm as you tilted your head around to remark there was no one left in sight, only him, you, and your bag.

“I’m not your friend, love,” he replied sharply. “What on earth are you doing here lying on the ground?”

“I’m doing a snow angel, can’t you see?” You said it with enough sarcasm in your voice that he chuckled. “And if you’re not my friend, then you’re not allowed to call me love,” you added.

Vicrul glanced at the sky. “It’s a bit too early for snow, don’t you think?”

“Can you please help me up? I think I twisted my wrist.”

You tried to hold up your left hand in the air, that felt already going numb. There was no way you could get up with no help, and it was already getting cold lying on the wet ground.

“The thing is, I don’t want to be late for the choir, so I kinda have to go,” he smirked, following his way.

“Don’t you dare leave me here alone!” you tried to cry out, but it only came out as a croak. The pain was not the only thing testing you.

Vicrul looked over his shoulder and came back to you with his smirk glued to his face. He shoved one hand in his blue coat with black sprinkles on it, and with the other hand, he stroked his chin.

“And what do I get if I help you?”

My fist in your face as soon as I stand on my feet was your first not so lovely thought.

You tried to push a smile through your crinkled face. “A thank you?”

He stroked his chin in a thinking position. “That’s lame! See ya later.”

“Okay, okay, you can continue to call me love!” you shouted through your lungs as Vicrul walked off.

He spun back to you with a bride smile.

Without trying to do you any more harm, he stepped to the side of your head and bent. Gently, he took you by your arms from behind. You groaned in pain as you sat upright. Noticing that you could almost see your underwear was your first reaction to pull your skirt down out of fear Vicrul might see something.

“The first half is behind us,” he commented. He walked around to face you and let a long breath out before he leaned over you and carefully took your right hand to lift you up.

“How did that even happen?” he asked.

“The stairs don’t seem to like me. Thanks for your help. Without you, who knows how long I would still lay there.”

He didn’t reply with a ‘no problem’. His eyes formed a smile that affirmed all different kinds of ‘you’re welcome’. It was like an ocean in peace.

If you had to write a resume about what makes an ocean so beautiful, you would take Vicrul as your muse and write blindly on the paper while looking into his eyes. You could even write over 20,000 words only in a short amount of time.

He noticed you staring as he slowly firmed a soft smile and spoke, “You’re falling again.”

You didn’t understand a single thing that came out of his mouth. How could you, as distracted as you were?

His gaze narrowed at the floor, and his eyebrows twitched. “No wonder you fell. Tie up your shoelaces, love,” he remarked.

Vicrul exploded your daydreaming like a nail pecking into a balloon.

You rolled your eyes and wished in the same second to unroll them again as you remembered. Professor Ren warned you about your laces before. They must have been the reason you trolled.

Your breath got stuck, and your mouth slowly split open as you watched Vicrul slowly kneel in front of you. You felt his warm breath through your thighs. Seductively you bite your lip and wish he wouldn’t notice it.

He took his time as he knotted the laces so lightly. When he made a double knot, he pressed it extra hard, and his eyes lifted to you.

Perhaps you had only imagined it, but for a second, you felt no pain. Neither physically nor mentally. Everything was quiet. Was that what he meant by “You're falling again?”

“Stop looking what’s under my skirt,” you asserted playfully.

As he rapidly stood up, his forehead scowled. “Please, I wasn’t looking!”

He narrowed his gaze and grabbed your injured arm to observe it as you cried in pain.

“Not the worst thing I’ve seen, but I better bring you to the infirmary.”

He let go of your arm, picked up your bag, and climbed up the stairs. “You’re coming?”

You didn’t have many options. Your wrist sting like hell, and going to the choir now and letting it get worse would not help. You knew Ms. Holdo would also advise you to go to the infirmary.

You climbed up the stairs, gave Vicrul a nod, and the two of you made your way to the infirmary.

“It’s just a small bruise, nothing more,” the nurse declared.

With her enormous glasses that glitched from her nose, she examined your hand while you sat on the chair internally, crying in pain.

“We are going to put some ice on it, and the pain will disappear.”

“Are you sure it’s only a bruise?” Vicrul questioned. “Her wrist is slowly turning blue, and her hand’s swollen. I think she needs to go to the hospital.”

With his serious tone, he sounded a bit concerned.

“Young man, I am here, the nurse, and I alone know what the girl needs,” she replied defensively.

The old high-pitched voice from the nurse was quite irritating to Vicrul’s ear. He rolled his eyes as he leaned by the door with his arms folded. Silently he taunted and observed your treatment.

The nurse took a small pack with ice from the refrigerator, wrapped it in a towel, and handed it to you.

You thanked her as you took it in your right hand, feeling the drops dripping over your hand. Your gaze shot to your injured hand, which looked more like a blue glove filled up with water. With slow motions, your hand was shaking from the cold as you tried to resist not to press too hard on your wounded hand. You bit on your lip and shut your eyes as you felt the ice pack touching your numb hand.

The pain was getting more and more intense. It took all your strength to hold back the tears that were urgently squealing to be set free, but you tried to remain tough like a nut. You wouldn’t let the pain break you. Although from the inside, you were slowly cracking up.

“Am I allowed to go to the choir?” you asked.

“Yes, of course. Just don’t move your hand too much,” the nurse suggested with a grin, the red lipstick being all smudged at her front teeth.

You nodded with crinkled eyes as you returned her the ice pack. You said goodbye and left with Vicrul.

The silence between you and him as you walked through the hallways was weird. From what you heard from him, you questioned why he didn’t give you any smirk remark on your way.

When Vicrul opened the entrance door, he seized your left arm and gave you a slight heart attack while you slowly descended the steps.

How kind of him to prevent you not to trip on the stairs for the second time. And then, five feet away from the sports hall, he changed the direction.

“Vicrul, this is not the way to the choir,” you notified and glanced at his hardened face.

“That’s right, we’re not going.”

“We?”

“Yeah, oui, oui,” he mocked your shrill pitched voice. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

You braked in the middle of the schoolyard, freeing yourself from his grip, and looked at him with a disagreeable look, ready to protest.

“But the nurse said I’m fine, and I can —“

“The nurse has no fucking idea of what’s currently happening to your hand. But I do. So, I suggest you listen to me.”

His tone sounded so insisting, it made you nearly laugh. With his hand gestures, he was good at expressing what he planned on doing. If you protested, he had no problem dragging you to the hospital. Your swelling hand with already the size of a toilet paper could impossibly be only a bruise, and the thought of ending like Luke seemed not ideal.

“I thought you didn’t want to be late for the choir,” you imitated him from before.

Vicrul smashed his palm against each other, and with a smirk, he stepped to you closer, not leaving much space between your two.

“There are just things that need to be done first.”