Yet another day with you sleeping over at her place went by, and Catherine couldn't help but think: she was screwed.

A lot of rumors ran fast across Campus. People said all sorts of things about her, and she never really cared. She never cared, because she was the only one that knew her true self. And she knew she wasn't doing anything wrong. A lot of people had slept in that bed with her before.

None of them were like you.

Everyone else she tried to commit had left. Either they tried to get their hands on her inheritance, or they believed everything that came from gossip, or simply got what they wanted from her in one night and were gone by morning. None of them were like you.

None of them were soft and warm, curled up against her side even at sunrise. Or stayed up with her till midnight, laughing about stupid college drama. None of them had managed to break her sarcastic, cocky facade in order to reach the real woman underneath. She hadn’t felt like this in years — especially not with a student a decade younger than her.

There would be trouble, of course. More rumors. Professors from other departments and freshman kids noticing how you entered her car by the end of the day. She didn't care about any of it in terms of herself — but for you? She was terrified. She was terrified you'd get in trouble because of her. She'd do anything to protect you from that.

But for now? She didn't want to think about it.

She just wanted to see you. To watch you. The gentle rise and fall of your chest as you breathed in and out evenly. The flutter of your eyelashes. The way the sunrays caught the locks of your hair, falling across her pillow. And how beautiful you looked underneath her blanket.

"You look like a little porcupine when you sleep."

She murmurs to herself affectionately — a hint of gentle amusement mixed with affection in her tone.