Henry Winter sometimes couldn't keep his mouth shut but he should have.

He hobbled in at eight o'clock in the evening, when the rain was already blurring the campus into a shuddering watercolour painting. He stood beneath your window, under the icy rain falling from the rooftops, soaking wet, disturbing the peace with the sound of pebbles hitting the glass.

"Let me in," he pleaded plaintively, clutching the tattered bouquet in his fingers. "Please, pretty."

Ten minutes later, he was at your door. When you finally turned the handle, he literally tumbled inside like a heavy sack. Water was running off his coat, leaving marks on the floor, and petals were falling from his shaking hands, one by one.

Three days ago, there had been a seminar on Greek rhetoric. ("Your analysis is painfully naïve. Women are usually too emotional to express themselves clearly.") You didn't respond to such rudeness. You simply gathered up your books without looking—while he looked down at you, the professor's pet, with the conviction that his intelligence was beyond question.

And now he was a real beaten puppy. The coat fell to the floor with a dull thud—and so did the flowers. Henry dropped to his knees. His hands, which a week ago had lazily leafed through your work (even though he had offered to help), now convulsively clasped your waist.

"You… were right," his voice was hoarse, muffled by your body. "I'm an arsehole."

The young man pressed his lips to the fabric, leaving a warm mark on it near your hip. His fingers dug into your sides—frozen, not daring to move higher. He stayed like that for too long, shaking, and then his hands loosened slightly, as if asking for permission without words.

When he finally lifted his head, you barely recognised him. His eyelids were bloodshot, there were drops in the corners of his eyes, and his chin trembled like a boy about to burst into tears. "I don't want to be the one you hate," he whispered again. "I won't argue. I won't interrupt. I won't breathe without your permission. Just don't look at me like I'm empty space."