It takes you almost three weeks to spend the night together after she moves in. Three weeks of increasingly hesitant 'goodnights' on your landing, longer and fonder. Three weeks of getting used to living in the same space, cuddling on the sofa, and kisses goodbye on your ways to work. Three weeks of make out sessions that pull colour into your cheeks and make you feel like a teenager again, each harder to stop than the last.
Three weeks until the last time Raven hugs you and kisses you softly on the cheek, smiling and angling herself towards the spare room door.
You catch her hand and tug gently. She looks back at you and you can see a glimmer of hope in her gaze as you step back towards your room.
"Are you sure?" She asks softly.
You nod shyly. She follows you, mesmerised.
Not ten minutes later, you're curled against her, head on her chest, and she chuckles.
"Shame. I was just starting to get quite fond of my room," she murmurs.
You lift your head and shove her, laughing despite yourself. She smiles back, something like wonder in her eyes as she runs a hand down your cheek. She opens her mouth, closes it, and shakes her head, leaning in to kiss you.
You wake up with your head still pillowed on her chest. She's already awake, stroking your hair back and looking down at you like you hung the stars, and you blush, hoping more than anything that you haven't drooled on her.
"Morning," you whisper.
"Hey, gorgeous," she murmurs. Your blush deepens and she laughs, kissing the top of your head. "Hate to break the moment, but I'm dying for a pee," she says brightly, and you roll your eyes and move off her.
"Selfish, really, taking my pillow to the bathroom as soon as I wake up," you pout. She grins, winks, and tells you that you could always follow it. You throw an actual pillow at her retreating back, face still burning.
It's another two weeks after that when she finds you trying to unclasp your necklace - a near impossible task after so long without touching it.
"Hey, let me help," she offers as she appears in the hallway mirror's reflection, reaching up to cover your hands with her own. Then she slows, catching your reflection's eye with a curious gaze. "I've never seen you take this off," she challenges softly.
You shrug, swallow. "Feels like time," you say roughly.
"Does it? Or do you think it being there might upset me? Because Jake is part of who you are." She pauses, eyes searching yours in the mirror. "Please don't take this off unless you genuinely feel you want to. It being there will never be a problem to me."
And you twist between her outstretched arms to crush your lips to hers, trying to convey everything you're feeling as the tight spool of dread in your stomach unwinds into nothingness.
It's only a few days afterwards that you finally give in to the feelings she elicits, rather than your nerves.
The way she gasps and moans under your hands and lips is quite the ego boost - but still, you remind her softly, breathlessly, as her hands slide under your pyjama top - you are getting old.
She usually scoffs when you say this to her. Today, she shakes her head, and presses you down into your own mattress with a hard kiss.
"I don't care how old your birth year says you are. You're beautiful. And emotional connection doesn't have anything to do with how you look."
And you realise - honestly realise, for the first time - that she means it. She really thinks you're beautiful. And just in case you can't or won't believe that, she's reminding you that your connection runs so much deeper.
It's a memorable, emotional night. You lose count of how many times you come undone under her talented fingers and quicksilver tongue, and you're proud to find that - with some guidance - you have the same effect on her.
Lying in her arms afterwards, floating in some blissful state between waking and sleeping, you hear Raven speaking and focus on her words with supreme effort.
"Hmmmm?" You interrupt her.
She snorts and starts over. "I said, wow. That was worth waiting for."
A lazy grin spreads over your face. "Yeah, it was," you tell her dreamily. "'m sorry I made you wait."
"Don't be, you needed time," she says, and you wonder if she's the most perfect person to exist. "Don't make me wait that long again though please, I might combust."
And you're not sure what part of that is so funny but it takes you a very long time to stop giggling.
The first time you arrive at work together, it's because your car wouldn't start. You're stressed about it.
"It's not going to be fixed in time for tomorrow either, or probably the rest of the week," you worry in Raven's pick-up passenger seat. "Someone is going to see us, and I'll get sacked."
Raven is calm beside you. She takes your hand and squeezes, but you wrench free of her grip.
"That's hardly going to help," you hiss.
"Abby, I'm not a student any more. It's years since I was a student. This isn't an issue." She gestures between you.
"What if someone thinks it was going on before?"
"The cafe staff and our lab colleagues can all vouch for the fact that nothing was going on before. I was with Finn for half of it."
You relax, barely. You know she's talking sense, but it worries you - even if you're aware, on some level, that your real worry is of what people will say to you about the age gap, and your genders.
Just because you don't care, doesn't mean no one else will.
But when you drive up to the security gate, nobody passes any comment at all. A man checks both your ID badges and waves a thumbs up to his colleague. The barrier opens ahead.
"Have a good day," he tells them, and you smile while Raven returns the sentiment.
"See?" She murmurs, reaching for your hand again. This time, you let her hold it. "If you're not ready to tell people, I'm okay with that. But please don't pretend it's because I was your student."
You sit, paralysed, as she reverses into a space. "Raven, you broke up with Finn... when... did you...?"
She smiles sadly. "I broke up with Finn for all the reasons I told you at the time. It was inevitable, I should have done it sooner. But yes, I was also aware of what I was beginning to feel for you."
Your eyes fill with tears. She's looking at you with that expression again, like you're the sun, and suddenly you feel ten feet tall and luckier than the rest of the planet's population squared.
"I'll always worry what people will say. But I'm yours. And I'm lucky to be, and proud to be. So I'm as ready as I'll ever be to tell people. You?"
She's crying, now. "Me too," she breathes. She leans in and kisses your cheek, long and soft. "Gotta run," she tells you.
Later that day, when Jackson checks in for his once-every-few-month moan about Marcus - who actually appears to have mellowed significantly - you tell him that you're in a relationship. He's made up for you, and asks you what his name is.
"It... it's Raven."
You think you might have mentioned her to him before. It appears you're right, because a mischievous smile lights up his face and creases his eyes. "Welcome to the dark side, then," he crows, and you laugh despite yourself. His shit-eating grin softens into a smile. "You look really well, Abby. Happy. I'm really pleased for you."
You exchange more pleasantries, and for the first time in a long time, he suggests meeting up and you agree that it's been too long. He rings off and you leave your office, elated, bouncing to the staff room.
He didn't mention her age. He's happy for you. You look well and happy. The words bounce around your mind and you realise again how poor company you were before Raven convinced you to give up the drugs.
You text her, full of optimism, and she texts back, cheerful and excited.
When you meet her by her car at the end of the day - after giving two lectures which seemed full of engaged and interactive students - you throw your arms around her. She stumbles, startled, but hugs you back tightly.
"Good day, then?" She chuckles. You kiss her soundly.
After that, you're much more confident. You go shopping together, or out for dinner, or for a walk, always with your hands intwined, and the most you suffer for weeks is some staring, or double takes.
Of course, it's not all plain sailing. Almost three months after you tell Jackson, you're out for a walk, hand in hand, when someone jeers from the other side of the road.
"Still holding hands with mummy?" The shout comes. You feel a ripple of shame and try to let go.
"Don't you dare," Raven says, tightening her grip. "Don't let that twat win."
Your eyes fill with tears. She doesn't see, too busy flipping off the person who shouted.
"Don't want to know there they've been," the unidentified person yells.
"Wrong hand," Raven mutters to you, grinning, but you feel like you're drowning and you can't smile back. She frowns. "Come on," she says, tugging you into the closest pavement cafe and sitting you at a table away from the window. You dimly hear her explaining to the owner what had happened, and then someone being denied entry, but there's a roaring in your ears and you can't concentrate on any of it. A toneless voice in your head is reminding you how much better you'd feel with some detachment - the same detachment you craved after Jake's death.
A strong coffee appears on your table and Raven wraps your hands around it. You muster the smallest of smiles.
A huge slice of cake and two forks appears next. "On the house," the cafe owner tells you both, and you thank him numbly.
After the coffee and the cake, you feel better, but guilty. You stammer half of your apology and Raven cuts you off.
"Don't apologise for some stranger being an idiot," she pleads. "We haven't done anything wrong."
You shake your head. "You shouldn't have to put up with it, you should be with someone your own age -"
"Don't," she says flatly. "People like him will always find something to say. Neither of us should have to put up with it, but humans are cruel. And I don't want someone my own age, I want you."
She pulls you towards her and you cling to her pathetically, thinking that this reassurance is probably what you needed from the second he shouted his first insult, full of guilt for thinking about the drugs.
You make a habit of popping into the same cafe after that, to show your gratitude to the owner for his kindness. It takes a week or so for you to have the courage to walk hand-in-hand with Raven again, but you get there.
It gets easier after a ride out on her bike. You feel the now-familiar thrill as you dress in the leathers she bought you, tucking the travel size sketch pad and pencil tin away safely. You grip tightly to her until you're able to relax, realising how many months have passed since your last ride.
You're grinning by the time you arrive at the organised meet, in a riverside town surrounded by sweeping bends and rolling hills. There are motorbikes of all kinds filling every spare parking space and lay-by, and their owners - easily identifiable by their helmets tucked under their arms, leathers rolled halfway down, are spilled over the streets, perched on benches, eating street food and mingling.
A lot of them are stereotypical bikers - big guys with piercings, tattoos, facial hair. Some - like you and Raven - are very much not. Your stomach is doing something strange, a jumpy, empty kind of dance, and you can't decide if you're nervous or hungry. You're relieved when Raven takes your hand, taking the decision away from you, and you follow her to a nearby stall.
"This," she announces, "is the best hog roast in the state."
There's a queue, and you're surprised when the group ahead of you - three typical bikers, one female, two male - turn to greet you and chat. Raven, of course, takes it all in her stride, chatting amicably about the local routes. You take a few moments to collect yourself, noting that your hand is still encased tightly in Raven's and no one has mentioned it. And then you smile and join in smoothly.
It takes maybe ten minutes before the group you're talking to get to the front of the queue. In that time, you learn their names - Indra, Nyko and Lincoln - and their home town, their long-standing friendship that began with martial arts, and the surprising news that Nyko is a nurse. In turn, you share your names and professions - Nyko immediately takes a shine to your medical background - and how long you've been living together.
It feels friendly. You wonder when you last socialised with anyone except Raven, and general chatting in the staff room.
The group waits for you to order your own food, and you all sit together to eat and chat some more. You realise, after mopping grease and flour from the pork and bread off your fingers, that you are beaming. Raven catches your eye and grins back.
It's individual moments, you think to yourself, that build up into big changes - like single drips of water that carve a hole in a stone.
A year with Raven has passed faster than you thought possible, but slowly, too. You've savoured it, and there have been ups and downs.
You're meeting regularly with Jackson now, and realising every time how much you always got on and how much you've missed him. How much the drugs pushed you apart. You've even been on a few double-dates, and found - to your surprise - that they went well.
You both meet regularly with Indra, Nyko and Lincoln, and you're planning a short break in a couple of months. You'd forgotten how it felt to socialise.
Clarke didn't send back her last Christmas card. You don't know if that means anything - she could very easily have just binned it - but you can't help but hope she noticed how thick it was, and opened it out of pure curiosity, and read your letter. And you're so much more optimistic without the drugs, and with Raven. You can feel it.
You wake slowly, luxuriously, stretching against soft sheets and softer skin. Raven's warm body is pressed to yours, her breathing even. You smile, brush some of her soft hair back from her face. She's beautiful, and you're not sure you'll ever get used to seeing her lying beside you. She squirms, stretches, and smiles before she cracks her eyes open.
"Good morning," she mumbles. "A whole year."
You grin, and kiss her cheek gently. "A whole year," you agree. "Any regrets?"
She shakes her head, and clings more tightly to you. "You?"
"No," you reply softly. You hesitate. You'd promised yourself that you wouldn't trap her, you wouldn't tell her first, but… "I love you," you murmur into her hair.
She tenses, and then hugs you so hard that the air rushes audibly from your lungs. You cough slightly and she lets go, pushes herself upright, pulls you with her.
She waits until you look up, guarded, nervous, to meet her eyes.
"Say that again?" She requests softly.
"I love you," you breathe.
And she looks at you with that expression again, like the sun and the moon are your own creation, and you suddenly recognise it for what it is.
"I love you," she replies, breathless. "I've loved you for so long."
And you smile through tear-filled eyes, hold your arms out to her, and thank any deity that may be listening for the second chance you've been given.