I am so sorry for the late up-date. Super busy schedule but to make up for lost time, it's a long chapter. So grateful for your support, I hope you enjoy!

There's a seriously heavy pain continuously sounding its beat in the recesses of my skull. Horrible like a crappy pop song that won't shut the heck up.

It might be my imagination of course. Maybe my head isn't hurting. Maybe I'm overthinking the situation.

'Sit down, Cullen. Pacing isn't going to do anything.'

Maybe it's a migraine, I am prone to the bastards. Definitely a migraine, the noise in here is killing me. What's all that bleeping? And the sounds of wheels along tiled floor? Eurgh. And the light? Even in darkness, the light hurts.

'Son, seriously…' A warning voice. Maybe familiar, I don't remember.

'Sorry, Sir.' The owner of that tone is obvious, you can hear it in the worry.

With great amounts of effort, and I mean great amounts of effort, I wearily open my left eye. My sight is blurry and even with my full sight of the blue curtain in front of me I'm trying to shift the blur of colour into perspective.

'Thank FUCK.'

'Cullen!'

'-God! Sorry, sorry!'

I grunt to whoever is obstructing my personal space and push my arm out. A clammy hand takes hold of mine, perfect, detailed hands with a tense grip.

'Are you okay?' Cullen asks breathlessly. My brain takes a while to get into it but finally his outline becomes clearer. He looks pale and feels cold, probably not as cold as me, but still unusual for him. His hair is disarrayed and bundled in the curled fist furthest from me is a jacket.

I grunt again in reply, patiently letting myself accustom to the new surroundings. It's easier to focus on him now, even with the light giving me a headache. He's biting the corner of his mouth with sharp teeth, his eyes are shifty and for the third day in the row, he looks tired.

'Are you okay?' He repeats nervously, 'How are you feeling?!'

'Hi yourself.' I mumble, clearing my throat just a little.

The old man from a few days ago is hanging around near my trainer clothed feet, hand scribbling away against his clipboard and he analyses my response. Though I'm thinking he's more interested in Cullen's unusual behaviour. If my flatmate gets any closer to the railings he'll be sitting on me.

'We were on the cliff?' I say thickly, checking the area beside me. That stupid bleeping is getting on my nerves.

Hold on-.

I'm in hospital?- FUCK.

My flatmate nods, and runs his eyes over every inch of my expression trying to asses my pain without asking me just yet, give over with the puppy dog eyes and give me the drugs, Cullen.

'Can you remember what we talking about?' He looks behind him to his boss just to test that he's not being too 'informal' and then turns back to me, still holding onto my hand.

'Urm? Paintings?' What the fuck sot of question is that? His face falls, a frown slightly taking over on his face- oh, no it wasn't paintings was it? 'Or Edward? Was it Edward?'

'Do you remember what about Edward?' He prompts enthusiastically.

Why is this so important?

'Shit, I fell didn't I?'

The sigh that leaves his chest seems to shorten his height about 40 feet and he almost smiles.

'Yeah, hon. You fell.' And he drags a thumb across my hand in what I think is a comfort to the both of us.

If he's going to continue with the affectionate concern, maybe I should fall more often?

'That's embarrassing.'

'Pulse?' Asks Doctor Maddison, smiling though he still seems to be keeping an observation on his student. A proud, suspicious one- wait, oh he swore didn't he? Is he in trouble?

The clammy hand loosens its grip till it eventually falls from its hold as he turns and gives some doctor measurements. Oh. I feel even colder now, cold and at a loss. He wasn't actually holding my hand. He was checking my pulse. Right, okay. That's just… grand.

They talk a little, map out a mind plan while I watch without hearing, just irritably staring. Doctor Maddison breathes in, heaving his chest and steps towards me. He leans on the railing, double checks my pulse then my blood pressure and finally gets me to read a few things from his chart to check my eyesight.

'Do you think you can walk?' He asks as though I'm a child.

'Obviously?' Wait, that's rude. 'Err, yeah sure?'

I look over the free side of the bed, shuffle down the edge and let my legs dangle there for a moment. I'm being watched over, expected to fall which is annoying in itself, it's just my head that hurts, my feet are fine and so is my balance-.

'Shit.' I curse, as I misjudge the floor and pretty much fall right into Cullen's patient arms.

'Are y-'

'I'm fine!' I quickly interrupt, swatting his arms away to steady myself. He almost blushes, head turned down to the floor.

He was only trying to help, Goddammit, Esme what's your problem? So I quickly grab his arm and pull it up into the same position in case I fall again.

'Just keep an eye out, maybe?' I correct, making myself return the smile just as I prove that there's nothing wrong with my balance, nor my walking. It's just my head.

The old guy is humming and grunting as I walk, not in a weird way, in a Doctor's way. He has no reason not to discharge me and as he can see, I'm eager as hell to leave.

'Well,' he says resignedly, looking towards my angelic flatmate and pretty much rolling his eyes. I try to hold my stature to help his decision though I'm very aware of Cullen's cautious hand placed readily by the small of my back, not touching, but waiting just in case. Cute.

You can almost imagine the old guy with a pipe cocked at the corner of his mouth as he grumbles at his most favourite student, smiling eagerly.

'I'm sure you're both aware discharge isn't strictly recommended after a head injury.'

Head injury? I thought I fell? Explains the headache I guess.

'But…'

Just discharge me already, old guy!

'I suppose you'll be okay. I'm holding you responsible, Cullen.'

'Yes, Sir.'

'No more high climbing, huh?'

We both smirk back at the old guy and nod our heads like cheeky grandchildren.

'Go on, take these with you.' He hands a clipboard for us to give to the receptionist, tips his head to me and seemingly winks at the silent man next to me. Who has the audacity to avoid my question?

We're both awkwardly quiet as we leave the building, handing in the papers and the desk and walking so slowly that I'm thinking about complaining. It's not until we hit the open air that I'm suddenly over-come with…a sense of regret.

What a waste of a day, there was so much I wanted to-

'Dinner?'

'Huh?'

He fixes the strap on his bag, flicks his watch towards the both of us and squints out into the mid-evening. It's colder now, the sun has gone, and there's an almost miserable tone in the atmosphere.

'I presumed you might be hungry? You haven't eaten in a while and you've spent a few hours complaining of an unsettled stomach…'

'I did?'

He sighs, a little worried again before internally fighting with himself over something. 'Perhaps it's better if we go home?'

My head is hurting, so are my feet and strangely enough, my stomach doesn't feel right. But those are none of the factors which make my decision.

'I'm starving.' I say, nudging his arm. 'Let's go grab something.'

'Rr-eally?' He pauses, hanging behind a little as I start my walk towards town. He gets the picture, hurriedly matches my step and unfolds his jacket to put on my shoulders.

'Sure, I don't want to waste my sick day. What we getting? Indian, Chinese, Italian?'

His pink mouth is pulled up to a smirk as he fiddles with his backpack strap.

'What about real dinner?'

'I'm offended you dare question the standards of the fast food industry.' I tease him again, slowing down to make our walk last longer.

I've pretty much decided I'm going to avoid looking in any reflective surface right now. I so don't want to know. And with that in mind, I pull both my arms through his jacket and pout at him as if I'm some kinda male model. He laughs gently, twitches his nose and takes his time with his words.

Which is annoying as hell, hurry up and spit it out, Chinese, Indian or Italian.

'May I take you to a real restaurant?'

Is it me or is he acting strange?

'A real restaurant? Like sitting down?'

He nods slowly, weirdly nervous. I've chosen a bad time to disagree because we're still walking towards the line of food sellers and with the smell of cooking, my stomach is groaning. Almost as loud as my head, in fact.

'Why?'

'To ensure you eat something? You've had quite a bit of day.' His answer is so fast I'm pretty sure it's well-rehearsed. Just the velvet of his voice is tempting me, not just the utter exhaustion that I'm exhibiting with my crap attempt at walking.

'Where abouts?' I ask wearily, I don't want to seem over keen. I can't exactly remember if my purse is in that bag.

'Lascada?'

'LASCADA?!' I repeat, incredulous. 'No bloody way, Cullen! Look at me!'

I look down at myself and wish I didn't. My legs are gross, full of Goosebumps and grass stains, my thighs are fat as hell, my arms are knobbly and…oh God. My hair.

'I think you're perfect.'

My hand pauses at my hair before slowly falling to shyly cover my face. How pathetic am I? What kinda drugs did they pump into me? It was just a metaphor, get over yourself gurl!

'Dude, I am not going into one of the poshest place in town looking like the pathetic wilderness tramp that I've chosen to resemble today.' I gesture back to my crappy outfit.

He should know better than to refer to his. He's dressed in sportswear and still looks like the single hottest guy on the planet. They won't even think twice about letting him in, he'll just have to smile his way in and they'd plate him up the Chef's special.

What am I talking about, he is the Chef's special.

'They do the best food, there's no better place.'

'Mate, there is a better place when I can barely afford new windscreen wipers-' Speaking off, when the hell am I getting my car back from the psycho blonde? Can I even be sure it'll still be a car? Will it just be a golf cart spray painted?

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

'I was obviously going to pay?'

'No way, that's not fair!'

I stop almost in the middle of the road, just about ready to retrace my steps and head back home but my follower isn't following.

'Ah-em?'

'I really want to eat dinner at Lascada's.'

'Well go eat then.' I say dismissively, pointing towards it. Man, they'll take one look at me and lock the doors.

This is where he does something super odd. Like, scary odd.

'Are you really going to leave me to have dinner on my own?' He asks, sadly, almost pouting.

…

What?

'Urm?'

'You're going to leave me to sit in there on my own looking the saddest, loneliest guy in the whole world-?'

'There's no better way to get a date?' I try pathetically, but he's already started his big soliloquy, speaking dramatically and absurdly for Cullen, directing to nowhere in particular as he goes on about his dear misfortunes.

'O woe is me-'

'What are you doing?!' I hiss at him, trying to pull back the hand he has so weirdly addressed to the clouds, his voice speaking in perfect rhythm like a Shakespeare creation.

'Verily forsooth, abandon'd and-'

'Fiiiine!' I sing embarrassed, pushing him slightly as I hide my smile with my over pink cheeks.

'Lascada's?'

'Only if you keep the early modern drama to a mute!' I mutter playfully.

'Si, Bella-Signoria.'

And like a lightning bolt, the words hit me; una degna causa. My secret sentence.

'Una degna causa' I repeat back to him. The surprise on his face is clear and he grins with utter relief. If I didn't know him any better, I would say he was concerned for my memory. What an over-reacter.

'Una degna causa,' he matches, correcting my mispronunciation once again.

The restaurant is pretty much only around the corner but if we go any slower we'll be at a standstill. We're both enjoying the patience of each other company, I hope. Though neither of us are saying much in terms of conversation.

'So, you're going to apologise then?' I ask after a while, eyeing his entertained expression.

'Apologise? What for?'

'As your gender dictates, it's stereotype for you to save the fallen maiden. You failed in you task, tsk, tsk.'

He's in-between a laugh and a frown which only has me in stitches. With a forced smirk and a shake of his head he sighs at me. But I'm not going to drop it.

'How could you? Left to fall upon my own death due to your flawed heroism.'

'Flawed?' He repeats, still unsure whether to be irritated or not, though the expression on his face suggest he's about to shut me up in a minute.

'You failed to act, hmm.'

'Maybe we should take you back from a MRI. You're clearly having memory problems.'

'Memory problems, huh? Is this what you're going to base your excuses on? Poor effort Cullen. How on Earth are you expecting to get the princess if you can't even save the everyday girl.'

'The princess here being…?' He asks with a frown, still oddly patient considering how badly I'm playing on his sense of honour.

'Tilly of course.'

The mention of her name make him wince. How many times do I have to remind the guy?

'Hilarious, Miss Platt. I presume you've made your point?' To which I nod and he grins. 'Brilliant, now if I might correct. Yes you fell, but you're recording of the events afterwards are largely inaccurate and strictly untrue.'

'You're just feeling guilty now.'

'If I might re-inform?'

'You can try.' I say playfully.

'After parading around on a rock on which I insisted you to be aware of your safety- you fell.'

Parading, pfft….maybe a little bit.

'Continue, Cullen.'

'Now, being the honourable good gentleman I am, I quickly acted to restore your safety and well-being, rescuing you from the high cliffs and the many deathly rocks below it.'

And suddenly, my smirk is fading. That's a point, if I fell, wouldn't I be kinda dead?

'Now, I can only assume it was panicked judgment and fear but once I rescued you, you pretty much threw yourself at me and thus…collided your head with a rock.' He looks proud of himself when he talks and then he sees my expression and wipes that smart ass smile off his face.

He looks frightened. I'm wondering how bad my face must look then.

'Threw myself?' I repeat bitterly.

'Well. No, sorry. You fell, I grabbed you, pulled you back and…urm… I slipped and you hit your head on a rock.'

Too much information at once, the joke has clearly ended now and all I can do is gawk at him. So was it his fault I ended up in hospital or am I extremely lucky in the sense that he kinda saved my life?

Apparently the later.

'You grabbed me?'

'Urm, sorry.'

'Sorry?' I repeat

He's spotted his mistake and turns even pinker but the vulnerable sound of my voice is showing that something is a little odd.

'Er? No? Not sorry. I mean. Yeah I grabbed you.'

'So…' I take a deep breath, frowning for no good reason. 'You technically saved my life then?'

'Hypothetically.'

'Hypothetically?'

'Or technically.'

'Well which was it, was it hypothetically or technically?'

He waits for his mind to come up with the right words and then stops walking, looking a little more embarrassed than usual.

'Well, then yes, I guess I saved your life.'

…

Whoa.

'Why?' What? What the fuck am I saying right now?

'Why?!' He repeats astonished and laughs loudly. 'Was I meant to let you fall? What sort of nutter are you?'

'But you might've fallen too?'

'I doubt it.' He fights slightly, scratching at his neck.

'Are you saying there was no risk of you falling also?'

'Well…no but-'

'So you confirm that you were endangering yourself?'

'Well, I guess, technically…I don't understand. Are you telling me off?' He's still smiling but he looks just as nervous as always.

So…I might have died? I could be…dead right now?

'I mean, you still ended up in hospital, so….' He shrugs awkwardly.

But before another dumb word leaves his mouth, I've wrapped my arms round him, tightly. He does his normal. For about three seconds, he panics, he stiffens up and then slowly relaxes until he's hugging me back.

'Are you okay?' he asks softly, awkwardly patting my back like I'm a three year old who's just coughed up a sweet. Jeeez, thanks Cullen. But while his cologne isn't wreaking havoc with my brain I pull away and smile at him.

'Just…Thank you.'

'You're crazy, Esme. Absolutely stir crazy.'

It's only down to the fact that it's dark outside and Cullen looks like a Greek God in a perfect mosaic made from talented perfect artists that such a place dare let me in. It's pretty much a case of Cullen smiling at a waitress, her falling at his feet and him dragging me with him as I try and perfect my 100% shitty hair.

It's not crazy busy but it's surely got a good amount of people indoors.. We pick a table near the window, not that you can see anything as it's so dark outside but it's a nice table and he's eager to do one of those drop dead attractive boyfriend acts that makes it difficult to think straight.

He's going to pull my chair out for me, literally has his hand on the back but I quickly shake my head. It'd be weird if he did that, surely? But he shrugs his shoulders and takes the seat opposite me with half a frown on his face.

Typically and I mean fucking typically some waitress comes over and starts drooling all over him pretty much immediately. Tilly 2.0. It's both ridiculously annoying and brilliant. She's falling all over him and she hasn't even got to see anything exciting yet which makes me look pretty much like a nun in comparison.

But I'm in a good mood and because I'm in a good mood I decide a little game is on the cards.

'What can I get you to drink?' She asks only looking at him (which is offensive), he goes for the usual but smiles at me, waiting for me to pick my usual. But my head hurts so no bloody way.

'Two iced waters please.'

'You sure? You can have whatever you want?' He offers, openly smiling. The waitress behind him is looking positively bored, irritated by my very existence. Bitch, bring it.

So instead of just responding with a point to the head, I lean towards him, imitating Tilly almost as I flutter my eyelashes at him like a teenager.

'Really?' I ask, pretending as if he's just offered me the world's jewels. He almost frowns but almost decides to play along. Which means, he's being super passive.

'Of course, whatever you'd like?'

So I lean even closer, bite my lip and start to stroke his hand, slowly, playfully.

Our waitress is suddenly realising that she shouldn't be making cheeky eye-fucks to him but my flatmate is looking both confused and entertained. He's smirking at me, trying to read what I'm thinking.

'I do hope you're not trying to get me drunk, my love.' I whisper sensually, giving him my best sexy face. It sounds like a joke but sexy face is a real thing and it normally works in my favour so I'm going to add it to my routine at the moment.

He raises an eyebrow but doesn't shift.

'Of course not.' He replies, calculating. The waitress is still standing too close to him, invading his personal space, positively smothering him with her dirty scent.

Oh hoe, game on.

'We do have to conserve our energy to put to…other uses…' I tease, running my tongue across my bottom lip.

He's still very confused, his cheeks are tainted pink, a very light pink and his hand feels hot underneath mine. He's positively wishing for the water, which makes him all the more gorgeous.

I look to the waitress as if I've only just seen she's there.

'In fact I think I will just take the water after all.' SILLY ME?

'Of course.' She says tightly and you can almost hear the growl in her voice.

I go a little overboard in my game and under the table I stroke my foot along his leg, slowly at first but softly gliding it along his shin, mimicking the same back and forth movement of my fingertip to his hand, with my foot to his shin, all the while glaring at this brunette bimbo bitch.

He blushes harder and moves awkwardly while staying very quiet, but while his shin is reach, I'm going to keep up my act. He's starting to look uncomfortable but a kind of bewildered uncomfortable like he can't really make sense of what's going on.

'Are you ready to order yet?'

He's apparently lost for words because he shakes his head, quickly and pulls himself in closer to the table.

The moment she's brought the drinks over and we've ordered the food I drop everything, snapping my hand back to the glass on the table and shifting my legs together.

He rubs the back of his pink neck nervously and takes a few breaths, waiting until we're alone to let out a strangely tense breath. He's so sweet when he's flustered.

'What was that all about?!' He whispers at me, he looks panicky and a little tense, it's making me laugh.

'What?' I say innocently, shrugging and using my drink to hide my smile.

'You know what. That, that whole…you know?'

I laugh a little more and clink my glass to his water in a cheers motion. There's not a lot left, he drained it in an instant.

'Just a bit of fun.' I say, pretending I don't really care. His breaths are quite heavy but I don't think anything of it. 'She was all over you, it was annoying.' I confess.

He smiles now, the sweat on his brow hidden. 'Jealous are we?'

'No, I just hate not being the centre of attention.' I also hate being the centre of attention so there we are, catch 22. I could never be an actress.

He laughs now, like a kind of engine rumble, leaning on his elbow to look at me, head tilted fondly.

'You're the centre of my attention, if that helps?'

'For now,' I say back to him, feeling like I don't want to look at his charming face anymore, Or feeling that I should at least be given an excuse to do so. 'Wait till the waitress comes back.'

If she dare…

This is beginning to sound like some kind of date…which would totally be wrong and inappropriate and weird. But also super cute and 300% hot. He doesn't say anything back to me, just smiles, I don't know if that's because dinner has arrived but still…it's weird.

'Think of it this way, you're the first girl friend I've had, so you're always going to come first...'

He stabs a piece of food with a fork and almost seductively places it into his mouth. I'm staring, fuck. How do I stop?!

Oh why did he have to make girl friend into two- hold on? Come first?!

Was that a flirt? Was that a double meaning?! Did he just make a sexual reference?! AM I LOOKING TOO MUCH INTO THIS?!

'That can be misconstrued, you know.' I tease, just basking in the very idea, in both ideas. Mmmm.

'Oh?' He's playing the fool but he knew what he was doing, he's got to right? He said earlier he wasn't innocent didn't he? Did he?

'I didn't mean to insinuate anything. I'm sorry.'

Insinuate everything. All over me. Right now.

'I guess by Friday you'll have a new girl to fuck with...' That sounds bitchy. Was it too bitchy? Do I sound psycho? Is he noticing?! Man, forget about the new girl, fuck with me. Do It literally, I don't mind. I'm open!

'Why do you do that?' he asks, chewing on his dinner to hold the smile.

'Do what?'

He swallows his mouthful.

'You call it all different names, one minute it's fucking then shagging then sex but you never call it…love making.' He says slowly, hanging on those last two words.

Two things happen. The moment he says fucking, my insides curl up and I melt all over again. The moment he says love making, the excitement from a second ago leaves in an instant and I have to control my face not just puke on my plate just from sheer cringe-ness.

Love making? Yuck, where are we from, the 1600s?! Why don't we just call it porking?! What a way to kill my mood!

'Because they are different things. Very different things.'

It's both a pro and a con that he's so goddamn naïve, in this case a con. Call it fucking one more time, I beg of you.

'I don't understand….' He confesses waiting for me to explain. Eurgh where the fuck is Emmett when you need him.

He's just so sweet and so ridiculous and so naïve and so goddamn hot. He looks like an oxymoron; He's the very definition of sex, yet he needs me to explain the theory.

'Err. Okay. What do you want me to start with?' I ask, unable to hide the shake in my voice.

Is it me or has food become the least of my worries since he brought this topic up?

'Whatever you'd like.'

Foreplay sounds good. Let's leave this restaurant right now and I'll show you exactly what I'd like.

Okay, be cool, be brave, be careless. You're Esme Platt. Who gives a fuck if the saint opposite you is making you hotter than a volcano in a heat-wave.

'Alright, let's start with fucking. You're familiar with 50 shades, you should know the deal here…'

He's smiling but his appetite hasn't faltered, I'm taking my time over this.

'Fucking is basically very dissociative, you can fuck a stranger and it might still be fantastic, it's all focused to the orgasm no matter how you get there. There's a kind of urgency. You understand?'

It's one hell of a fucking turn on.

He takes a sip of his water. 'Go on.'

'Well,' I continue, 'Shagging is a little bit upmarket. You'd shag someone you'd spent a few hours with and it's more focused on the bodies moving together to achieve the orgasm.'

What a fucking dumb dinner conversation. Now I'm getting all flustered again.

'Sex and love then?' He persists.

'Okay so what you need to remember is that 'love making'' EW vomiting everywhere 'and fucking are like two totally separate things on the same thing. Like the colour chart acid thing.'

'The PH scale?' He offers.

'Exactly!'

I take a huge forkful deliberately making him wait for my answer.

'So sex is kind of a repetition thing, something you'd do with a friend or a partner multiple times, you're kind of acting on your sole needs and desires rather than focusing on what the other needs but doing so in a very caring manner. Loving… Is different. I think.'

He picks up on this last comment with an eyebrow raise but waits patiently.

'I guess it's more sensual, more sensitive. There's more of a need to be holding and touching each other. The kind of thing where you'd be making out for hours and it would still be counted almost. It's more patient and romantic as coming was an unexpected perk.'

He chews thoughtfully.

'It's also a lot to do with the positions I think.' I add, eating a little more.

'In what way?'

Are you kidding me?! IN ALL WAYS.

'You really should take a look at the DVDs, they'll explain more than I ever could.' I say mockingly, drowning the last of my drink because I'm become incessantly thirsty. Twice over.

Another eye roll and it's looking Goddamn hot.

'For example, I wouldn't consider anything like the 69 or the fucking leap frog stuff 'love making'. The two people aren't really connecting so that would probably go under sex. But I guess it's how you act in the situation.'

I add a shrug at the end for his benefit, so he knows that as much of an experimentalist I am, I'm not an expert.

'I probably wouldn't call anal 'love making either'.' I say with a laugh. He shudders, clearly not expecting the words from me.

'You think?'

'What?' Is he really debating the phrase love making over ANAL?! Jeeeez Cullen, raise your standards!

'You said 'I think'. You don't know for sure?' He asks, hiding his mouth in another sip of water.

THANK FUCK.

'Well. Alice and Jasper are the sort of love making people. I think it's down to who you're with, the relationship you have there and how long you've been together.' I explain. Also probably how much you baby-name each other and nickname their genitals shit names like 'boo' or 'squishy'.

Who the fuck are my best friends?

Man, after 24 long years of having nothing, I would thought the guy would have been far more interested in the sex…apparently he's read too many romance novels because all he seems to be stuck on is the love making.

I continue with my half empty plate, surprised at the hunger that is still there. Even if it's not the same hunger.

'So, you wouldn't say that you've…loved?'

Why does it have to be called love? Love is so misleading and… gross.

'No, I wouldn't.' I tell him honestly.

'Oh.'

What the fuck does that mean?!

'Oh?'

'Hmm?' He says, looking at me blankly.

'You said 'oh.'' I accuse.

He nods, almost smiling. 'Yeah I suppose I did.'

Do I have to spell it out?

'Why?'

'Hmm? Oh no, I just. It kind of just came out, I don't really know why.'

Either he's a shit liar or I'm paranoid. If paranoid was synonymous for totally 100% infatuated with your hot-fuck of a flatmate. I couldn't be more all over him if I tried.