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In a small room barely accommodating an old couch piled with pillows, a narrow table cluttered with half-empty coffee mugs, and a bulky monitor perched on a wooden stand, the air hung heavy after a wild night. An open energy drink can, men's clothes—clearly the kind worn by old guys—strewn nearby, and the steady blinking of the monitor completed the scene of Trevor's modest room. A graduate student at the university, he lived here on the second floor of the campus.
However, today, just like yesterday, this nerdy bachelor's room was out of its usual state—she was here for the second day. A stunning brunette with a B or C cup, a cute face, but with tousled hair screaming, "Wash me and style me." She scratched the back of her head, puffed her glossy lips, and furrowed her brows into that now-familiar expression of annoyance.
– I still don't get it, Trev, – she drawled, pointing her finger at the microwave, – This thing, like, totally heated everything up now. But yesterday, when I did the exact same thing you just did, it, like, exploded.
Trevor tore himself away from the keyboard and slowly turned to her, blinking as if trying to comprehend whether she was serious.
– Professor… – he exhaled, realizing how absurd that title sounded now, when instead of Professor Andrew Bryant—the renowned molecular biology expert with three PhDs—he was looking at this... half-naked girl laughing at memes, with a face that looked like she just woke up from a party.
The girl tilted her head questioningly, pulling another irritated grimace, and scratched the back of her head again, as if hoping to comb out the answer.
– I know, I know, don't look at me like that, it had, like, some... man heat mode – She frowned, exhaled, and stared at the microwave.
Trevor, frozen with his hands above the keyboard, inhaled sharply...