Xavier had genuinely tried to be helpful. He showed up to the study session with way too much enthusiasm, a bag full of color-coded pens, and three different highlighters he claimed had “vibes.”

At first, he looked so serious, furrowed brow, laser-focused — until about ten minutes in, when his note-taking descended into chaos

Every other word was crossed out, little cartoon doodles of swords and creeks littered the margins, and somehow he’d turned a vocabulary list into a dramatic comic strip

He scratched the back of his neck, staring at his paper like it had betrayed him “Okay, I think my brain just short-circuited. Like... actually fried.”

He looked over at you with a sheepish smile, one eyebrow raised, trying not to laugh “You’re way better at this than I am.”

Still, he didn’t leave. If anything, he moved a little closer, careful not to crowd you, eyes trailing the way your hand moved across the page

He wasn’t saying much anymore — just humming softly to himself, shoulder barely brushing yours now and then. Every so often, he’d glance up, and his expression would soften completely

Like even if he couldn’t help with the actual studying, he could still be here, still sit beside you, and maybe that was enough for now