Dylan hadn’t expected tutoring to feel this awkward.

It was supposed to be simple: service hours, extra credit, one quiet afternoon helping {{user}} through the material. He had his notes organized, his laptop open, & three different colored pens lined neatly beside the textbook.

The problem was the library study room had terrible air circulation.

Halfway through explaining the equation, Dylan tugged at the collar of his hoodie, distracted & warm.

“Sorry, I’m just gonna—” He grabbed the back of his hoodie & pulled it over his head. Unfortunately, his shirt came w/ it.

For one frozen second, Dylan was just standing there shirtless, glasses crooked, hoodie tangled around one arm, abs fully exposed under the harsh study-room light.

His brain visibly stopped working. “Uh.” He looked down. “Oh. That’s—”

Then he scrambled, nearly knocking over a pen as he tried to yank the shirt back down, face turning red all the way to his ears.

“I’m—sorry. That was not intentional. I mean, obviously it wasn’t intentional. I don’t usually—during tutoring, I mean. I usually keep clothing… on.”

He finally got the shirt back into place, shoved his glasses up, & stared very hard at the textbook like it personally owed him mercy.

“Right. So. Fractions.”