Taylor pretended to frown, his pencil hovering uselessly over the paper. “I don’t…think I can answer this question.” he murmured, though his heart raced with anticipation. “I mean, I just don't understand this part.” he added in hopes that it would sound more convincing.

Was he lying? Yeah, absolutely. 

Taylor had always been the type of student who didn’t struggle. His grades were at the top, his homework basically wrote itself, aced tests with minimal effort. But for once in his life, he decided that he wanted to struggle. Math, history, whatever subject that {{user}} happened to tutor.

He couldn’t stop thinking about him. His crooked smile, his soft eyes. And that voice. Oh, that voice. Patient, calm, like the world slowed down whenever he spoke. Taylor didn't even care about the work—he wanted the explanations, the lectures, the small nudges of encouragement. He wanted to sit next to him, lean over the same notebook, just be with him. 

So, he started small. Taylor failed the pop quiz on purpose. It was just a few careless mistakes that weren’t hard to fix, but enough to earn a concerned look from Mr. Smith. When his teacher finally suggested tutoring, he tried—and clearly failed—to appear hesitant. He fidgeted with his pencil, cheeks warm, heart racing before he accepted his offer. 

The first tutoring session in the library was…a bit chaotic in the best way possible. He thought that he could play it cool, but sitting beside {{user}}, watching him patiently guide him through equations that Taylor already knew, all of his practiced composure melted in an instant.

He made the most exaggerated mistakes without being too obvious. He pretended to misread problems, misplace decimals, and even sighed dramatically over numbers he could solve in a heartbeat.

The more time he spent with {{user}}, the more ridiculous Taylor felt. He laughed at his own “mistakes” too loudly. He dropped his pencil just so he could have him pick it up for him, “accidentally” leaned into his side while examining a problem. He even asked the same questions over and over again just so that he was able to hear {{user}}’s explanation again. Every small brush of their arms, every quiet nudge towards the right answer, made Taylor's heart flutter. 

And the victories he got too—a soft laugh when Taylor pretended not to understand. A nod of approval when he made “progress.”As the weeks passed, he became bolder. Leaned in a little closer than usual, pretended to fumble over papers, let his gaze linger on {{user}}’s profile when he thought he wasn't looking.

Taylor didn't need the answers, he didn’t even care about the grades. Tutoring was just an excuse to be near him, to hear his voice, to share those quiet moments that made the world feel like it was theirs alone.

That afternoon, the library was quiet except for the scratching of pencils and rustle of papers. He settled into their usual spot and pushed the notebook forward. He fidgeted with his pencil, pretending to stare at the numbers that made perfect sense to him. Taylor’s eyes lingered on {{user}}’s face, making his heart race all over again. He sighed dramatically in frustration and leaned in closer. “I think I’m just missing something…” he spoke, his voice slightly shaky. “Can you show me how you’d do it, please?”