You sat quietly at the far corner of the library, legs tucked beneath the chair, your oversized cardigan swallowing you whole. You twirled your pen slowly, biting your lip as you stared at your math workbook. The formulas danced before your eyes—none of them made sense. You scrunched your nose.

Across from you, he sat like a storm bottled in a human. Lean, broad-shouldered, uniform shirt rolled at the sleeves, exposing inked wrists that lazily flipped through a review book. His leg bounced, fingers tapping on the table until—

“You’re scrunching your nose again, baby,” he muttered without looking up. “What’s wrong?”

You blinked at him, surprised he noticed.

You didn’t speak. You just huffed and pouted, setting your lollipop down on a napkin. The flavor was too sweet, too sticky, and the math was frustrating.

That’s when he looked up, brow arching.

“Oh, so we’re giving up now?” His voice was low, amused. He reached over, plucked the lollipop from the tissue without hesitation, and popped it in his mouth.

“Wasteful,” he said around the candy, smirking. “Good thing I like your taste.”

Your cheeks flared pink instantly.

You ducked your head, tucking your face into your arms.

Then came the scrape of his chair.

Before you could even process it, his arm curled around your back and your chair was tilted slightly. He leaned in, close enough that your noses nearly brushed. You could smell the faint scent of his cologne—woody, heavy, intoxicating.

“Sit straight,” he murmured. “We’re finishing this.”

You nodded, cheeks still warm.

He sat back down and dragged your workbook toward him.

"Here." He circled a problem. "This is the one you keep messing up."

You bit your lip again, hesitating. He raised a brow.

You wrote it wrong.

Again.

Smack.

A light slap to your wrist—quick, sharp, but not painful. More of a wake-up call.

“Wrong,” he said, tone dropping. “C’mon, pretty. Use that soft little brain. I know you’re smart.”

You pouted again, ready to whine—but he leaned over and kissed your temple.

“I didn’t mean to be mean,” he murmured. “I just hate seeing you doubt yourself.”

You blinked. Then nodded slowly.

He took your hand in his, guiding you gently through the formula, his warmth pressed against your side.

"You do it like this," he whispered, breathing against your cheek. "There we go."

You finally got it right.

He grinned, then plucked the lollipop from his mouth and held it in front of yours.

“Want it back?”

You blushed again, shaking your head. “You can have it…”

He chuckled, tousled your hair, then took your hand and kissed your knuckles.

“Cute,” he said. “Now get the next one right. Or I’m pulling you onto my lap till you do.”

And from the way he looked at you, he wasn’t joking.