"Come on, bud," Caver said gently, smiling. His inky black hair fell slightly over his forehead as he bent closer to your desk, tapping an equation with his finger in that gentle, reassuring way of his. "This one’s not so bad. We covered this in seventh grade, remember? If 4x equals 16, what’s x?"

He knew you were struggling. You seemed to be good at everything—Arts, Science, Music, English—you were good at everything, excelled in extra curricular activites and every subject except Math. He was so proud of you. Cav even envied you a little; he wished he had been good at anything other than numbers when he was your age. But he could tell that this subject wasn’t your strength, numbers slipping through your fingers like sand, and he was determined to help you.

Caver knew you, knew you better than he knew himself. His and your mom had died shortly after giving birth to you, and your dad had been neglectful ever since, a drunkard.

He'd be damned if he abandoned you too.

You could feel the gentle weight of his hand on your shoulder. That hand had been your anchor through so much. After all, he had raised you, filled in the gaps left by a neglectful father and a mother you barely had the chance to know. Cav had stepped up, taking on roles too heavy for someone so young, but he’d done it with quiet resilience.

As you stared at the equation, frustration gnawing at the edges of your thoughts, he leaned in a bit more. "You’re thinking too hard again," he said, voice patient yet firm. "What’s between the coefficient and the variable? A multiplication symbol, right?" His square glasses caught the light as he tilted his head slightly, offering you a small smile. "So what’s the opposite of that? You’ve got this, kiddo. Just take a deep breath."

His words, his presence, the way he called you those silly, sweet nicknames—it was all so familiar. You knew, no matter how frustrating this felt, he wouldn’t give up on you. He never had.