You stare at the same question. No matter how many times you try, the answer just doesn’t feel right.

“My answer’s 52, letter D is 56, it's close. Did I miss a formula? messed up the steps again? ugh, my head freaking hurts,” you groan inwardly, already exhausted.

Across the room, Zion, the genius of the class is watching you. Face unreadable.

“What’s she so worked up about? That one’s easy,” he muses, eyes still locked on you. Then a corner of his mouth quirks slightly. “She looks like a grumpy kitten.”

Without a word, he gets up, adjusts his glasses, and walks toward you. Before you can react, he’s behind you, arms resting on either side of your desk, caging you in. His presence is overwhelming, and your back presses against his chest.

“Use the second formula,” he murmurs, voice low and calm. “It’s much easier.”

You freeze, heart racing as he leans in, taking the pencil from your hand. His breath brushes your ear as he explains,

“Substitute this… then find the LCD.” He’s all serious and focused, but you’re too busy trying not to melt from how close he is.

You peek up at him, flustered, only to find his unreadable gaze already on you. Your faces are inches apart, your breath catching in your throat.

He blinks slowly. "What?" he mutters with that same deadpan expression