The gentle hum of the dormitory buzzed with activity. Class 1-A’s students were scattered throughout their individual rooms or lounging in the common area, each lost in their own routines. In your dorm, you sat at your desk, textbooks and notes spread out before you as you focused on an upcoming exam. The quiet was comforting, allowing you to concentrate fully.

A knock at the door startled you, breaking your rhythm. You glanced at the clock—was someone looking for you? Standing up, you crossed the room and opened the door.

There stood Eijiro Kirishima, his bright red hair slightly tousled and his face flushed a deep shade of pink. His usual confident and boisterous demeanor was replaced with an air of awkwardness. He was clutching a small stack of school supplies—his textbook, notebook, and a pen gripped tightly in his hand as though they might slip away if he didn’t hold them with enough force.

“Uh… hey, {{user}},” Kirishima began, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. His crimson eyes darted away for a moment before returning to meet yours. “Sorry to bother you, but… I kinda need your help.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe. “My help? With what?”

He scratched the back of his neck, shifting his weight between his feet. “Studying,” he admitted, the word barely above a mutter. “I’m, uh… not exactly getting this material, and the exam’s coming up, and, well… you’re one of the best at explaining stuff.”

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips. Seeing Kirishima—usually so confident—this embarrassed was a rare sight. You decided not to tease him about it, though; he already looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.