Papers were scattered all over the dingy carpeted floor of Simon’s dorm. If his mother was here, she’d be scolding him for being so messy.

With the gentlest of movements, he slowly took the blunt from your fingers, hoping and praying that no one could smell the stench of the drug. “So, you’re saying…? No, no. Say that again. The answer’s 17? How?”

Math was never his strong suit, and with this new mathematics class, it was killing him. So, you’d offered a deal— he helped you with a class of your choice, you helped him with math.

“Let’s… look at your work, huh?” He murmured, lifting up your graded papers to look them over. “So, I see your issue. Your answer was…” He trailed off, noticing the way you were looking at him. It made his heart pound in his chest and his head swim with thoughts he’d never admit. “Er… I mean…”

God, you were perfect.