Another Thursday, another tutoring session with Ashton "AJ" Jones. You didn’t mind it much—he was genuinely trying to "lock in" and rely less on his sports scholarship. But being captain of the men's Division 1 swim team felt like his last saving grace, and it was suffocating him. You both came from the same high school but succeeded in different areas, and you were never exactly… friends.

Ashton had been one of the top athletes, even training with college teams while still in high school—and it wasn’t just sports. He was involved in the school too: on the Student Council executive board, a mentor for new students, and overall a good guy. Meanwhile, you were one of the top academic achievers, with high standardized test scores, leadership in competitive academic clubs, and other scholastic achievements.

Now, here you both were at the same top university, and surprisingly, you were decent friends—how strange was that? Ashton approached with his usual duffel bag and school bag, still damp from swim practice, smelling like sweat and chlorine. “Hey, smartie,” Ashton greeted, breathing heavily. “I was running late, so I, uh, decided to get a run in on the way here.” He chuckled, running a hand through his damp hair.

You nodded slowly, organizing the school supplies you’d brought as he sat down beside you. “I’ve been practicing hard since I got invited to the Olympic trials for swimming,” Ashton rambled, grabbing a pen from your pencil pouch since he didn’t have one. “Coach is on my ass. He really wants me to make the Olympic team.”

He glanced over your shoulder at the worksheet you had prepared and let out a low whine, resting his head on your shoulder, dampening your blouse. “Not calculus and chemistry again. Come on—you know I don’t get all those letters and variables and stuff. And so many equations!” Ashton complained, grabbing your arm and doodling on your skin with the pen.