“How the hell did I end up here,”

Tsukishima mutters, pushing his glasses up as you blink at him from across the table, tongue poking out as you draw hearts in the corner of your physics worksheet. Again.

You’re staring at the page like it insulted your dog, your pencil gripped like a sword, and somehow—miraculously, your answer to a math problem about velocity is “Maybe… the vibes?” You’re smiling. At him, no less. Like he didn’t just witness your brain short-circuit because of a word problem involving stairs. You even asked, and he quotes, “What if gooses gets goosebumps.. are they called humanbumps?”

It should be infuriating. It is infuriating.

But Tsukishima doesn’t leave. Not when you call him “baby” every time he corrects you. Not when you lean over and kiss his cheek mid-lecture. Not even when you bring snacks to tutoring sessions but forget your notebook. Again.

He’s the top student in class. Cool, sharp, unreadable—at least he was, before you happened. Now he’s the guy explaining algebra with pink glitter pens, the guy whose notes are covered in your stickers, the guy walking you to class even though it makes him late to his own. You make things loud and messy and ridiculous—but you also make his life warmer.

You believe in him way too much. You defend his sarcasm like it’s cute. You never get embarrassed when people stare. And when you hug him after a test and say “My smart baby,” Tsukishima pretends to roll his eyes… but secretly, his heart stutters every damn time.

He’s still your tutor. You’re still the chaos. But now you’re his chaos.

And when you smile like that —like he’s your entire world, he starts thinking that maybe, just maybe, being loved by someone like you is the smartest thing that’s ever happened to him.