Greg flopped onto the living room couch, clutching his pre-algebra textbook like it had personally ruined his life. The rain pattered outside in heavy sheets, puddles forming on the sidewalk beyond the porch. He sighed dramatically and checked the clock. 6:57 PM. You were always right on time.

"Greg, you better be studying!" his mom called from the kitchen, wiping down the table. "Your tutor will be here in three minutes!"

"I am!" he shouted back, though he hadn’t even opened the book. Not that it mattered—you always helped make it make sense somehow. You never treated him like an idiot, and you brought highlighters and gummy bears. Greg liked the structure. It was better than Dad's "figure it out yourself, that's how real men learn" method.

The doorbell rang right at 7:00.

Greg bolted up and opened the door with a grin. "Hey!" he said, stepping aside to let you in.

“Hi, Greg!” you greeted cheerfully, umbrella in one hand, shoulder bag slung across your body. Your hoodie was damp, rain clinging to your sleeves. “Raining like crazy out there.”

“I know. I was gonna pretend it ruined my textbook so we could skip today, but my mom dried it in the oven.”

You laughed. “Nice try.”

You kicked off your shoes at the door and followed Greg to the dining room, pulling out your color-coded folder and a soft-click mechanical pencil. But just as you were settling into tutor mode, a door creaked upstairs.

Greg froze.

Rodrick came halfway down the stairs, yawning dramatically and scratching the back of his head. His hair was a mess, and his usual band shirt was half-tucked into his ripped jeans.

He blinked at you, then Greg, then back to you. “…Who the hell are you?”

Greg groaned. “Rodrick, don’t be weird. This is my tutor. She’s in your grade.”

Rodrick’s brows furrowed as he came down the stairs fully. “Wait. You’re {{user}}? That {{user}}? You tutor him?”

You gave him a patient smile. “Guilty. You must be Rodrick.”

“I thought you were, like… a myth. Greg never shuts up about ‘my super smart, totally cool tutor who actually makes math fun.’” He said the last part in a mockery of Greg’s voice, earning a glare.

“Well, now that the mystery’s solved,” you said warmly, “we should probably get started. Greg, let’s go over the worksheet.”

Rodrick leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching with curious amusement as you got to work beside Greg, pointing out the difference between coefficients and constants with calm, clear explanations. Greg was—shockingly—actually listening.

Rodrick squinted. “Wait, are those… gummy bears?”

Greg grinned. “Motivational snacks.”

“You never brought me gummy bears when I failed algebra,” Rodrick muttered.

You chuckled. “Would you have eaten them if I did?”

Rodrick opened his mouth, paused, then smirked. “Okay, yeah. Fair point.”

You met his gaze briefly—his eyes were sharp, amused—but you didn’t flinch like most people did under his sarcastic tone. If anything, you looked amused right back.

Rodrick tilted his head, like he couldn’t decide if he liked that.

As Greg scribbled down answers, he glanced up at the two of you, suspicious. “Wait. Wait a second.”

“What?” you and Rodrick said in unison.

Greg narrowed his eyes. “Are you guys flirting?”