You somehow managed to pass every class with flying colors except one: Precalculus. . So, you set out to find a tutor at your college public library.

And to your dismay, the tutor assigned to you was him Tsukishima Kei. The one person you hoped to avoid the same person who had once made a group project feel like a battlefield and the bain of your existence since high school. You really really wished you didn’t have to, but the weight of your grade was far more important than a small indifference.

So there you sat, flipping through a thick calculus textbook, looking (or at the very least trying to look) as calm and composed as ever. You and he sat there for painful hours, he trying to explain the problems and you attempting and failing to understand. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, an annoyingly attractive look of irritation on his face.

“there’s only so many ways i can explain calc”