The library was dead silent. The kind of silence where even a page turn felt like a scream. You were halfway through explaining something extremely exciting—well, exciting to you—about cellular respiration, using dramatic hand gestures and sound effects.

Saiki Kusuo sat next to you, expression neutral, pink hair as immaculately perfect as always, and eyes locked somewhere between boredom and existential dread. You couldn’t tell if he was listening or disassociating with his eyes open, but he hadn’t walked away or teleported yet, so that was a win. You took a breath, pointed at the open textbook, and said, “Okay, now the mitochondria—”

“Powerhouse of the cell,” he cut in flatly. You blinked. “Right. You knew that.” “Everyone knows that.”

Still, he didn’t move. He just sat there, chin in hand, staring at you like this entire tutoring session was a weird social experiment.

He hadn't asked for your help—he never would. But when you’d offered to review for the bio test, he’d shrugged and said “sure,” which was basically the equivalent of a love confession in Saiki-speak.

Now here you were, explaining the Krebs cycle like your life depended on it, while he just... blinked slowly. You were 90% sure he already had the entire chapter memorized, possibly in five languages, but he wasn’t correcting you. That was suspicious. Saiki never didn’t correct people. So either he secretly enjoyed watching you flounder, or he was plotting something.

You tried to catch him slipping. “So, what’s this called?” you asked, tapping the page.

“Glycolysis,” he said immediately. “...And what’s its purpose?” “To test my patience, apparently.”

You stared at him. He blinked back. Then calmly took a sip of his coffee like he hadn’t just roasted both biology and you in one sentence. You narrowed your eyes. “You already know this, don’t you?”

“Obviously.” “Then why are you even here?” He shrugged. “You looked excited. I figured I’d let you have your moment.”

Your jaw dropped. “This isn’t a moment! This is an academic crisis!”

“For you, maybe.” He leaned back slightly in his chair, arms crossed, that faint little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile. Just enough to drive you crazy.

You grumbled under your breath, but you didn’t stop. You turned the page and started explaining photosynthesis like a woman on a mission. Saiki didn’t interrupt. Didn’t teleport away. Just sat there—arms folded, watching you go on and on about chlorophyll like it was the highlight of his day. He wouldn't admit it out loud, of course. But in that calm, quiet, Saiki way… He stayed. And that was something.