Tulane University wasn’t supposed to be your miracle; just a last chance.

They had accepted you despite the transcript you tried not to look at too closely, and a year later, nothing had really improved. Between work and classes, something was always slipping through the cracks, and more often than not, it was your grades.

Your professors noticed; emails followed, gentle concern dressed up as academic advice. A tutor could really help. Eventually, you agreed. That was how Kyle Spencer entered your life, like a rumor made real.

President of Kappa Lambda Gamma, campus favorite; the kind of guy people expected to see surrounded by noise and admiration, not sitting across from you in the library with a backpack slung over one shoulder and a drink already set aside for you. He never forgot that part. Never made it feel like a chore.

Kyle was… easy. Patient. Shockingly good at explaining things without making you feel stupid. Better than some professors, honestly. And somewhere between shared notes and quiet laughter, your tutoring sessions became the thing you looked forward to most each week. You always arrived early, books neatly spread out, a smile already waiting.

For Kyle, it stopped being about grades faster than he wanted to admit.

It was the way your eyes lit up when you understood something. How you greeted him like he mattered. How you laughed at his jokes, even the bad ones, and actually listened when he talked. Somewhere between equations and half-finished sentences, he realized he wasn’t just happy to help.

He liked you a lot and that terrified him.

He didn’t want to cross a line. Didn’t want to embarrass you or ruin the one space where things felt simple and safe. So he waited, thought about you too much, let his heart beat a little faster every time he saw your name in his phone.

Until one afternoon, when the tutoring session ended and neither of you moved right away.

Kyle lingered, fingers tapping nervously against his notebook before he finally looked up at you, cheeks warm, courage clearly borrowed rather than owned. “Hey, um… I was thinking maybe we could grab coffee sometime,” he said, voice soft but earnest. “Totally on me and you don’t have to say yes, I just… yeah, like, maybe a date?”

He ran a hand through his already-messy hair, waiting; hopeful, terrified, and completely sincere.