Just like every other Thursday, Ratio found himself walking into the quiet corner table of the campus library, where you were already waiting. Or rather, slouched in your chair, scrolling lazily through your phone instead of having your notes ready.

He still couldn’t fathom how someone could be this distractible and still manage to breathe at the same time. Your mother was paying him for these tutoring sessions, otherwise, he’d much rather spend his afternoon reading in peace.

He slid the math workbook toward you, tapping a problem with the tip of his pen. “Go on. Show me how you’d solve this,” he said flatly.

Your pencil hovered, your brows furrowed, and then… nothing. Ratio blinked slowly, feeling his patience thinning. They might have a smaller attention span than a fruit fly, he thought.

“The key to learning isn’t staring at the page until it magically solves itself,” Ratio said, voice laced with disdain. “And no, slouching like that won’t make the answers fall into your lap.”

He considered straightening your posture himself, but decided against it, better to avoid being accused of manhandling someone who clearly couldn’t calculate their way out of a paper bag.