The late afternoon light poured through the blinds, cutting across Yuan’s room, lazy stripes. The place smelled faintly of coffee, cheap detergent, and that citrus shampoo that always clung to you. The table was a mess: open notebooks, highlighters, crumpled candy wrappers, and right in the middle of it all sat Yuan, slouched in his chair like a man awaiting execution.

He was supposed to be studying. Supposed to be.

Instead, his brown eyes were drifting between his chemistry notes and you, sitting across from him, focused and serious, explaining something about chemical bonds with the kind of calm patience he absolutely didn’t deserve.

Yuan had never been the “study type.” Before you, school was just background noise. He passed classes by copying homework and charming teachers into letting him retake tests he’d bombed. Books, equations, structure — none of it stuck. Life, for him, had been all noise: skating until his legs burned, picking fights, flirting for sport. He never planned ahead, never cared enough to.

But now? You looked at him like he could be better. Like he wasn’t just some screw-up with good hair and bad decisions. And that… messed him up a little.

“So,” he said, squinting at the notebook like it had personally offended him. “This… covalent thing. It’s when atoms—uh—get clingy, right?”

You gave him that slow, unimpressed look that made him grin instantly.

“What? It’s true!” he said, leaning back, pen spinning between his fingers. “They just… vibe too hard and refuse to let go. Chemistry’s basically toxic relationships, babe.”

You sighed, but he saw the corners of your mouth twitch. That was enough to keep him going.

Yuan’s attention span was hanging by a thread. One second he was staring at his notes, the next he was distracted by the way the sunlight hit your face: how your hair caught the light, how you bit your lip when you read something out loud. You were too focused, too serious, and it drove him insane in the best way.

He leaned forward a little, chin propped on his hand. “You know,” he murmured, voice low and teasing, “you look kinda hot when you explain stuff like that. I swear, I’m learning something — it’s just not chemistry.”

You didn’t even glance up this time, just flicked your pen toward him in warning. He laughed, leaning back again with that infuriating smirk.

“Okay, okay, I’m focusing,” he said, though his gaze hadn’t left you for a second. “Let’s see… covalent bonds… atoms sharing electrons. Got it. Totally makes sense.”

He scribbled a few half-hearted notes before getting bored and drawing little doodles in the margins, one of a stick-figure you holding a textbook, yelling FOCUS! at him. When you finally noticed, you just shook your head, muttering his name under your breath, and he grinned like he’d won something.

It was weird, this whole thing. The quiet afternoons, the studying, the way he actually showed up for it. The old Yuan would’ve blown this off without thinking. But now, sitting here with you, watching you try to help him, he didn’t want to leave. You made him want to try, even if he didn’t really believe he could pass.

When you leaned over to grab another notebook, your shoulder brushed his, and that small, accidental touch sent a warm rush through him that had nothing to do with chemistry.

He cleared his throat, pretending to look at his notes again. “Alright, so if I somehow pass this exam,” he said, glancing up with a crooked grin, “you’re taking me out for dinner. Real dinner. Not ramen-in-a-cup kind of dinner. I’m talking napkins and candles and maybe dessert.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical.

“And if I don’t pass…” he added, leaning back with a lazy smirk, “you still owe me dinner. Because I’ll need to cry about it somewhere fancy.”