Chapter Text
“Be honest with me, [Name]... are these sessions actually helping?”
She blinked up at Bill from behind a loosely held pencil, one eyebrow raised. “What? Yeah… I think so. Why? Do you think I’m that bad?”
Nearly a month into twice-a -week tutoring, and she still couldn’t tell the difference between a derivative and a dead end. Calculus was eating her brain alive, and while Bill had started off patient, even gentle, it was clear her lack of enthusiasm was beginning to wear him down.
She spent more time asking about his music taste than reviewing formulas.
She used the phone number he gave her for math questions to send him memes at ungodly hours.
She hadn’t touched a single worksheet he painstakingly printed out, and most of them were still folded in her bag, probably fused with old gum wrappers by now.
He hadn’t said anything directly until now.
“I mean…” he adjusted his glasses and leaned back in his chair, sighing, “you say you’re learning, but every time I ask you what a limit is, you act like I’m quizzing you on ancient Sumerian.”
She glanced around his bedroom in a half-hearted search for escape. Bill’s space was everything she’d imagined it would be: chaotic but obsessively organised. A wall was dedicated to framed comic book covers, all bagged, boarded, and alphabetised by series and publication year. A shelf above his desk held a row of boxed action figures from classic anime heroes to obscure RPG characters glaring down like silent judges. His desk lap was shaped like the Death Star, and his laptop had a Legend of Zelda decal peeling at the edge.
It was so him, and honestly, kind of cute.
She turned back to him. “Okay, but I feel like you’re underestimating how painful this is for me. My brain isn’t built for this kind of math.”
He gave her a tight, awkward smile. “I know it’s not fun. Trust me, I know. But if you actually put in a little effort, just a little, you’d be surprised what you can understand. I’m doing my best to help, but you can’t just pay me and expect the knowledge to teleport into your brain. You’ve got to meet me halfway.” He spoke with a kind of quiet assertiveness that only someone like Bill could muster; gentle, a little awkward, but still firm.
It wasn’t what he said that stung, but how genuinely tired he looked when he said it. She could feel him losing patience. Still, she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Tutor, not therapist, she reminded herself.
“I appreciate the motivational speech,” she said dryly. “But I think I’m just a lost cause.”
“Nope,’ he said immediately. “Nobody’s a lost cause. That’s a bullshit excuse girls like you use when they don’t want to try. You’re not hopeless, you’re just avoiding the work.”
She groaned loudly, dropping her head into her hands, whining like a petulant child. “God, can we not do this right now? Can we do something else for five seconds? I swear, this stuff is breaking my soul.”
Before he could answer, she slumped dramatically to the side, letting her head rest against his shoulder. She felt him go completely stiff under the contact, like someone had hit pause on his nervous system. For a moment, he didn’t even breathe.
She grinned into the fabric of his plaid shirt.
He shifted, not pulling away but definitely panicking inside his own skin. “W-we can… take a break, I guess. Five minutes. Five. But we’ve got half an hour left, so you’ve got to focus after that.”
She pulled back just enough to flash him a grateful smile. His eyes lingered on her lips again, just a second too long, before darting away. He abruptly pushed his chair a few inches to the side, the legs scraping against the hardwood floor, and the space between their knees disappeared as he awkwardly uncrossed his.
It was only then, as she studied him under the soft yellow light of his obnoxious desk lamp, that it really struck her how adorable Bill was.
Lanky in a vaguely endearing way. Big glasses that always slid down his nose. Reddish brown hair he clearly didn’t know what to do with. His skin was still dotted with untreated acne, but his bone structure could've made up for it in a better world or with a better haircut.
But there was something oddly charming about the way his voice cracked when he got passionate about a problem, or how the boxes of collector’s items were obsessively dusted and displayed like museum pieces.
What really made him attractive, though, was how flustered he got so easily. The boy looked like she’d short-circuited his entire nervous system with a little shoulder touch. And that made her want to do it again. It made her want to see how much teasing it would take to turn him into a blushing mess.
A plan began to take shape in her mind.
“…Actually,” she started, leaning back with deliberate ease, “I was thinking maybe we could work overtime today. Like an extra hour. Maybe two?”
Bill’s brows furrowed, His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You want more calculus?”
“I want to pass my exam,” she replied smoothly. “Isn’t that what you’ve been lecturing me about?”
‘You hate these sessions.”
“I never said hate,” she said, voice airy. “Just… strongly dislike.”
He tilted his head, trying to read her. “I mean… I guess we could go over the limit” The maths pun was clearly unintentional. “But it’ll cost extra. I don’t have anything else going on, but I can’t work for free.”
She pouted dramatically. “Bill, come on. You know I can barely afford your regular rate. I’m already behind on last week’s payment.”
“I know, [Name],” he said flatly.
“I really need the extra help. or I’m gonna get completely wrecked on the final.” She reached over and gently wrapped her fingers around his tricep, letting her thumb stroke small, slow circles into his skin. “I swear, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll do anything.”
Bill bit his lip, eyes darting to where her fingers made contact. His hand reached up to brush a damp lock off his forehead. His mind was clearly spinning in ten different directions. She could practically hear the internal debate.
Is this a trap?
Is this just normal flirting?
Am I being played?
If all the porn he’d watched over the years that started with "tutoring session gone wrong" had taught him anything, it was that moments like this always ended in one specific way.
“...Anything?” he asked, his voice a little too soft.
Her heart beat faster, but her face stayed relaxed. “Anything.”
There was a long silence.
Bill pushed his chair back, turning it so he faced her directly now. The moment stretched like elastic between them. His hands moved to the buckle of his belt, fingers hovering for a beat. He looked hesitant, like even he wasn’t sure what he was about to do. He didn’t break eye contact as he began to undo it with a clumsy sort of urgency like he half-expected her to stop him, or call his bluff.
But she didn’t.
“Suck my dick.”