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Your first impression of your younger brother’s new science tutor is a good one, to say the least.
He’s older than you by a couple of years, tall, attractive, and—from his resume—a pre-med student. His aftershave smells like vetiver and bergamot and when he greets you, he says your name with a wry sort of playfulness that leaves you all flustered.
In fact, it’s safe to say that from your first few meetings alone, you’ve developed a crush on Hanamaki. A silly one that makes you do silly things like wear cute clothes around the house or dawdle near the kitchen where the lessons are taking place, just for a chance to experience more of that addictive charm.
That’s why you find yourself leaning against the wall with your laundry basket against your hip on a Tuesday afternoon, heart racing as you try to work up the courage to turn the corner. And that’s why you also manage to eavesdrop, catching enough bits and pieces of his tutoring to realize that the boy that you’re halfway infatuated with is—
“—a liar ,” you hiss, after pulling him aside during his lesson break. “You don’t know shit about biology,” you accuse.
His pretty face remains impassive.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Do you even know what cellular respiration is ?”
There’s a stretch of silence that provides you with ample time to realize that you’re standing much too close to him for comfort. Oh well, it’s not your fault the hallway is so narrow.
“I... Isn’t that when the cell breathes?”
Your mouth drops open. “Cellular respiration? You know, glycolysis, the Krebs cycle...? The mitochondria... ?”
“Oh, I know that one,” he interjects with a crooked grin. “That’s the powerhouse of the cell, right?”
“Holy shit,” you mutter, disappointed in yourself for even feeling the slightest bit nervous around him. “You’re such a goddamn liar.”
He sighs. “Alright, alright, you caught me,” he surrenders. “I know nothing about any of that.”
“Are you even pre-med?” you frown.
He shakes his head and you feel a part of your dignity crack and fall away.
“I—I just really needed a job and the listing kept coming up online, so I figured that it couldn’t hurt to just apply —”
“How could it not hurt to apply,” you interject indignantly. “My brother is going to fail high school science because his tutor doesn’t know what the electron transport chain is.”
“Hey, that’s not true,” he argues and you raise an eyebrow.
“How is that not true?”
“I have notes,” he insists. “Notes from a real biology student. And I might not be an expert, but they seem pretty solid.”
“Notes,” you repeat, in disbelief. Notes . As if those will prevent your mother from blowing her top when she sees your brother’s final exam scores. No, you can’t get caught in the crossfire again, even if his unemployment is something you can empathize with.
“I’m not going to snitch on you,” you decide and he blinks, clearly surprised. “But you need to quit. You don’t have to, like, tell my parents the truth or anything, but... just say something came up,” you continue. “Say you need to drive your girlfriend to her hot yoga classes or something.”
"Hot yoga classes?” he questions like that’s the crux of this conversation.
“ Anything ,” you correct. “Just as long as you quit, because there’s no way my brother is making it to third year with you.”
“Fair enough.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I’ll put in my notice this afternoon. Sorry about the, uh, lying and everything.”
You sigh. “It’s fine.”
“Nah, it was kind of shitty,” he says, running a hand through his mop of strawberry blond.
“But hey,” he tacks on. “If you ever wanna take hot yoga classes, I’d be more than happy to be your chauffeur.”