or... zero stressing himself to death because the only kid in his tutoring lessons that actually tries is too much like Alice.

warnings : this is totally platonic! spoilers for the series<3

It’s one of those Rome afternoons that feel heavy. Not hot, not cold, just stale. Zero’s sitting cross-legged on the floor of your room with his laptop open and a pile of math worksheets between you. The blinds are half-shut, the air smells faintly of coconut lip balm and teen perfume, and your knee is bouncing again.

You're hunched over a grid notebook, pencil clenched too tight between your fingers, biting your bottom lip so hard it's nearly raw.

“Okay, so this one's just like the one before,” Zero says, soft but steady, pointing at the exercise. “Same structure, yeah? You're just solving for x.”

You nod. Zero watches you scribble. You start right—get the numbers in the right place, open the parentheses—then screws up multiplying the negative sign.

Again.

He sees it coming before your pencil even lifts.

“Wait, hold on—” He leans in, nudging the paper gently. “This bit here, you forgot the minus again. It flips the sign.” He says it carefully, not annoyed. Soft, like he’s talking to a cornered animal.

And then— You just stare at the paper. At the pencil. At the numbers.

One second.

Two.

Three.

And it snaps. Like someone cut the string holding you together.

You drop the pencil and bury your face in your hands and just start sobbing. No preamble. No soft tears. Full-body crying. The kind that makes your shoulders shake.

Zero’s brain instantly blanks out. “Oh—oh, cazzo—wait, what? What? No—” He instinctively shuffles forward on his knees, hands hovering, unsure where to touch or if he’s allowed to.

“No, shit, no—nonono, hey, shh, come on—che cazzo—what happened? It’s okay, I swear it’s okay—”

You lean forward without warning and cling to him, arms around his ribs, crying into his chest like a kid. Your grip’s tight, desperate. Zero freezes for a millisecond, blinking down at your little head buried in his t-shirt, heart thudding like a drumline.

His arms go around you awkwardly at first, then more firmly. He rests his cheek on your hair.

“You're not stupid,” he murmurs, eyes wide, staring into the middle distance like he's being held at gunpoint. “I swear.”

“I just—I try and I try and I still can’t do it—” you choke into him, voice cracking. “It’s like my brain won’t work—like I’m broken or something—”

And that’s when Armadillo shows up.

“Well done, champ. Another kid about to break down under your noble guidance. She’s crying into your shirt and you’re still sitting there like a stunned stork. Remember Alicce? You didn’t see it either, not until it was too late.”

Zero physically flinches at the voice in his skull. He shuts his eyes, breathes in, breathes out, arms tightening protectively around you like you're the only thing anchoring him.

“hey, look at me.”

You don’t. Just keep crying.

So he dips his chin, lifts your chin gently with a knuckle.

“You try harder than anyone I’ve ever taught. I’ve had kids throw calculators at my head.” He winces at the memory of Ludovico, the lizard boy. “You? You show up. You work. You care. That’s what matters.”

“I’m sorry,” you choke out suddenly, voice crumbling. “I’m sorry- I’m so stupid. I’m trying—I tried, I just-” you gasp like your own voice is cutting your throat. “I can’t get it. I always mess it up and it’s just—I’m a waste of your time, I’m sorry-”

And that’s it. That cracks him in half.

His conscience shows up in the corner of his eye again—serious, chewing on a big red neon sign that says: YOU FAILED HER. JUST LIKE ALICE.

He swats at the air, like swatting away a mosquito. It doesn’t go away.

“You’re not stupid, capito?” His hand cradles the back of your head, awkward but careful, like you might shatter. “You’re not a waste of my time. Not even close. You’re trying, you’re doing your best. I see it. I see you. That’s enough.”

You hiccup, nod against his shirt, still clinging. So Zero lets out a slow exhale, rubbing your back with one hand like a rhythm, the other brushing your hair out of your face with this tragic sort of tenderness he didn’t know he was capable of.

His voice drops to a murmur. “Hey. È solo un’equazione di merda, okay? It's just math. It doesn't get to win. You win. Always.”

Armadillo retreats. Just a little.

And Zero just sits there, with you in his arms, holding you like you're glass—because if you break, the only kid he's tutored that he gives a damn shit about, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever forgive himself.