Pair: Sol Ruca X Jevon Evans
Plot; Sol prepares for her SOWK midterm with help from her boyfriend Jevon, who brings her coffee, snacks, and quizzes her on key terms. She falls asleep studying, and Jevon finishes her notes for her. The next morning, she takes the midterm, using everything he taught her despite her test anxiety. After a tense grading period and a cliffhanger announcement, Sol returns to her dorm and excitedly tells Jevon she passed, and they celebrate together.
Okay sooo… hi everyone, it’s Isabella 💛 I wrote this little one‑shot while listening to Best Years by 5SOS because honestly… I’m super nervous about my own midterm this week. I’ve been reading nonstop, and I get really bad test anxiety, so writing Sol and Je’Von being soft and supportive kinda helped me calm down a little.
I’m working toward my BSW, so um… yeah… school is kicking my butt right now. But this fic made me feel better, and I hope it gives you a little comfort too.
Thanks for reading, and wish me luck on my midterm 😭💛
@ambreignsfan4life , @uconnlover5 and @teamchasezwrites your requests will be out later in the week when I get ahead of this midterm, I promise I have not forgotten about you. 🥺❤️
The hallway was buzzing with students, backpacks slung over shoulders, everyone half‑awake and half‑stressed. Sol walked beside Jevon, clutching her notebook to her chest while he carried her iced coffee like it was part of his job description.
“You look tired,” Jevon said, nudging her lightly.
Sol groaned. “I am tired. SOWK 270 is actually trying to kill me.”
Jevon laughed under his breath. “You’ll be fine. You’re smart.”
Sol rolled her eyes, but her cheeks warmed anyway. “You’re biased.”
“Maybe,” he said, bumping her shoulder again, “but I’m still right.”
They reached the classroom door, students already filing in. Sol paused, turning to him.
“After I walk you in,” Jevon said simply.
Sol smiled — soft, grateful — and stepped inside. Jevon followed her to her seat, placing her iced coffee on the desk before leaning down to whisper:
She felt her heart flutter.
Before she could respond, the professor walked in, dropping a stack of papers on the desk with dramatic flair.
“Alright, everyone,” he announced, “midterms are this week.”
The entire class groaned.
Sol’s eyes widened. “This week?!”
Jevon smirked from the doorway. “Told you you’d be fine.”
Sol shot him a look that was half panic, half affection.
The professor continued, “Study guides are posted online. You’ll need to review crisis intervention, ethics, and all the models we’ve covered so far.”
Sol sank into her seat, already overwhelmed.
Jevon tapped the doorframe to get her attention.
He mouthed: I’ll help you study.
Sol exhaled, shoulders relaxing just a little.
She mouthed back: Thank you.
Jevon gave her a small smile — the kind that made her feel like everything might actually be okay — before heading down the hallway.
And Sol opened her notebook, already knowing she’d be calling him the second class ended.
The second Sol stepped out of the classroom, she was already scanning the hallway for him. Students poured out around her, complaining about midterms, clutching notebooks, stressing loudly — but she was only looking for one person.
Leaning against the wall, backpack slung over one shoulder, scrolling his phone while waiting for her.
He looked up the moment she approached.
“Hey, baby,” Jevon said, pushing off the wall and walking toward her. “How’d class go?”
Sol groaned dramatically. “Midterms are this week.”
Jevon laughed softly. “Yeah, I figured. You looked stressed when the professor said it.”
She nudged him lightly. “You saw that?”
“I see everything you do,” he said with a little smile.
Sol’s cheeks warmed — but before she could tease him, Jevon’s expression shifted, a tiny hint of apology in his eyes.
“Baby… I said I’d help you study tonight,” he began gently, “but I’m gonna be a little late.”
Sol blinked. “Late? Why?”
Jevon rubbed the back of his neck. “Coach said basketball practice is running longer than usual. We’re prepping for the tournament.”
Sol nodded, trying not to look disappointed. “Oh… okay.”
Jevon stepped closer, hand brushing her arm.
“Hey,” he said softly, “I am still coming. I promise. I’ll be there as soon as practice ends.”
Sol looked up at him, eyes softening. “You sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” Jevon said. “I told you I’d help you study. I meant it.”
She exhaled, tension easing from her shoulders.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “I’ll start reviewing the study guide.”
Jevon leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.
“You’re gonna crush this midterm.”
Sol smiled — small, warm, grateful.
“Text me when you’re done?” she asked.
He squeezed her hand before heading down the hallway toward the gym, and Sol watched him go, already feeling a little less overwhelmed.
Because even if midterms were this week…
She wasn’t facing them alone.
The campus courtyard was still buzzing when Sol stepped outside, clutching her notebook and trying not to think about the word midterm. She needed caffeine. Immediately.
Her favorite coffee cart sat under a big oak tree, the same one she stopped at almost every day. The barista looked up and smiled when she approached.
“Caramel iced coffee?” he asked, already reaching for the cup.
“You know me too well,” Sol said, handing over a few dollars.
She took the first sip and sighed — sweet, cold, perfect. Exactly what she needed to survive the next few hours.
She headed across campus toward the dorms, weaving through groups of students sprawled on the lawn, some studying, some pretending to study. Her phone buzzed once — a text from Jevon.
I’ll be there as soon as practice ends. Promise.
Sol smiled softly, typing back:
Okay. I’ll start getting everything ready.
She reached her dorm room, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. The quiet hit her immediately — peaceful, warm, familiar. She set her coffee on her desk and dropped her backpack with a thud.
She spread her notes across the desk — pages of crisis intervention models, ethics frameworks, strengths‑based perspective, systems theory. She laid out her highlighters in a neat rainbow line. Her notecards were stacked beside her laptop, ready to be filled.
Her study guide sat open, half‑finished, waiting.
Sol pulled her hair into a messy bun, took another sip of her caramel iced coffee, and whispered to herself:
She clicked her pen, opened her laptop, and started highlighting key terms — micro practice, mezzo practice, macro practice, trauma‑informed care, NASW ethics principles.
Her dorm room slowly transformed into a full‑on study zone.
And even though she was nervous…
She felt a little better knowing Jevon would be there later.
Sol was halfway through highlighting her strengths‑based perspective notes when she heard a knock on her dorm door.
She didn’t even have to ask who it was.
Jevon stepped inside, hair still damp from practice, backpack slung over one shoulder. In his hands?
And his favorite hoodie draped over his arm.
Sol’s face lit up instantly.
“You’re here,” she said, relief washing over her.
“Told you I would be,” Jevon replied, setting the coffee on her desk. “Extra caramel. And I got you pretzels and those little chocolate bites you like.”
Sol’s heart melted a little. “You’re actually the best.”
Jevon smiled, then held out the hoodie.
“Here,” he said. “You always get cold when you study.”
Sol looked at it — soft, oversized, warm — and then shook her head quickly.
Jevon blinked. “What? Why?”
“If I put that on,” Sol said, pointing at the hoodie like it was dangerous, “I will fall asleep in two minutes.”
Jevon laughed, dropping the hoodie onto her bed instead. “Okay, fair. You do knock out every time you wear it.”
“It’s too comfy,” Sol insisted. “It’s a trap.”
Jevon leaned down, kissed her cheek softly, and whispered:
“Then stay awake for me. We’ve got studying to do.”
He pulled a chair next to her desk, grabbed her stack of notecards, and said:
“Alright, baby. Let’s start with crisis intervention. What’s the first step?”
Sol straightened her posture, took a sip of her fresh iced coffee, and whispered:
Jevon grinned. “Good. See? You’re already killing it.”
And with her notes spread out, her coffee cold and sweet, and Jevon beside her — she felt like maybe this midterm wasn’t so scary after all.
Jevon pulled his chair closer, flipping through her notecards with one hand while sipping his own coffee with the other. Sol sat cross‑legged on her bed, highlighter tucked behind her ear, caramel iced coffee in her hand.
“Alright,” Jevon said, tapping the first card. “Let’s start with crisis intervention. What’s the first step?”
Sol straightened. “Establishing safety.”
“Good.” He flipped to the next. “Strengths‑based perspective. What’s the main idea?”
Sol smiled tiredly. “Focus on what the client can do, not what they can’t.”
Jevon nodded. “Exactly. You’re killing this.”
He shuffled the cards again.
“Okay… micro, mezzo, macro practice. Go.”
Sol rubbed her eyes. “Micro is individuals… mezzo is groups… macro is communities and systems.”
“Perfect.” Jevon grinned. “See? You’re ready.”
But Sol’s eyelids were already drooping.
“Baby,” he said softly, “you tired?”
“No,” she mumbled, blinking slowly. “I’m fine. Next question.”
Jevon bit back a smile and held up another card.
“Trauma‑informed care. What’s the focus?”
Sol opened her mouth… then closed it… then leaned sideways until her head landed right on Jevon’s shoulder.
He froze for a second, then whispered:
Sol didn’t respond — she was already asleep, breathing soft and steady.
Jevon set the notecards down, slid an arm under her knees and another behind her back, and gently lifted her. She barely stirred as he placed her under the blankets, tucking them around her shoulders.
He brushed a strand of hair from her face.
“Goodnight, baby,” he whispered.
Then he grabbed her laptop, pulled her notes closer, and slipped on his glasses — the ones he only wore when he was focusing hard.
“Alright,” he murmured, “let’s get you ready for this midterm.”
Clean, organized definitions
Crisis intervention steps
Strengths‑based perspective summaries
Micro/mezzo/macro practice examples
Ethics principles she kept mixing up
Trauma‑informed care reminders
He rewrote messy sections, added vocabulary lists, and even made a “Key Things to Remember” page at the end.
Every few minutes, he glanced over at her — asleep, peaceful, safe.
“You’re gonna crush this,” he whispered, turning back to her notes.
And he kept working — quietly, carefully — until everything she needed was ready for her in the morning.
Sol blinked awake slowly, the morning light slipping through her dorm curtains. Her blanket was tucked around her shoulders, her laptop closed neatly on her desk, her notes stacked in perfect order.
For a second, she was confused.
Her study guide — completely finished.
Her vocabulary list — rewritten neatly.
Her “Key Things to Remember” page — highlighted and organized.
She sat up, rubbing her eyes.
Right on cue, her door opened.
Jevon stepped inside, wearing sweats and a soft smile, carrying a small tray with breakfast — a warm bagel, fruit, and a fresh iced caramel coffee.
“Morning, baby,” he said gently. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
“You… did all of this?” she asked, voice still groggy.
Jevon set the tray on her desk. “Yeah. You were exhausted. I figured you needed sleep more than anything.”
Sol looked at the notes again — the clean handwriting, the organized sections, the highlighted terms she kept forgetting.
“You fixed everything,” she whispered. “Jevon… this is perfect.”
He shrugged lightly, sitting beside her on the bed. “I just wanted you to feel ready.”
Sol leaned forward, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. He held her just as gently, rubbing her back once before pulling away to hand her the coffee.
“Drink,” he said. “You’ve got a big day.”
Sol took a sip — sweet, cold, perfect — then looked up at him with soft eyes.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything.”
Jevon brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Always.”
She leaned in and kissed him gently — soft, quick, warm — the kind of kiss that said I appreciate you more than you know.
Jevon smiled, thumb brushing her cheek.
Sol grabbed her backpack, her notes, and her coffee.
“I think I am,” she said. “Because of you.”
Jevon walked her to the door, squeezing her hand once before she stepped out.
Sol smiled — confident now, steady — and headed down the hallway.
Sol walked into the classroom with her backpack slung over one shoulder, her caramel iced coffee in hand, and Jevon’s words replaying in her mind:
She sat down, heart already pounding. Test anxiety always hit her hard — the tight chest, the shaky hands, the feeling like every answer she ever learned suddenly vanished.
The professor handed out the midterms.
“Remember,” he said, “no one leaves until all tests are graded.”
She flipped her test over and started with the questions she knew immediately:
Crisis intervention steps
Strengths‑based perspective
Micro/mezzo/macro practice
Her hand moved quickly, confidence building with each answer.
Then she hit the harder ones.
And remembered everything Jevon highlighted last night.
His voice telling her she could do this.
She took a deep breath and kept going.
Her anxiety spiked halfway through — her chest tightening, her leg bouncing under the desk — but she pushed through, answering each question carefully, slowly, just like Jevon told her to.
The professor collected the tests and sat at his desk to grade them while the entire class waited in tense silence.
She kept replaying her answers, second‑guessing everything.
After what felt like forever, the professor stood.
“Alright,” he said, “I’ve finished grading.”
“The highest grade goes to…”
The room held its breath.
Sol practically sprinted down the hallway, her backpack bouncing behind her. She burst into her dorm room, breathless, eyes wide.
Jevon was already there — sitting on her bed, hoodie on, scrolling his phone while waiting for her.
He looked up immediately.
Sol’s face broke into the biggest smile.
“Jevon,” she said, voice shaking with excitement, “guess what?”
He stood, stepping closer. “What?”
“I passed,” she said, practically glowing. “I passed my midterm.”
Jevon’s entire face lit up.
“Baby—” he grabbed her waist, lifting her slightly off the ground in a tight hug, “I KNEW you would!”
Sol laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“You helped me so much,” she whispered. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Jevon set her down gently, hands still on her waist, forehead resting against hers.
“I’m proud of you,” he said softly. “So proud.”
Sol kissed him — gentle, warm, grateful — the kind of kiss that said thank you for believing in me when I didn’t believe in myself.
They spent the rest of the afternoon celebrating — snacks, music, laughter, and Sol finally relaxing for the first time all week.
He never stopped smiling.
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