ꗯ𓈒˙ ׁ𓏼 the chemistry between us ٍ݂݂݂݂ഒ
❝ the chemistry between us ❞ — oscar piastri x fem!reader
chemistry was supposed to be your worst class. instead, it introduced you to the one person who somehow made balancing equations a little less impossible. what starts as a mandatory tutoring arrangement turns into late afternoons, shared snacks, quiet conversations, and the realization that maybe the best chemistry wasn’t happening in the classroom after all.
warnings : fluff, strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn, academic stress, tutoring, teasing, kissing, happy ending, use of y/n, not proofread
word count: 6.9k , masterlist , a/n : HAIIII im sosososo sorry for being so inactive omgg work has been kicking my ASS😭😭😭
if there was one class you could erase from your schedule entirely, it would have been chemistry.
it wasn’t because you hated mrs. harper. if anything, she was probably one of the nicest teachers at your school. she stayed after school to answer questions, explained things more than once without making anyone feel stupid, and somehow managed to keep twenty eight teenagers from setting the lab tables on fire every thursday. she did everything a good teacher was supposed to do. chemistry just refused to make sense to you.
it didn’t matter how neatly you copied your notes or how many times you rewrote the textbook definitions onto flashcards. you’d sit down convinced you finally understood ionic bonds, only for the next lesson to introduce something completely different that somehow expected you to remember everything from the week before. by the time class ended, your notebook usually contained more question marks than actual answers.
today wasn’t proving to be any different.
mrs. harper had spent the last fifteen minutes walking everyone through balancing chemical equations, writing each step across the whiteboard while the class copied it down. around you, pencils moved almost nonstop. every now and then someone would raise a hand to ask a question, she’d answer it, and the room would settle back into the quiet rhythm of writing.
you on the other hand, had been staring at question six for so long that the numbers were starting to blur together.
you erased your answer for what felt like the tenth time before giving up completely, dropping your pencil onto the desk with a sigh you hoped nobody heard.
“everything alright back there?”
mrs. harper was looking directly at you.
the twenty seven other students immediately became very interested in their worksheets.
she smiled in that way teachers always did when they knew you weren’t telling the truth.
you glanced back down at the paper. “i just don’t know how to do this one.”
a couple of quiet laughs came from somewhere behind you.
mrs. harper didn’t laugh. instead, she walked over to your desk, resting one hand against the edge of the table before looking over your work. “you’ve got the first step right.”
“then why does everything after that look wrong?”
“because you skipped something here.” she pointed to one line before moving her finger farther down the page. “and once this is wrong, everything underneath it ends up wrong too.”
you stared at the worksheet for another few seconds.
“that’s alright,” she said gently. “we’ll go over it again.”
you nodded, even though you felt awful.
you weren’t the kind of student who ignored homework or slept through class. if anything, you probably spent more time studying chemistry than any other subject. somehow, it never seemed to matter.
mrs. harper gave your shoulder a reassuring pat before returning to the front of the room.
“can anyone tell me what coefficient should go here?”
before you’d even looked back up, someone answered.
you turned your head just enough to see him sitting two rows over by the windows, exactly where he always sat. his notebook was open beside him, every page filled with impossibly neat handwriting that looked more like it had been printed than written during class. unlike the rest of you, who were still halfway through the worksheet, he’d already finished it and was absentmindedly spinning his pencil between his fingers while mrs. harper checked his answer.
“correct,” she said. “can you explain why?”
without sounding even remotely nervous, oscar launched into an explanation that somehow made perfect sense to everyone except you.
you tried listening, really! but by the end of it, you were somehow even more confused than before.
when the bell finally rang, chairs scraped across the floor as everyone packed up in a hurry. conversations filled the room almost instantly, people already talking about weekend plans while shoving books into backpacks.
you did the same, slipping your unfinished worksheet into a folder before standing.
“have a good weekend, everyone,” mrs. harper called after the class.
you offered a quick goodbye on your way out, already deciding that tonight would probably involve another two hours of chemistry videos you still wouldn’t understand.
unfortunately, monday arrived anyway.
the test had felt impossible.
you’d left three questions blank, guessed on at least four more, and walked out of the classroom with that horrible feeling that no amount of wishing was going to change the grade waiting for you.
now the papers sat in a neat stack on mrs. harper’s desk.
one by one, names were called.
some came back smiling, others folded their papers before anyone else could see the score.
he stood, accepted his test with a quiet, “thanks,” and headed back toward his seat.
someone leaned over from the next desk.
he looked down at the paper for a second.
“…i would’ve been more surprised if i didn’t.”
“that’s actually insane.”
oscar only shrugged before putting the test inside his binder as if getting perfect scores was the least interesting part of his day.
you looked away before he noticed you staring.
the bright red 58% in the corner practically mocked you before you’d even reached your desk again.
you didn’t need to read the corrections to know you’d done badly.
you’d done badly last quiz, and the one before that, and somehow, despite all the studying you’d forced yourself through over the weekend, you’d managed to do badly again.
the rest of the lesson passed in a blur of answer sheets, corrections, and explanations you desperately tried to follow. every time mrs. harper solved a problem on the board, you understood it while she was explaining it. the second you looked back at your own paper, it was like your brain had reset.
by the time the dismissal bell echoed through the classroom, most students were already halfway out the door.
you had just zipped your backpack shut when mrs. harper looked up from her desk.
“y/n? could you stay for a moment?”
before you could answer, she added,
“and oscar, if you wouldn’t mind staying as well.”
your eyebrows pulled together.
across the room, oscar paused halfway through putting on his backpack. for the first time all semester, the two of you looked at each other with the exact same expression.
the classroom emptied slowly until the loud conversations and footsteps in the hallway faded into the background. the once crowded room felt strangely quiet with only the three of you left inside, the afternoon sunlight coming through the windows and stretching across the desks.
you stood beside your chair, fingers loosely wrapped around the strap of your backpack, while oscar remained near his desk with one hand resting on the back of his chair. neither of you said anything. there wasn’t really anything to say. you had barely spoken to each other before today, and now you were both standing there because your chemistry teacher had apparently decided something involving the two of you was a good idea.
mrs. harper finished organizing the papers on her desk before looking up.
“i’ll get straight to the point,” she said. “y/n, your test results aren’t where they need to be.”
“i know you know,” she replied, not unkindly. “and that’s exactly why i wanted to talk to you. you’re putting in the effort. i can see that. but something about the way you’re studying isn’t helping you actually understand the material.”
she wasn’t wrong, which somehow made it worse.
“i was thinking,” she continued, glancing toward oscar, “that you might benefit from working with someone who approaches the subject differently.”
you already knew where this was going before she even said it.
both mrs. harper and oscar looked at you.
you immediately regretted saying it out loud.
“i mean…” you corrected yourself, clearing your throat. “i just don’t think—“
“that it would help?” mrs. harper asked.
“that it would be necessary.”
oscar raised his eyebrows slightly.
“interesting choice of words considering the 58%.”
“did you just insult my grade?”
“i was pointing out a fact.”
“you made it sound worse.”
“i didn’t know that was possible.”
you stared at him. he stared back. and for a second, you couldn’t tell if he was actually being rude or if that was just how he talked.
mrs. harper cleared her throat.
“as entertaining as this is, my decision has already been made.”
“oscar will be helping you with chemistry after school.”
oscar’s expression changed immediately.
you almost smiled because, apparently, you weren’t the only one who hated this idea.
mrs. harper folded her arms.
“and yet somehow, i think you’ll both survive.”
oscar looked like he was trying very hard to come up with a reasonable argument.
you honestly admired the effort.
“doesn’t the school have a tutoring program?”
“because i think you’re a good fit.”
mrs. harper looked at him like she couldn’t believe he was asking.
“because you’re patient.”
“i’m not sure everyone would agree with that.”
“i don’t need everyone to agree with it.”
there was a small silence, then mrs. harper turned to you.
“and y/n, before you argue, this isn’t a punishment.”
you opened your mouth. then immediately closed it.
“i just think you need someone who can explain things in a way that makes sense to you.”
you looked down at the floor. you hated admitting it, but you were tired of struggling. tired of feeling like everyone else understood something that you couldn’t.
oscar looked over. you looked back at him.
mrs. harper sighed, although there was a small smile on her face.
“wonderful. i’m glad you’ve both reached this level of enthusiasm.”
you didn’t think either of you looked enthusiastic.
“i’ll email your parents with the details,” she continued. “you can figure out a schedule together.”
you pulled out your phone when she gave you oscar’s number.
for a few seconds, you just stared at the contact screen.
oscar piastri. it felt weird seeing his name there.
you had known who he was, obviously. everyone did. but there was a difference between recognizing someone in class and actually having their number.
you typed out the first message before you could overthink it.
you : hi. this is y/n. for the chemistry thing.
you immediately regretted how awkward it sounded.
a response came less than a minute later.
oscar: we need to figure out a day
you looked at your schedule.
you: tuesday and thursday work
you waited. nothing else came.
you stared at the screen.
oscar: what else would there be?
you couldn’t help it. you laughed quietly.
it wasn’t because he was funny exactly. it was more because he was so unintentionally strange.
you : idk maybe “great, see you then.”
oscar: great, see you then.
oscar: we’ve spoken for five minutes
oscar: ill see you tuesday.
you looked at the message for a second longer than you meant to. you weren’t sure why.
maybe because you expected him to be worse. maybe because everyone always described oscar piastri as this serious, untouchable person who only cared about grades, and somehow he was just… normal.
annoying, maybe. but normal.
tuesday afternoon arrived before you were ready.
you had spent most of the day convincing yourself that the tutoring session wasn’t a big deal.
it was just chemistry. just two hours. just oscar helping you understand something you couldn’t figure out on your own.
except now you were standing in front of your bedroom mirror, wondering if your room looked too messy. which was ridiculous.
he was coming over to study, not inspect your room.
still, you moved a few things around anyway.
your desk was cleared except for your chemistry notebook, textbook, and a few pens. the pile of clothes you had forgotten about was moved into your closet. your bed was made, even though nobody was sitting on it.
when the doorbell rang, you froze for a second.
your mom called from downstairs.
too late. you heard the front door open.
a few seconds later, your mom’s voice carried up the stairs.
there was a pause. then his voice.
you walked out of your room and down the stairs.
oscar stood near the doorway with his backpack over one shoulder, looking exactly like he did at school. neat uniform, messy hair, the same calm expression that made it impossible to tell what he was thinking.
“come in! y/n’s just upstairs.”
he stepped inside and took his shoes off without being asked.
you noticed that for some reason.
there was an awkward pause. then he lifted his backpack slightly.
you looked toward the stairs.
“as ready as someone can be for chemistry!!”
he chuckled at your sarcasm.
“okay, okay. lets just go.”
oscar followed you upstairs.
your bedroom suddenly felt a lot smaller with someone else standing in it.
you weren’t sure why. it wasn’t like people had never been in your room before. your friends came over all the time, and your cousins practically treated it like their own whenever they visited. but oscar wasn’t either of those things. he was someone you’d only exchanged a handful of conversations with, and now he was standing awkwardly in the doorway like he wasn’t sure if he was actually supposed to come in.
“you can come in,” you said, noticing he hadn’t moved.
“…then why are you just standing there?”
he glanced around the room before looking back at you.
“i didn’t want to assume.”
you stepped aside so he could walk in.
he looked around for a moment, not in an obvious way, but enough that you caught him taking everything in. your bookshelf was overflowing because you’d run out of room months ago, little polaroids were taped around your mirror, and your desk sat beneath the window covered in neatly stacked notebooks, highlighters, and a candle you always forgot to light. your room wasn’t spotless, but it wasn’t messy either. it looked lived in.
his eyes landed on the giant pink bear sitting in the corner.
“…does that thing have a name?”
you looked at the bear again.
you let out a laugh before you could stop yourself. it surprised both of you.
oscar looked almost as caught off guard as you felt.
“are we actually talking about my stuffed bear right now?”
“it was the first thing i noticed.”
“that is deeply embarrassing.”
you rolled your eyes, walking over to your desk before pulling out the second chair you’d borrowed from downstairs. “sit.”
he set his backpack beside the chair before taking out a binder that looked far too organized to belong to an actual high school student.
every divider had a label, every paper was hole punched, nothing was folded.
“…you’re one of those people.”
“it’s called using a binder.”
“mine looks like it survived a natural disaster.”
“you dropped it last week.”
“…i forgot that happened.”
“you’re kind of annoying.”
you couldn’t tell if he was joking. that was starting to become a pattern..
he opened your chemistry textbook and pulled your most recent test closer.
his voice shifted ever so slightly. less conversational. more focused.
“show me how you got question four.”
“you’re not gonna tell me guessing was a bad idea?”
he looked at you for a second.
“i think the fifty eight already did that.”
“you know what?” you said, pointing a pen at him. “you are funny.”
he looked genuinely confused.
with an exaggerated sigh, you picked up your pencil and started working through the problem. you explained every step the way you’d been taught, speaking more to the paper than to him because you were already expecting him to tell you it was wrong.
he didn’t interrupt once. he waited until you finished before saying, “that’s where it went wrong.”
he pointed to the middle of your work.
“…that’s the part i was confident about.”
“because you stopped checking your work after that.”
he slid his own notebook toward you.
his handwriting was so neat it almost annoyed you.
he’d solved the exact same problem, but instead of skipping from one step to the next the way you had, he’d written every tiny calculation in between.
you compared the two pages.
“…that’s a lot more writing.”
“it’s also the right answer.”
“you keep doing things in your head.”
“not if you get them wrong.”
you hated that he had a point.
the next problem wasn’t any easier. or the one after that.
every time you thought you understood something, he’d ask another question that made you realize you were only memorizing steps instead of understanding why they worked.
after almost forty minutes, you dropped your pencil onto the desk.
“it means you’re thinking.”
before you could answer, there was a knock on your bedroom door.
your mom leaned inside carrying a tray with two mugs and a plate of chocolate chip cookies.
“thought you two might want a break.”
she set everything down on your desk before looking at oscar.
“help yourself, sweetheart.”
“don’t let her convince you she can’t do chemistry,” your mom said, pointing toward you. “she says she can’t do math either, then comes home with an A every semester.”
“you’re embarrassing me.”
you buried your face in your hands while she laughed to herself and walked back downstairs.
the room was quiet for a second.
he reached for one of the cookies.
“you’ve known me for, like, an hour.”
you grabbed a cookie and threw it at him.
it bounced off his shoulder before landing harmlessly in his lap.
he looked down at it. then back at you.
“hey! that was a perfectly good cookie!”
you stared at him for a second before bursting into laughter.
“i just threw a cookie at you..”
“and your first concern is the cookie?”
he looked down at it again before picking it up from his lap.
“it’s still perfectly fine.”
before you could stop him, he took a bite.
“…you’re actually eating it.”
he looked at you while chewing.
“because i threw it at you.”
you laughed under your breath, shaking your head before reaching for your drink again.
“i don’t know how you’ve managed to survive this long.”
“i don’t think eating a cookie that’s been launched across someone’s bedroom counts as good decision making.”
you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop smiling.
for the first time since he’d walked into your house, the silence between the two of you wasn’t awkward. it settled naturally while you both finished your drinks, broken only by the occasional page turning or the sound of him closing one of his binders. you hadn’t expected the afternoon to be enjoyable. honestly, you’d spent most of the school day dreading it, but somewhere between arguing over chemistry problems and throwing baked goods at each other, it had become… tolerable.
oscar set the empty mug beside the plate and glanced back at your notebook.
“because if you were ready, i’d assume you weren’t paying attention.”
you picked your pencil back up with the enthusiasm of someone being forced into manual labor.
“the problems you skipped.”
“…there’s a reason i skipped them.”
he didn’t answer straight away. instead, he pulled the worksheet closer and looked over the questions for a few seconds.
“they’re unfamiliar,” he said. “that’s different.”
“you keep calling yourself bad at chemistry.”
“oscar, i got a fifty eight.”
“your grade is bad. that doesn’t automatically mean you’re bad at chemistry.”
“how does that make any sense?”
“because every time i ask you why something works, you know the idea. then you rush through the calculations, skip steps, convince yourself you’re wrong, erase half your work, and start over.”
he tapped your pencil lightly against the desk.
“that’s not a chemistry problem.”
you didn’t know what to say. nobody had ever put it like that before.
every teacher you’d had simply told you to study more, practice more, pay closer attention. none of them had actually watched how you worked.
“…try number eight,” he said.
this time, you didn’t argue.
you worked through it slowly, forcing yourself to write every step instead of trying to do everything in your head. once or twice your hand hovered over the eraser, but you stopped yourself before using it.
when you finally reached the answer, you pushed the paper toward him.
he read over it carefully. your stomach twisted.
he circled one line near the middle.
“because you copied the coefficient incorrectly.”
he pointed farther down the page.
“everything after that is right.”
“if you’d copied this number correctly, you would’ve gotten the right answer.”
you looked back and forth between your work and his.
you hadn’t misunderstood the question. you’d copied one number wrong.
“…that’s the closest i’ve gotten all week.”
you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face.
he reached for another blank sheet of paper.
“while it’s still fresh.”
you sighed dramatically, but there wasn’t any real annoyance behind it anymore.
“you’re lucky you’re good at explaining things.”
“that sounded so confident.”
by the time you finished the problem again, the answer matched his exactly.
you checked it once. then twice. then looked up at him.
you leaned back in your chair, grinning despite yourself.
“i haven’t gotten one completely right by myself in forever.”
“that sounded suspiciously motivational.”
he looked mildly offended.
“don’t accuse me of that.”
“i knew you had one in you.”
the clock on your nightstand read almost half past six. oscar followed your gaze before closing his binder.
“we should probably stop there.”
“i thought your brain hurt.”
the truth was, the afternoon had gone by much faster than you’d expected. chemistry still wasn’t your favorite subject. it probably never would be.
but for the first time in a long time, you left your desk feeling like you might actually be able to pass the next test.
by the time thursday rolled around, you weren’t nearly as nervous as you’d been two days earlier.
that didn’t mean you were excited. it just meant you no longer felt like you were about to embarrass yourself for two straight hours.
you had chemistry first thing that morning, and for once, you weren’t completely lost.
mrs. harper wrote three practice problems across the board before asking everyone to solve them independently. you stared at the first one for a few seconds, instinctively reaching for your eraser.
you could practically hear oscar saying it.
instead of trying to solve half of it in your head, you wrote every step, no matter how obvious it seemed. it took longer than everyone else around you, but when mrs. harper began walking around the room checking answers, she paused beside your desk.
she nodded, tapping your paper lightly.
“you only made one mistake.”
“and it was just arithmetic.”
before you could respond, she moved on to the next desk.
you couldn’t help smiling to yourself.
it wasn’t perfect. it wasn’t even close. but it was better.
when class ended, you were stuffing your notebook into your backpack when someone stopped beside your desk.
oscar had one hand hooked around the strap of his backpack, waiting. you glanced back down at your worksheet.
“apparently i only got one thing wrong.”
“mrs. harper said it was just arithmetic.”
he gave a small nod, like that confirmed something he’d already expected.
“you literally never said that.”
“…that’s not the same thing.”
you laughed quietly before slinging your backpack over your shoulder.
“your definition of “close enough” is concerning.”
“your definition of studying is concerning.”
“i was trying to be nice.”
you walked out of the classroom together, only realizing halfway down the hallway that you were still talking.
usually, the second class ended, everyone split off in different directions.
you headed toward the student center and oscar usually disappeared toward the science building. today, neither of you seemed to notice until you reached the intersection where your paths split.
“…i’m going the other way.”
there was a brief, awkward pause.
he nodded once before turning the opposite direction.
you watched him walk away for a second before shaking your head at yourself. you’d known him for less than two weeks.
why had that interaction felt so… normal?
at exactly four o’clock, there was a knock on your front door.
when you opened it, oscar was standing there with his backpack over one shoulder and a paper bag in his hand.
he looked at you for a second.
“i’m not making it weird.”
you stepped aside to let him in.
he handed you the smaller bag.
“how did you know i like grilled cheese?”
“you told your mom on tuesday.”
you tried to remember. somewhere between chemistry, cookies, and your mom asking if either of you wanted anything from the kitchen, you must’ve mentioned it without thinking.
he shrugged as he took his shoes off.
you looked down at the warm paper bag in your hands for a second before following him upstairs. once everything was spread across your desk again, the two of you ate before opening a single notebook.
“this is definitely a better start than last time,” you said.
“because i’m less likely to cry over chemical equations.”
he took another bite of his sandwich.
the conversation came easier now.
there were still quiet moments, but they didn’t feel like they needed to be filled immediately. instead of sitting in uncomfortable silence, the room felt… peaceful.
after finishing your food, you gathered up the wrappers while oscar opened your chemistry notebook.
“before we start,” he said, “did you do the practice questions i left?”
“‘maybe’ isn’t an answer.”
“it’s the only one you’re getting.”
you sighed dramatically before sliding it across the desk.
he flipped through a few pages.
“…you actually did them.”
he looked back down at the notebook.
“…your feelings survived.”
you couldn’t even argue with that.
and somehow, that annoyed you a lot less than it had during the first session.
oscar spent the next hour going through the practice questions one by one. this time, he barely had to explain the concepts. instead, he caught tiny mistakes before they became bigger ones.
“what’d you do there?” he asked, tapping the middle of your page.
“because i thought i could do it in my head.”
“you enjoy being right way too much.”
he didn’t bother arguing this time. instead, he reached over, circled one number with his pencil, and slid the notebook back toward you.
“…that’s the only thing?”
you changed the number, looked over the rest of your work, then pushed it back across the desk.
he read through it once. twice. then closed the notebook.
you glanced at the clock on your nightstand.
last session, you’d barely finished half the worksheet by six-thirty. today, you’d worked through every practice problem in a little over an hour.
“…there has to be something else.”
oscar leaned back in his chair.
he looked at you for a second before opening the notebook again with exaggerated seriousness.
he slowly flipped through every page. paused. nodded thoughtfully. closed it again.
you leaned back in your chair with a sigh that sounded more relieved than tired.
“…i thought i was gonna fail this class.”
your head snapped toward him.
you grabbed one of the throw pillows from your bed and tossed it at him. he caught it against his chest almost effortlessly.
he set the pillow on the floor beside him.
for the first time since he’d started coming over, neither of you reached for another worksheet.
the desk stayed exactly as it was.
open notebooks. scattered pencils. empty paper bags from dinner.
the late afternoon sun had shifted lower, filling your room with warm light that made everything feel slower somehow.
“…so,” you said after a minute.
“what do you actually do when you’re not making my life miserable with chemistry?”
he looked genuinely confused.
“this isn’t making your life miserable.”
“why have i never heard about this?”
“i don’t really talk about it.”
“doesn’t usually come up.”
“i feel like “i race go-karts competitively” comes up more often than you think.”
“okay… that’s actually kind of cool.”
you looked toward the ceiling for a second.
“cookies, brownies, cupcakes… anything, really.”
he looked over at the now mostly empty plate sitting on your desk.
“…i thought your mom did.”
he looked back at the plate.
you tried very hard not to smile.
there was a brief silence.
then he added, almost absentmindedly,
“…that explains why you got offended when i called them perfectly good cookies.”
you laughed so hard you nearly knocked your pencil case onto the floor.
“that joke took you two hours.”
you were still laughing when your phone buzzed on the desk. you glanced down at the screen. one of your friends.
“where are you??? everyone went to dinner lol”
oscar followed your gaze to the clock.
“you’ve been here for almost three hours.”
“we finished studying, like… an hour and a half ago.”
neither of you had noticed.
you’d just… kept talking.
about classes. favorite movies. music. the professor who somehow made an eight a.m. lecture feel even earlier. the café on campus with terrible coffee but amazing muffins.
none of it had anything to do with chemistry.
“…i should probably answer that.”
instead, neither of you moved. there was another few seconds of comfortable silence before oscar finally stood, slinging his backpack over one shoulder.
you walked him downstairs, still talking about some ridiculous story he’d told you involving one of his roommates nearly setting off the smoke alarm trying to cook pasta.
when you reached the front door, he slipped his shoes back on and adjusted the strap of his backpack.
you covered your face with one hand.
a tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
after he left, you closed the door and leaned against it for a second. you’d started this whole tutoring arrangement convinced it was going to be the longest, most awkward few weeks of your life.
instead, you’d somehow spent nearly three hours with him…
and wished he’d stayed a little longer.
tuesday afternoons had quietly become your favorite part of the week.
you didn’t realize it until halfway through your sociology lecture when you caught yourself checking the time.
why are you counting down?
it was just a study session. the same one you’d had every tuesday and thursday for the past month.
except… it didn’t really feel like just a study session anymore.
your phone buzzed as you walked out of class.
oscar: need anything from the café?
you smiled before you could stop yourself.
oscar: whether you’re asking for six drinks
you: i was only gonna ask for five
three dots appeared almost immediately
you sent him your order before slipping your phone into your pocket. you’d stopped thinking it was strange that the two of you texted outside of chemistry.
at first, it had only been things like “what chapters are on the quiz?” or “don’t forget your calculator.”
now half your conversations had nothing to do with class.
when you got back to your house, there was already a knock at the door.
you opened it. oscar held up a drink carrier.
he stepped inside, slipped his shoes off without thinking, and walked toward the stairs.
“…you didn’t even ask where my room was.”
he stopped halfway up the first step.
“i’ve been here eight times.”
he wasn’t wrong. still… it was strange seeing someone move through your house so naturally.
he greeted your mom on the way upstairs.
“hi sweetheart,” she answered from the kitchen. “there are brownies on the counter if either of you want them.”
he reached over, grabbed the plate without even asking, and carried it upstairs. you stared after him. your mom looked over at you.
by the time you got to your room, oscar had already set the brownies on your desk and pulled his binder out.
“where you say “nothing” but clearly mean something.”
you sat down across from him.
“i just think it’s funny.”
“you’re comfortable here.”
he looked around the room.
you opened your notebook.
“consistency is important.”
you laughed under your breath.
“that might be the nerdiest thing you’ve ever said.”
instead of starting immediately, you reached for one of the brownies and broke it in half. without really thinking, you held one piece out toward him.
he took it with a quiet, “thanks,” before opening your notebook to the next chapter.
the exchange was so automatic that neither of you acknowledged it. you didn’t think about it until almost ten minutes later.
when did sharing food stop being awkward?
an hour passed. then another.
he turned your notebook around so it was facing you. every answer had a small checkmark beside it.
“you didn’t need my help for most of that.”
you looked down at the page, reading over your own work. for the first time all semester, it actually made sense. a laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
“i actually understand it.”
“that’s… kind of insane.”
he smiled, softer than usual.
“you don’t have to thank me.”
you closed your notebook, letting your hands rest on top of it.
“i would’ve failed this class without you.”
“you would’ve figured it out eventually.”
you looked at him for a second before smiling.
“…i’m glad i didn’t have to.”
the room fell quiet. the rain tapped gently against the window, and neither of you made any move to pack up.
after a moment, you glanced at the untouched chemistry book sitting between you.
“…i don’t think we’ve actually been studying for the last twenty minutes.”
you let out a small laugh.
“i used to count down the minutes until these sessions were over.”
“now i kind of wish they were longer.”
his expression changed ever so slightly.
“i stopped coming because of chemistry a while ago.”
you looked down at your hands.
“…then why did you keep coming?”
he didn’t answer immediately.instead, he watched you for a long moment before saying quietly,
“…because i liked spending time with you.”
you looked back up. for once, there wasn’t a dry comment waiting to ruin the moment.
you smiled before you could stop yourself.
“…i was hoping you’d say that.”
“i kept making extra cookies because i knew you’d eat them.”
a quiet laugh escaped him.
“…i knew they weren’t all for your mom.”
you shook your head, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.
“i think i’ve liked you for a while.”
“…i think i’ve liked you longer.”
before you had time to overthink it, you leaned forward.
the kiss was hesitant at first, both of you smiling into it almost immediately because it felt strangely impossible that this was finally happening.
when you pulled away, you rested your forehead against his for a second, laughing quietly.
“…all of this because i couldn’t pass chemistry.”
“best failing grade i’ve ever seen.”
you laughed again before kissing him once more, a little more confidently this time.
when you finally pulled back, you looked over at the notebook still sitting open on the desk.
“guess we’re done studying.”
he glanced at the page covered in neat equations and checkmarks before looking back at you.
he reached over and closed the notebook.
