𝔾𝕀𝔽𝕋𝔼𝔻 ℂℍ𝕀𝕃𝔻 - ʙᴀᴊɪ ᴋᴇɪꜱᴜᴋᴇ

ℂℍ𝔸ℙ𝕋𝔼ℝ 𝕋ℍℝ𝔼𝔼 - "ɪ'ʟʟ ᴘᴀʏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏᴍᴏʀʀᴏᴡ!"

If you're honest, you're kind of grateful for Baji who had forced you (read: was paying you) for tutoring. It gave your mind a reason to finally clean your apartment; it didn't take long for you to purge the apartment of all filth. Finally, it looked clean. It made you feel.. proud of yourself.

A knocking at your door made you get up off your bed.

You ran to open the door, "Shut up- my neighbor's will file a noise complaint against me, this Karen here did it, like, twenty times."

"Really? Sorry," Baji unexpectedly apologized.

"Whatever. Twenty, twenty-one, who's counting?" you shrugged, him following in after you into the living room.

"I am not counting. I need help in math.."

"And literally every class you have?" 

"HEY- you might be right, but that doesn't make you any less of an asshole."

"Ok, and?"

It almost surprised you how easily you bantered with him. Or maybe you'd always been like that, and you'd just forgot. That tends to happen when you close yourself off.

You sighed, having Baji set down his notebooks and stuff.

"Lesson number one: get good-" you started.

"FUCK YOU-" Baji shouted before you interrupted his interruption.

"You didn't let me finish. Get good at taking notes. You bring that dictionary with you to school 'cause you don't know the words, right?"

"..Yeah."

"See my notes? Look at the format."

You opened your notebook to some recent notes; in neat lines in the almost-style of 'Cornell Notes' were your notes. A small section to the left was used for add-ons, questions, and thoughts, while the larger section of the right was used for your notes. You labeled each topic and underlined it as such, with bullet points following the topic. At the top of the page was the date, always, occasionally the class, and usually the subject of the notes as well. 

"What the hell?! Your notes are so neat.. but your writing is so messy," Baji groaned, unable to read your handwriting. You tended to write quickly, making your handwriting sloppy. It didn't really matter so long as you could understand the topic. 

"That's not the point. The point is, look, I can understand the subject of these notes just by reading this. Your notes have all these unnecessary sentences, etc. Nobody's going to grade you on your notes. It's not a formal assignment you turn in. Your notes are for you, and you only," you explained to him.

"So how do I get mine like yours?" he frowned slightly, tapping his pencil against his page.

"Here's the base of what you need; your subject of the notes, the date, a place to put definitions of words, and a place to put your notes," you tapped your pen against each section you had in your notes.

"..Okay? So, less writing, more definitions."

"Mhm. This way, if you don't remember the definition of a word you wrote, you can look to the side and boom! Definition," you grinned, gesturing the 'boom' with your hands. It made you look strangely animated; a stark difference from your usual tired, bored self. 

You seemed to almost enjoy tutoring him.

"Should I practice this tomorrow?" Baji asked, flipping through his notebook and slightly cringing at how long his notes were, in retrospect.

"Or you could remake your notes. I'd also suggest going over the notes you've done over the week every day. That way, you'll remember it better! Self-study always helps."

"Where'd you learn all this?" he questioned.

"Hm.. one of my teachers taught me how to do it like this. Really helped me."

"What else should we do?"

"How about the homework from class today?"

--

Everybody seemed to see you as this lazy student, who didn't want to do work, and could never be hardworking. But here you were, explaining everything he asked for help with. You weren't hopeless. You had no drive or specific motivation, and you didn't seem to work as hard as everybody else, but that was mostly because you'd found the easiest, simplest, best way to get it done. It was weird, seeing all your complicated notes and answers- yet how even with answers longer and better than his, you were faster. Your standards were always higher than anybody else's, and yet they called you lazy. Even you called yourself lazy.

But you had such high standards for yourself. So, maybe, to you, you were being lazy.

But to Baji, who had never even cared for his grades before in his life, it was almost inspiring to see somebody like you. Not crazy over grades, but not uncaring either. A kind of balance. 

Others would say you're just lucky, with a brain better than others, with a high IQ. They wouldn't be wrong, but that doesn't mean being lucky is all there is. If all it took was luck, then you wouldn't have gotten top grades. 

You tried your bare minimum. Your bare minimum was just higher than others' medium-work.

--

"Woah, how late is it?" Baji looked at the clock, before looking back to you, who was almost asleep. 

"Very late. Leave my home. Now. Thank you," you said, tiredly. Honestly, it seemed like you were always tired.

"Eh?"

"I'll lock the door, so get out." 

"Okay! I'll pay you tomorrow!"

"You better!"

--

As Baji hopped on his motorcycle and returned home, he couldn't help but be.. curious. Everybody at school really did see you as some well-off person, with a good future because you had good parents. You were lazy because you could be, you got bored because you didn't bother challenging yourself, you were tired because you stayed up, probably playing games. 

You looked lazy because you had no motivation. You looked bored and it seemed like you hated being bored. You were tired because it seemed like you couldn't fall asleep.

But nobody had greeted him at your apartment. There was only one door leading to your room; no other rooms. Baji had to admit, he was slightly concerned as to why you lived alone, in a cheap apartment.

He returned home to eat dinner with his family, and he wondered.

The you at school was closed-off, slightly cold, and never really paying attention. But the you at home, at the tutoring session, was full of banter, feeling almost warm, and paying attention to him.

He wondered as to why you always looked so lost at school.