The Problem Child

Embarrassed

Trevor was at the library. His head was seconds away from spontaneously combusting. He had to turn in his math assignment that day, and he couldn’t even crack the first equation. Anxiety? Through the roof.

He never got why he had to do a 6-step ritual to find x when he could just… circle it on the question paper. And proving something’s a circle? Couldn’t they just look at it? Were mathematicians blind or just petty?

He’d gone to the library despite hating it—and hating the grumpy librarian who ran it even more. Now he wondered what unholy spirit had possessed him to think this was a good idea.

Was he trying to cosplay as a nerd or what?

The librarian hated him. No mystery there. Sure, maybe he’d misfiled the science books into the classic lit section on purpose a few times. And okay, maybe he snuck a few comic books into the Shakespeare shelf. But come on. That’s not hate-worthy. That’s just… creativity.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid, stuuupiidd!" Trevor muttered under his breath as he got the equation wrong for the fifth time. Students turned to stare. He slammed his head into the textbook and whispered a string of colorful curses.

He hated studying. Especially math. Equations? Problems? Get outta here.

He snapped. Grabbed his papers. Stomped out. The librarian’s glare could’ve incinerated a small mammal, but he ignored it. If this wasn’t a library and she didn’t have to maintain silence, she would’ve probably cussed him out in Latin and flung a thesaurus at his head.

Trevor knew his teacher was gonna breathe fire if he didn’t hand in the assignment today. Whatever. He gave exactly zero shits.

He was so focused on burning holes into his paper with sheer hatred, he didn’t see the human obstacle in front of him until it was too late. He crashed into someone and went flying to the floor, landing on his ass.

Someone huffed, "Hey, watch where you’re going."

Trevor looked up—and groaned internally. Towering over him with a smirk that deserved to be outlawed: Charlie. Of course.

Trevor’s scowl practically etched itself onto his face.

And then, betrayal. His brain started noticing things it wasn’t supposed to. Like how Charlie’s jawline looked even sharper from below. No double chin. Perfectly carved angles. Seriously?

Speaking of angles—

“Shit,” Trevor muttered, remembering his assignment. His papers had scattered like cursed confetti. And the last thing he needed was for Charlie of all people to see them.

He scrambled to gather them up, cursing under his breath, when Charlie bent down, grabbed one, and casually started reading.

“Hey! Give it back!” Trevor growled, shooting up from the floor and trying to snatch it.

Charlie easily held it out of reach with one hand, still reading with mild amusement.

Trevor flailed. Why was he so strong? Was that a gym membership or just annoying genetics?

Charlie’s lips twitched into a grin. “Dude, what is this?” he said, holding up the page like it was a cryptic ancient scroll.

Trevor’s face turned lava red. “Shut up,” he hissed, finally managing to yank the paper back.

“You know you got that equation wrong, right?” Charlie asked, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, smirking like the final boss in a teen drama.

“What’s it to you?” Trevor snapped, voice sharp enough to cut.

Charlie chuckled softly. “Just asking.”

Trevor glared. No way was he staying here any longer. “Asshole,” he muttered, stalking off, cheeks still burning and brain still betraying him with lingering thoughts about angles.