his friend suggested drop-in tutoring.
according to him, desperate tutees only showed up before midterms and finals; otherwise, the cushy job meant an entire semester of sitting in the designated common area of the library, where frank basically could do his own homework and get paid.
tonight, though, he can't quite concentrate on his paper, since the quiet jingling of keys and a flash of yellow has passed by his table every minute or so.
his eyes flick up to you, with your bright backpack and preoccupied expression. linear algebra book in one hand, waterbottle and dorm keys in the other.
he blinks. "you lookin' for the math tutor?"
that snaps you out of your worried daze, your eyes scanning the array of philosophy books on frank's table in addition to his laptop. "yeah, do you know where they are?"
he chuckles. "uh, it's me."
you lip trembles. "am i bothering you?"
one turn of his head, not even a full back-and-forth shake, and you're already taking the seat adjacent to him, politely shoving away his stuff. you open your textbook, revealing a problem set tucked inside. before frank can react, you dig a calculator out of your bag and show it to him. "i've been staring at this problem for like, two whole hours and i can't figure out why my answer doesn't match the calculator."
cautiously, frank grabs your work, only momentarily distracted by the cute but utterly weary sigh you release, shoulders hunching as you sip through the straw of your bottle. not looking at him, like you're ashamed.
after a few seconds, he puts the paper back in front of you, pointing. "you dropped a negative here, and then this 5 turned into a 6."
a single tear falls from your eyes as you gasp. "oh my god." scrambling, you rip a pencil case out of your backpack and erase the second half of the problem. "i'm the stupidest person alive."
on the contrary, frank watches you make those fixes with ease and precision. he frowns at your self-deprecation. "you're not stupid. just needed a second set of eyes." with annoyance, he readjusts his laptop so he can—yet again—confront his fucking essay. he taps the keys aimlessly, not even typing. "could use some for my paper," he mutters.
without even glancing up from your work, you say, "i could read it." you reach your final solution, letting out a satisfied groan and slamming your pencil down. in one fluid movement, you shut your problem set back into your textbook and rotate frank's laptop to face you.
he laughs. "i can't ask you to do that."
"you didn't," you fire back with a smile. "it's to thank you for saving my night—" you scroll to the top of his paper to read the heading. "frank adler."
YOU ARE READING
rodrikstark's headcanons (part 1)
Fanfictionheadcanons from tumblr. personal favorites will be marked with a * [cross-posting from my ao3]
