𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃, joseph descamps

𝟎𝟐𝟒. the unbearable and the inevitable.

SHE ADJUSTS A STRAND OF HER RED HAIR, standing in front of the mirror. The morning light filters through the curtains, but she pays no attention to it. She feels nervous about spending time with Joseph. Just thinking about him puts her in a sour mood. How had they ended up here, having to work together on math problems that she already found boring, not to mention the presence of the little angel ?

As she leaves school in the evening, she sees him waiting at the entrance, hands in the pockets of his jeans, his gaze detached. His arrogant smile grinds on her nerves, but she tries to stay calm. "Ready to face the boredom ?" she says sarcastically as she approaches.

"I can't wait to see my teacher in action," he replies. She rolls her eyes, already annoyed.

Finally arriving at her house, Aimée takes a deep breath before entering. The warmth of home welcomes her. Joseph, on the other hand, seems almost nonchalant as he strides toward the kitchen. "Hello, ma'am !" he exclaims cheerfully, as if he hasn't just spent a day at school with her.

Her mother responds with a smile, clearly charmed by his attitude. Aimée, for her part, feels uncomfortable. She mocks him for the facade of innocence he wears so easily. "You can go upstairs to work," her mother announces, casting them a conspiratorial glance.

Joseph nods and turns to Aimée. "Ready for the anxiety ?" he asks as he climbs the stairs behind her, a provocative smile on his face.

As soon as they enter her room, he surveys the place with a critical eye. "Wow, you really have a... unique taste," he says, scrutinizing the pale pink walls and the music posters hanging above her desk. "Are you nostalgic, or did you just miss the train to modernity ?"

Aimée, stung, turns around sharply. "Can you stop being a critic ? This is my room, not a museum." She takes a step forward to show him that his snarky comments won't get to her. "Anyway, you're here for math, not to judge my decor."

"I'm sure you could make an effort to add some style. I mean, pale pink is cute, but it needs a little kick, don't you think ?"

"Sure," she retorts, heading to her desk where the math textbooks are already open. "I'll show you how to approach these problems simply, but you should try to avoid comments about my tastes, okay ?"

Joseph, clearly amused, approaches the desk and leans over the open book. "So, what do we do first, Miss Math Genius ?"

"We'll start with quadratic equations," she replies, flipping through the book. "I hope you're ready to focus because I don't want to waste my time."

He sits down in the chair across from her, that same nonchalant smile on his face. "I hope you're ready to dazzle me with your mathematical wisdom, then," he adds, his eyes sparkling with challenge.

Aimée huffs, frustrated yet amused by his demeanor. He has a way of making things both annoying and irresistible.

With a pen in hand, she carefully writes an equation on the paper, hoping to capture Joseph's attention. She turns to him, determined to make him understand the first problem. "Okay, look, the key to solving this quadratic equation is finding the discriminant. Do you know what that is ?"

Joseph, leaning back in his chair, is staring at the ceiling. "Uh... the what ?" he replies.

"The discriminant, Joseph !" she insists, a bit exasperated. "It's essential for determining the number of solutions to an equation. Look, it's written here." She points at the textbook, her frustration rising.

He finally looks up, but instead of focusing, he starts making faces. "Wow, redhead, I didn't know math could be so... how should I put it ? Boring." He mimics a drawling voice, mocking the passion she puts into her explanations.

"Stop acting like an idiot and focus !" she exclaims, losing her patience a bit. "It's not that complicated. You just need to concentrate for five minutes."

"Five minutes ?! You're dreaming !" he replies, a smirk on his face. He gets up and starts juggling a pen, tossing it from one hand to the other.

She pinches her lips to hold back a sigh; she's already spent too much time trying to get him to work, and he seems determined to make her crack. "I'm really trying to help you, but you need to put in some effort."

"Why should I ? I didn't ask to be your school project," he retorts, feigning indifference. He slouches back in the chair, arms crossed behind his head as if he's already on vacation.

"Fine, if you don't want to work, I'm not going to force myself to help you either. Do what you want, but don't come crying when you fail the exams."

He sighs. "Come on, show me this famous discriminant," he finally says, adopting a falsely serious tone.

Aimée, surprised by his change in attitude, decides to seize this opportunity. "Okay," she says, her voice softening. She leans toward him and starts explaining again, her passion slowly returning. "Look, the discriminant is calculated like this..." She writes the equation again, hoping he'll eventually take an interest.

However, after a few seconds, she notices he's distracted again, staring off into space. She sighs inwardly. It's like trying to cultivate a garden in concrete. "Joseph, you know you won't get by without a minimum of effort, right ?"

He finally lifts his gaze to her, a feigned look of perplexity on his face. "But I thought the point of life was to enjoy it, not to torture yourself with numbers."

"We can enjoy ourselves while still succeeding in school," she replies, annoyed. "Don't you understand that what you're doing now can have consequences for your future ?"

"Math is for nerds."

"Stop thinking that everything is a game, Joseph."

Suddenly, he moves closer to her, a provocative smile on his face. "Oh, you want to play ?" He gently pushes her, causing her to fall onto her bed. Aimée, surprised, quickly sits up, the absurdity of the situation taking her breath away.

"What are you doing ?" she asks, propping herself up on her elbows, an expression of displeasure on her face.

"I'm just showing you that you take everything too seriously," he responds, chuckling. He sits on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, his gaze challenging hers.

She tries to stand up, but before she can reach the edge of the bed, he pushes her again, making her flop back onto the sheets. "You're unbearable !"

"Maybe," he murmurs, leaning over her with that provocative smile. Their eyes meet, and Aimée feels warmth rising in her, a tension that has nothing to do with annoyance.

"Joseph, back off a little," she says, her voice soft but firm. She tries to push him away slightly, but he doesn't budge, remaining right above her, his arrogant smile intact.

"Why ? I like seeing you so serious," he whispers. He leans in even closer, almost too close for her to ignore the electric tension between them.

"Because you're unbearable !" Their faces are so close that she can feel his warm breath on her skin.

"Unbearable, really ?" he asks, feigning surprise. "Maybe you should try to see the positive side of things. You're lying here on your bed with the most handsome guy in your class above you."

Aimée pales, realizing how absurd the situation is and yet how deliciously intense it feels. "You're so arrogant !" He still doesn't move, as if savoring the moment.

Without thinking, she pushes him with all her strength. He falls to the floor with a dull thud, surprise and shock etched on his face. "Hey !" he exclaims, propping himself up on one elbow.

"Go home !" she orders, her voice firm but betraying a tremor of emotion. Her cheeks are now burning, and she avoids making eye contact with him.

"Why ? You can't tell me this doesn't bother you," he replies, his gaze locked onto hers.

"Joseph, this is serious. I don't want to play this game."

He raises an eyebrow, a provocative smile on his lips. "Then why are you so red ?"

She brings a hand to her face, realizing he's right. "It's because you're unbearable and putting me in an uncomfortable situation!" she exclaims, although the tremor in her voice reveals her agitation. "Now, just go."