Luke: You sat there, your head in your hands trying your best not to cry. You slammed your math textbook closed, and put your pencil down. None of this Algebra crap made sense. Luke looked up now, seeing you on the couch opposite him looking quite distraught. He got up and sat next to you. “Hey, what’s wrong (Y/N)?” He asked. “Math. Math is SO WRONG.” He shook his head. “Don’t work yourself up over it, babe.” He wrapped you into a hug, as you buried your face into his neck. He kissed your forehead and said, “Here, I can probably help you! My mum’s a math teacher- I can’t be that bad, now can I?” You let out a slight laugh, before he said, “We’ll get it done together.” You kissed him on the cheek, so glad that you had him around to get you through.
Calum: You were going on hour three of trying to write this stupid history essay on military technology of World War I. Who the hell cares about military technology of World War I? you thought. You were frustrated, and your skin was practically boiling. There was next to nothing in your textbook on the topic, and the sources you could find were either very difficult to understand or weren’t detailed enough. You heard the front door shut and Calum’s footsteps on the stairs. He greeted you with a hug and a kiss. “Hey, love!” You mumbled a hello. He stepped back. “What’s the matter?” “My stupid history essay.” He sighed. “Oh.” “Do you think you could help me?” You asked. He stood there, unblinking for a few seconds, before bursting into uncontrollable laughter. “What?” You asked. “Babe, I didn’t graduate high school, let alone could I write what would be considered an acceptable essay for an AP History course.” You sighed, but you had to smile, too. “I’ll try and help look things up for you, though!” You took hold of his hand in gratitude. “Thanks, Cal.”
Ashton: “Ashton!” You called. He was watching TV in the den, while you were attempting to concoct an experiment for your science fair project in the kitchen. A little pit of baking powder, some seltzer, and various other ingredients later, and you should have had yourself a pink bubbling beaker. That did not happen. Something went very, very wrong along the way. Ashton walked in to a little more than some pink foam splattered on his mother’s beautiful kitchen walls. “Oh my god.” “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” You apologize profusely. Ashton stops you and says, “No way, this is actually really friggin’ cool!” You stare at him in complete astonishment. “What?” You ask. “This is impressive. Not a calm bubbling flask- an explosion! Much more interesting. But… We do have to clean it up. Don’t worry, though, I’ll help you,” Ashton said, grabbing the paper towels.
Michael: One word- media. You hated your media course and you couldn’t believe you let your friends talk you into it. You had to film, edit videos, and mix audio, which all sounded really freaking cool, but it was hard as Hell. Computers were, apparently, not your strong suit. Right about now you were in tears over a track you were supposed to be mixing. Nothing was going as planned and it wasn’t fair. Michael pushed your hair out of your face as he held you close. “(Y/N), it’s going to be fine. You know, I may actually have a clue about this stuff. In the studio, they have to add vocals to our instrumental line all the time. They even showed us how they do it this one time. I could at least help you with that little bit, yeah? And, I’ll drive you over to the library right now and we can ask the tech assistant for some help. How does that sound?” You sighed in immense relief and smiled. “Michael, what would I do without you?”
