Emo Trinity x Reader

Patrick Stump x Reader - Extra Classes

Requested on Tumblr
Warnings: a bit of alcohol consummation
Word count: 3 086

Studying for uni was divided into three parts. One part was the lecture, where the professor was basically reading out the script and everyone tried to follow. The second part was studying for yourself, be it at home, in the library, alone or with friends. The third part was the tutor classes. An older student would help the younger students to understand the material they had heard in the lecture, they would answer specific questions, give hints for the homework and correct it later.

Patrick had always thought that these tutor classes were incredibly important, so he had felt really honored when he had been asked to become one in his third year. It was lots of work, for sure, but he enjoyed explaining and he lived for the reaction when a student had understood a problem. In fact, Patrick enjoyed being a tutor so much, that he offered to do it a second time. He felt more confident this time. He knew how to explain specifically difficult problems, he was more familiar with the material and he had gained a little bit of self-confidence.

And then you ended up in his class. It was not like you were trying to test him, you just simply did not understand the things that were discussed in class. Often Patrick noticed your lost stare at the blackboard while you tried to figure out the problem on your own, too shy to ask for help. Patrick did not want to call you out for that in the middle of the class either, that would probably only be embarrassing, so he waited until the lesson was over and stopped you from leaving the classroom, asking if you had understood everything. In the first weeks you nodded, saying you were fine.

And then came the time one of your new friends got sick of you always asking for help and did not have the patience anymore to help you with homework.

You felt terrible for that, like you had used your friend without giving anything in return (which was not true), but you had always felt like it was so much easier to talk to your friend than to some older student you barely knew. But now that your friend did not want to help anymore, and pressured by the feeling of guilt, you finally asked Patrick for help.

He was a little surprised when he ended the lesson and everyone started leaving, except for you. You felt terribly stupid, sitting behind your desk, playing nervously with a pen and asking Patrick for help. He was glad you had finally allowed him to help you and took his time to explain everything carefully and to the last detail. He made sure to ask you questions in between or let you finish sentences to see if you had understood what he told you. In the end he even consciously made a mistake to see whether you would notice. His heart grew bigger as you furrowed your brows and bit your lip.

"Waaait," you mumbled, "but that can't be right..."

He had grinned and nodded, proud of you to have understood the problem.

After that afternoon you did not hesitate to ask for help. Often Patrick spent an additional hour or two after the classes in the warm, stuffy room with you. He stood at the blackboard, chalk in hand while you were sitting on the table, notebook on your knees and listened to him.

Patrick was not really sure why, but he felt attracted to you. He had the first time he saw you, but now that he got to spent more time with you, the feeling grew. Maybe it was the way you ran your fingers through your hair, or the way you squeezed your eyes shut when you did not understand something. Maybe it was your neat handwriting or the way you cheered when you had cracked a problem. Or maybe it was the little messages you wrote on the homework that he had to correct, things like 'I know this is probably wrong', 'this is a weird result' or 'look at this nice chart, it took me way too long to make this'.

It was another Wednesday afternoon. The sun had heated up the small room in which Patrick was still trying to explain the latest material to you. You were sitting on the table again, wearing a loose tank top and black shorts. Your shoes were standing under the table, your toes wiggling freely in the warm air. Your notebook was resting on your knee as usual and you spun a pen between your fingers. Patrick was glad you were so occupied with the problem. This gave him more time to watch you. It was probably creepy, but he adored the way you were trying to figure out the problem.