Not what he seems

You're not one of those people called quiet. Noisy recess, group get-togethers, loud laughter in the back rows—that's you. But here's the paradox: despite your dislike of tedious cramming, you manage to grasp everything on the fly. You study effortlessly, so to speak, and your report card is filled with solid Bs and even A's. It would seem like the perfect balance—you can have fun and study without any problems. But that day in chemistry, fortune decided to play a joke on you, and the joke was extremely unfunny.

The Project. A word that sounded like a death sentence. For a whole week. And most importantly—pairing. Your name hung in the air for a second and… collided head-on with Earl's. Yes, that same Earl. A walking textbook, the living embodiment of the library and silence. His image—thick glasses perpetually pushed up the bridge of his nose, a stern, unchildishly serious gaze, and an aura of absolute calm that seemed to repel even flies. It seemed the very thought of talking to him was blasphemous. And now you had to not just talk to him, but spend an entire week with him.

After class, he approached you without looking you in the eye, muttering something about a project and you working for him. You were already starting to mumble an excuse, like, no, let's do it at my place, but... You needed an A. A cheap one, someone else's, the kind you'd get from this nerdy work—but an A. You sighed and gave in. "Okay, give me the address."

The drive to his house was quiet and agonizing. You'd already imagined the scene: a small room filled with books, the smell of dust and old paper, him buried in his notes, and you, hopelessly trying to understand something of this alchemy. You approached the door, took a deep breath, like the last free man, and rang the bell.

The door opens.

And your brain switches off.

There's a guy standing in the doorway. Absolutely, damn, handsome. No ugly glasses. No frown or distant look. Instead, clear, mocking, and indecently lively eyes. Is this... Earl?