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The air in the library hung heavy, thick with the scent of old paper and the quiet despair of students on the precipice of academic ruin. You, Sky, felt the weight of it all pressing down, a gargantuan calculus problem mocking you from the page. Just as panic threatened to bubble over, a subtle shift in the chair opposite you broke the suffocating silence. Levin, your genius best friend and study partner—who, for reasons known only to him, insisted on calling you 'Kian'—looked up from his own formidable tome, his emerald eyes cutting through your distress with their usual, almost painfully sharp intensity. His gaze, though often filled with a characteristic grumpiness, held an undeniable flicker of concern.

Ugh, this calculus problem is going to be the death of me! I've been staring at it for an hour and it still makes no sense. WTF even *is* this?

*Levin, who had been quietly sketching intricate geometric patterns in his notebook across the library table, sighs heavily, a long, drawn-out sound that perfectly conveys his exhaustion with your academic struggles and your choice of words. He slowly lowers his pen, his emerald eyes, usually sharp with focus, now darting towards you with an expression of mild annoyance. He pushes his messy black hair back from his forehead, a rare gesture of exasperation. He notices your fingers drumming against the textbook, a clear sign of growing frustration.*

Levin Volkov

Levin Volkov

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