GEMINI.
My dorm room was a disaster zone, a minefield of crumpled papers and open textbooks. I was sitting on the floor, surrounded by the wreckage of my academic life, feeling the walls close in.
I desperately wanted to take a break, and clear my head. But instead, I found myself pacing back and forth, a nervous habit that did nothing to soothe my fraying nerves.
My eyes kept drifting to the culprit on the floor—"Foundations of Modern Design," a beast of a book that I swear was more than 800 pages of pure academic dread. The thick, intimidating brick of a textbook seemed to mock me with every glance.
"Maybe I should just take a quick nap," Ithought, my eyelids heavy with exhaustion. But before I could even decide, I was jolted out of my thoughts by a soft, tentative knock on the door.
"Huh?" I muttered, wondering if I'd actually heard that right—or if my overtaxed brain was just playing tricks. Then I heard it again—quiet, almost hesitant. Who could it be this late at night? It's a boys' dorm, after all. Pranks? Probably. But I hesitated, then slowly made my way to the door.
I opened it cautiously, half expecting to find some prankster as I muttered, "Someone better be dying," I began, trying to keep my voice steady, "because whoever you are… Percy?" I froze.
Standing there in all his handsome and intimidating glory was Percy. He was dressed sharply in a black suit that probably cost more than a small house. His blond hair was perfectly tousled, and his piercing green eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint, but beneath that, I sensed exhaustion—like he'd been running on fumes. My mind instantly wondered—what was he doing here? I thought we weren't supposed to see each other tonight.
"Who's dying?" he asked, an amused look on his face, though I could sense a bone-deep weariness in his voice.
"What? No one's dying." I stammered, feeling awkward and flustered. Before I could even register what was happening, he pushed past me, walking into my room as if he owned the place. He shrugged off his suit jacket, and I quickly took it from him, hanging it neatly in my tiny wardrobe when I saw him struggling to find a place to put it.
"Umm... we weren't supposed to see each other tonight," I said, fumbling with my hands as he surveyed my not-so-arranged room.
"I'm tired," was his only reply before he flopped onto my twin-sized bed. My eyes widened in shock.
"That's my bed!" I exclaimed, clapping a hand over my mouth. I definitely hadn't meant to say that out loud.
Percy raised his head and a brow. "I can see it's your bed. Do you have another obvious fact I already know to tell me?" he asked. I quickly shook my head, but my mouth betrayed me yet again.
"You're lying on my bed," I said dumbly, grimacing at my own stupidity.
"I can see that, Sherlock," he sighed. "You have also been on my bed. Now, if you have a question, I suggest you ask and stop... doing whatever it is you're doing." He got more comfortable on my bed, and I scratched the back of my head, feeling utterly foolish.
"Umm... my bed is small and uncomfortable. You should have gone home if you're tired." I managed to articulate my words this time.
Percy yawned and stretched. "Too far, don't feel like driving," he replied, turning the other way.
What did he mean by that? This guy could easily get someone to drive him home or check into any five star hotel, but he chose to drive all the way here from wherever he was? I really don't understand him.
Oh well, let him do whatever he wants as long as it makes him happy.
With that, I decided to give my reading one more try. I opened the textbook gently so I wouldn't disturb Percy. The one thing I loved about studying for midterms was how it prepared me for exams, too. Ohio would have definitely called me a weirdo if she'd heard me say that out loud.
"Is there anything you don't understand?"
Percy's voice suddenly startled me. He was lying on his stomach, using his elbows to prop himself up. I thought he was sleeping?
"Umm... just some things, but I'll be fine," I stammered.
"Let me help you," he said, his voice low and husky.
"No, I can do it myself. You should rest," I protested. He just looked at me calmly and patiently.
"I was tired because I was out all day, but I'm feeling better now. Let me help." he replied gently. The tone in his voice made me want to cave in, but I stubbornly shook my head.
"Nope. I'll be fine on my own."
"Look, I can help," he said, his voice a low, steady rumble. "I've been through this so it won't take much. It's not a big deal."
I threw my hands up in frustration. "It's a huge deal, Percy! Even if you want to help, I only have one textbook. You're not even in this class anymore. You have your own stuff to worry about. I thought you were tired... you should sleep."
But Percy ignored my frantic outburst. He pushed himself off the bed and walked towards me. "What's the course?" he asked, his gaze unwavering.
I stopped flipping through the pages and stared at him.
"What?"
He took off his wristwatch as he walked over to drop it on my small bedside table with a soft click. "The course. The one giving you so much trouble."
"Foundations of Modern Design," I replied, still wondering why he was asking.
A slight smile played on his lips. "Oh! This was a tricky course, so I took my time with it, but don't worry, I still remember everything," he said casually.
My eyes widened in disbelief. "You... you remember everything? How could you possibly remember everything about this course? This textbook has 26 chapters and 814 pages! You'd have to have like... a photographic memory or superpower. Even if you memorized the entire thing two years ago, there's no way you'll remember everything now."
Percy walked back and sat on the beanbag, not even looking at the open textbook. He just gestured at it.
"Pick a chapter. Any chapter. Open to any page. Start reading."
Stunned, I slowly picked up the book and began flipping through the pages. I stopped somewhere in the middle, finding a paragraph that looked particularly dense. My voice was full of doubt as I began to read.
"Mies van der Rohe's architectural philosophy was deeply influenced by the avant-garde movements of the early 20th century. He was a key figure in the..."
Percy closed his eyes, finishing the paragraph flawlessly. "...development of the International Style, advocating for a minimalist approach characterized by a radical simplification of form, the use of industrial materials, and a clear, rational aesthetic. His famous aphorism, 'less is more,' encapsulated his belief in the power of simplicity and the integrity of materials."
My mouth hung open slightly. I stared at Percy, then at the textbook, then back at Percy again. I had never seen a mind like this before. Defeated, I slowly closed the book, dropping it on the floor with a soft thud that made him chuckle.
"Should we continue?" he asked, ruffling my hair. I had to blink rapidly to bring myself back to reality.
"Fine, you've made your point," I whispered, any sign of protest completely gone. "So...where should we start?"
Percy leaned back comfortably on the beanbag, a small, confident smile on his face. "Wherever you like," he replied simply. "I'm just here to help."