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clementine-thedestroyer · 5 months

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Exponential improvement - Miguel O’Hara x reader

Warnings/tags: Tutor!Miguel, college AU. Reader is bad at math. Reader and Miguel aren’t actually together, it’s more of a first meeting type thing.

In which, Miguel finds a hill to die on.

Unfortunately for you, that hill is teaching you how to graph Logarithmic equations.

You had made it through highschool math, but just barely- and at the cost of more than a few all-nighters and tear filled study sessions. Math was never your best subject, to say the least. But to be fair, was it anyone’s?

You told yourself this class would be different, that you wouldn’t let yourself get behind, that you’d study, that you’d buckle down and do what you needed to do to get a good grade in the class. But none of that mattered, because despite your best efforts, you were failing.

And god, it felt horrible. You were too embarrassed to ask for help- it was the easiest math class there was- the one considered so basic and fundamental that it was required for every degree track. You knew others were failing, you even knew some had dropped the class in the first week. But that didn’t stop the steady build of shame and self hate that slowly but surely wore you down and left you hanging by a thread.

Then, that thread snapped. You had put blood, sweat, and tears into studying for this test. You stayed up nearly all night going over your notes and the test review. You practiced graphing and crammed every available scrap of information on quadratics, polynomials, and rationals into your head. You even spent the morning of the test watching YouTube videos over your weakest subjects- endlessly reviewing in the hope it would make some sort of difference.

But it didn’t matter. You failed the second test. Barely, yes- you got a 68, but that was still a failing grade, and now you’re halfway through the semester with a 64 and feeling completely helpless about your situation.

You tried, you had studied so hard- and yes, the 68 brought your grade up, but you couldn’t help but feel defeated. Was it so bad that you had expected a little more pay off than a 68? You had ran yourself ragged for that grade, how in the world were you going to get anything higher?

So, you gave in and admitted you needed help.

The campus had a tutoring program that you had known about for a while. Maybe it was embarrassment over needing help, maybe it was your own pride, or maybe it was just plain stubbornness, but you had held out in the hope you could raise your grades without help. But after the latest test, you gave in and signed up for the program.

So here you were, sitting in the tutoring room, waiting for your assigned tutor to show up.

The room was about half full- with each student-tutor pair spread out across the room. The company of others helped calm your nerves, but you couldn’t stop your leg’s anxious jittering. You hardly knew anything about the guy, just that he was in the process of obtaining a masters degree in genetics- and good enough at math to tutor it.

You’re scrolling through your phone- only half paying attention to TikTok as you watch the doorway out of your peripherals, waiting for your tutor to arrive.

5 minutes to 6:00, a man walks into the classroom and sits down at your desk, holding out his hand and introducing himself as Miguel O’Hara. You take his hand, making your best attempt at a strong, confident handshake as you introduce yourself in turn.

You didn’t know who you were expecting, but it definitely wasn’t this. The man, Miguel, is massive: built like a quarterback and taller than everyone else in the room by a long shot. He’s wearing jeans and a simple sweatshirt with the college’s logo. His face is set in a blank, slightly judging look, and his presence just feels straight up intimidating.

You already had your notes and worksheets out and waiting on the table, and Miguel takes notice. He sits down next to you, tugging the top paper in front of him and clicking his mechanical pencil as he scans over the homework.

Before you have a chance to say anything else, Miguel starts, speaking quickly and in a level tone. “Logs? That’s understandable. It’s really quite simple once you get it.”

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can, Miguel scoots closer to you and slides the paper in front of you, tapping the eraser of his pencil on the first problem.

“Go ahead and do this one for me so I know where you’re at.”

He’s pressed close to you, close enough that you can hear his breathing and feel the heat radiating off his body. Miguel seems completely unbothered, his eyes focused on the problem as he waits for you to start.

You pick up your pencil, hovering over the paper as you stare at the problem and urge yourself to think in the hopes you’ll not make yourself out to be a complete idiot immediately.

Graph the following functions. Find the x-intercept, the vertical asymptote, domain, range, and end behavior of each.

1) f(x) = log3(x + 3) + 1

You struggle to work out the problem, and you try your best. But, Miguel hovering over your shoulder and watching you like a hawk as you work out the problem is really not helpful. If anything, it’s stressing you out. Especially with how close the two of you are- with his thigh pressing against yours under the table. You know he doesn’t mean it like that- that he’s not trying to do anything. But if anything, that just makes it worse.

In the end, you give up, setting your pencil down and letting your eyes fall to the floor. “I don’t know where to start…” you say, sitting back in your chair, trying to ignore the creeping build of defeat and embarrassment from the depths of your mind.

Miguel nods, clicking his pencil again and getting the lead to the length he wants it. He leans forward, taking the pencil to the paper and scribbling numbers in barely legible chicken-scratch as he talks you through how to solve the problem.

“Well, looking at this, we know the asymptote is at -3 and we know b is 3…”

Miguel trails off as he draws a dotted line to the left of the y axis. You’re sure there’s a stupid look on your face right now, because Miguel has barely said anything and you’re already lost. You lean foreward, sitting up straighter in your chair in order to look over his shoulder and see what he’s writing. But all that dose is confuse you more, because Miguel’s handwriting

“Then, we can just graph the 1 0, b 1, and 1/b -1 points and move them around…” Miguel pauses again, this time to draw 6 points on the graph, then connect 3 of them with one line and the other 3 with a second line.

“And once you have it graphed, the rest is easy. We already found the asymptote, you can plug numbers in to find your x-intercept, the range is all real numbers, the domain is the asymptote to infinity, and your end behavior is just the same as the parent function.” Miguel finishes speaking and filling in the blanks on the worksheet, looking towards you and nudging the paper in your direction so you can see it easier. “Ready to try the next one?” He asks.

You stare blankly at the worksheet in front of you, still trying to catch up with Miguel and figure out what the fuck he had just done, but the mess of poorly written numbers and lines did nothing but confuse you further.

Miguel watched you for a second before sighing and nodding. “… you don’t get it, do you?”

And that’s how you found yourself still sitting in the now empty tutoring room with Miguel over 2 hours after you were supposed to have finished.

Not that it was your fault. You tried to give up after the 6th time one of Miguel’s explanations left you more confused than you had been before, but the man wouldn’t let you leave. When you tried to gather your stuff to call it a night, Miguel grabbed your wrist, pulling you back down to your seat and stating that “he was going to teach you how to graph logarithms if it was the last thing he’d do.”

And by god, it might be the last thing he ever does, because Miguel was looking worse for wear at this point.

Dark circles underlined his eyes and dark wayward strands of hair framed his face. About an hour ago, he’d pulled out his glasses- stating that the eye strain was bringing on a headache. He was hunched over the mess of worksheets and scratch paper between you- his phone propped up against his water bottle and playing a YouTube video that tried to explain logarithmic transformations to you for the nth time of the night.

You were trying your best to pay attention- you really were- and Miguel was doing everything he could to help. He’d pause the video often to ask whether the way the person explained it made sense or to peek over at the problem you were attempting to solve and make sure you were on the right track.

You’ve made progress- you actually knew what a logarithm was now, so that was good. And Miguel had related logarithmic functions to exponential functions in a way that just barely made sense- the only hurdle left to clear was being able to graph them.

And god- it was a big one. At this point, you were ready to give up- and were just waiting for Miguel to let you.

Your eyes drift back down to the YouTube video playing on Miguel’s phone. The words playing from the phone’s speakers go in one ear and out the other. You can hear them, but they sound more like a foreign language to you than a subject that you’ve spent the past two hours trying to grasp.

You narrow your eyes- trying to focus on the words of the man in the video- willing to do just about anything just be done and be allowed to go home- you’re considering faking a family emergency when all of a sudden, it clicks.

Maybe it’s the caffeine from the soda you got from the vending machine, maybe it’s the way the YouTube video explained it, or maybe it was your dead-tired brain being so desperate to be done with math today, that it simply manifested an understanding of logarithms into itself.

Regardless, you got it.

The secrets of the universe had been revealed to you. The power of the mathematical cosmos was at your fingertips. You felt on top of the world, and you couldn’t help the giddy smile that spread across your face as you ducked down, working out one of the problems on your worksheet in an effort to test your theory.

Miguel hardly noticed as you started working through the problem. The poor guy looked half asleep as he blankly stared ahead at the video playing on his phone.

You finish the problem, grinning wide as you hold the paper up and tug on the shoulder of Miguel’s sweater. “Miguel! I did it!”

When Miguel turns to you, his face lights up. “You did it?” He asks excitedly- his normally stern, or at the very least calm, expression is split by a massive smile as

“Yeah! I understand it now!!” You reply proudly- beaming as you stand up and hold your hand up for a high five.

Miguel stands- nearly sending his chair toppling backwards as does- and you quickly realize your mistake as his open hand hits yours with a loud smack that sends a stinging pain across your palm. Miguel doesn’t seem to notice how you wince. “See! I told you it wasn’t hard!” He says, still grinning wildly as he pulls his glasses off and folds them, hanging them from the collar of his sweater.

“Oh shush.” You scoff- the tension from the rest of the evening no more than a distant memory now.

Miguel laughs- the kind of deep, light hearted laugh that makes everyone else nearby smile- and he runs his hand through his hair, getting the wayward strands out of his face as he picks up the worksheet you’d solved the problem on, looking over it. “Yeah- you got it right.” He confirms.

“I still need some more practice with it I think…” you add, trailing off.

“Well, not tonight.” Miguel says, nodding. Starting to pack up his stuff as he clicks the power button on his phone and checks the time, cringing at how late it’s gotten. “I kept you pretty late… sorry about that.”

You laugh, nodding. “Yeah. Definitely not tonight…” you pause, trying to keep your voice level as you speak your next words. “But, I’m free Tuesday?” You say, more as a question than a statement.

Miguel looks down at you- the remnants of his earlier excitement settling as a soft smile as he speaks. “How about the coffee shop by the residence halls? Around 4?”

You nod, a giddy feeling bubbling in your chest at the thought of seeing Miguel again- outside of the tutoring room too.

“I really am sorry I kept you so late. I didn’t realize how long we’d been at it.” Miguel says, his eyes flickering to the side for a minute- but the split second of nervousness is practically over before it even begins. “We’re probably heading the same way so… I’ll walk you to your car or the residence halls- or wherever you’re headed.”

You grin, packing up your own things before slinging your backpack over your shoulder.

“I’d like that.”

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