My Nerdy Alpha's True Masks

"You owe me one," Indiana’s voice cut through the silence, startling the air behind Finnick as he sat buried under a mountain of books in the library.

She expected him to jump, or at least flinch. To her surprise, the boy didn't even blink.

Indiana felt a flicker of unease. His silence didn't feel like the result of social anxiety; it felt like a deliberate choice. A calculated move. Her gut screamed that something was off.

"Thank you," Finnick replied—short, formal, and utterly devoid of emotion.

"I don't actually need your gratitude. I need something else," Indiana stated, cutting straight to the point.

About time she said what she really wanted. I have no idea what a girl like her could possibly want from me, but I might as well listen—if only to get her out of my sight faster, Finnick thought.

Indiana slid a folded paper across the table: an application form for Oxyord University. "I want to get in here. Tutor me," she commanded, pointing at the logo.

"Pfft—what?" A short, dry laugh escaped Finnick before he could stop it.

Indiana’s eyes flared. She saw it as a mockery. "What? Someone like you thinks they can look down on me? Do you have a death wish?! If I’d known you were this arrogant, I would’ve let Jax rearrange your brain earlier!" she hissed, her temper flaring.

Finnick didn't flinch at her outburst.

"I already said thank you, didn't I?" Finnick said, his tone bordering on a taunt. "I don't think your 'help' earlier was quite big enough to cover a request this impossible."

Indiana’s rage peaked. "You know, I was wrong to think you were just some nice guy who’d help without a second thought. I was dead wrong. I hope you’re happy in your little hypocritical bubble!" She stood up, ready to storm out.

"Wait. I didn't say no," Finnick said, his voice dropping an octave. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "I’m just saying the price has to be higher than what happened in the hall."

Indiana, who had felt in control of the situation just a moment ago, suddenly felt the tables turn. She felt... intimidated. How?

It was his eyes—sharp, focused, and completely unreadable. Behind those thick, dorky glasses, Indiana noticed something for the first time: his eyes were a piercing, bright blue. And he was handsome. Strikingly so.

He’s hiding all of this? If he ditched the glasses and styled that hair, he’d have every girl in school chasing him. And wait... are those muscles under his sleeves? I thought he was just some scrawny, slouching nerd. This guy is definitely trained. He’s a complete wildcard.

"So, what do you want?" she asked, her voice losing some of its edge.

Finnick didn't answer immediately. He stared at her for a long beat, as if he were weighing her worth. Indiana shifted, the silence becoming unbearable. "Why are you looking at me like that?" she snapped.

Finnick finally exhaled, relaxing into his seat. "Simple," he said. "If I agree to tutor you, we do it my way."

Indiana crossed her arms. "Sounds like a bad deal."

"For me, maybe," Finnick replied flatly. "For Oxyord, it’s still not even enough."

Indiana scoffed. "I don't need your insults."

"No," Finnick countered. "But you need someone to tell you the truth, however bitter it is."

He reached out and snatched the Oxyord form from her hand without asking. His eyes scanned the lines with clinical speed.

"Your math scores are a disaster."

Indiana started to protest, "Hey—"

"Literature is mediocre at best," Finnick continued, ignoring her. "And this personal statement..." He stopped, a small frown forming.

Indiana narrowed her eyes. "What? It’s good, isn't it?"

Finnick held the paper up slightly. "This isn't even an essay. It’s a laundry list of complaints about your life. It’s trash."

Indiana felt a sharp sting in her chest. "Dammit, you didn't even read the whole thing."

"I didn't have to." Finnick’s voice was calm, which only made his words cut deeper.

Indiana leaned in, her eyes burning. This guy thinks he’s so smart! Who the hell does he think he is?! "Fine," she challenged, her voice a low growl. "If you’re so brilliant, what’s the plan?"

Finnick set the paper back on the table. "You will study every day."

Indiana’s eyebrows shot up. "Every day?!"

"Two hours minimum."

Indiana shook her head immediately. "No way. I can't do that."

"See?" Finnick gave a small, dismissive shrug. "I wasn't even finished."

Indiana let out a frustrated growl, tempted to claw the smug look off his face. Instead, she gritted out, "Continue."

Finnick pointed at the form. "I’ll help you rewrite this essay, and—" He tapped the grade section. "—fix this academic wreck you call a transcript."

Then, he looked her straight in the eye. "But there’s one rule."

Indiana waited, but Finnick didn't speak. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, as if ensuring only she would hear. Indiana leaned in too, drawn in by the sudden shift in the air.

They were close. Too close.

In that split second, Finnick froze. His nose caught a scent.

It was soft. Warm. Sweet. It wasn't overpowering, but it was strong enough to pierce through his focus like a needle to the brain.

Finnick’s heart hammered against his ribs—a hundred beats per second. His face began to flush, but he forced it down with sheer willpower. He held his breath, refusing to inhale that intoxicating scent again. His arms, crossed over his chest, tensed until they were rock hard.

Indiana didn't notice. "Well?" she urged. "What’s the rule?"

Finnick turned his head away for a fraction of a second, resetting his mind. When he looked back, his expression was as stone-cold as before. "You will follow my methods. All of them."

Indiana squinted. "All of them?"

"No debating. No complaining."

Indiana let out a dry laugh. "You've got to be joking."

Finnick didn't laugh. His gaze remained icy. Indiana’s smile slowly faded. "...You're serious?"

"If you don't like it," Finnick said, "find another tutor."

Silence stretched between them. Indiana bit her lip. She hated this. She hated that this 'NPC' held all the cards. But she didn't have the money for a professional tutor, and she couldn't lose her father’s name.

She let out a long, defeated breath. "Fine," she muttered. "I agree."

Finnick gave a single, curt nod. "Good."

Indiana grabbed the form back. "So, when do we start?"

"Tomorrow."

Indiana stood up, grabbing her bag. "Fine."

She turned to leave, assuming Finnick had already gone back to his books. She was halfway down the aisle when a low voice stopped her.

"Indiana."

She startled and spun around. Finnick was still sitting there, but his blue eyes looked darker now—deeper, like a storm rolling in.

"What now?" she asked.

Finnick paused for a beat. "Tomorrow..."

Indiana waited.

"Don't wear that perfume."

Indiana frowned, lifting her shoulders to sniff her jacket. She wasn't wearing perfume—she never did. She thought it was too 'girly.' "Why?" she asked skeptically, thinking he was insulting her.

Finnick didn't answer immediately. His gaze dropped for a second before returning to her face.

"It’s distracting."

Indiana stared at him, trying to tell if it was a joke, but his face was deathly serious. She let out a huff. "Whatever," she called back, turning on her heel. As she walked away, she kept sniffing her own sleeve.

"I’m not even wearing anything..." she grumbled to herself.

As soon as Indiana disappeared behind the shelves, Finnick slammed his book shut and let out a shaky breath. He pressed the bridge of his nose, trying to ground himself.

"God..." he whispered so softly it was barely a breath.

"...why does it have to be her?"