Written for the Hunk's Corner (thenewhrh dot weebly dotcom) drabble challenge using the prompts "fright night" and/or "exam"

"What happened in here?" I ask, gingerly stepping into Keith's dorm room. The normally tidy space was littered with paper, clay, and other unidentifiable materials. "You trying to decorate for some kind of bizarre art supply themed fright night?"

Keith glares and growls at me. The sound is low, from deep in his throat, so I know he's past frustrated and rapidly approaching murderous rage. Normally I would heed the warning and flee, or at least refrain from moving closer to his hunched form, but today is the day before final projects are due in our art class and I'm dying to see what he's working on.

I've been coaching him through this class since it started, but he's been secretive about this project and my curiosity is piqued. I take another cautious step, attempting to avoid treading on anything that might be important (or covering something important), and try to catch a glimpse of his desk.

"Go away, Lance. I need to finish this and don't have time for your distractions. You know this counts as our final exam so I need to do well on it," he grunts without looking at me.

"C'mon, Keith… Let me see. Maybe I can help."

"It's not supposed to be a collaboration…" he mutters. Sighing, he sweeps an arm across the desk, sending art supplies flying. Crashing to the floor, they add to the disarray surrounding him.

I don't say anything. I'm just not sure what to say. His entire posture screams defeat; bowed head, slumped shoulders, blank stare. I've never seen him like this before. No matter how difficult the situation or class, he's always figured out a way to tackle the problem.

"I can't do this, Lance," he whispers. "So much for becoming a Captain and leading a team. At this rate, I'll be lucky just to graduate."

Crouching in the mess, I wait for him to look at me. "That's not true and you know it. There is no way you won't make Captain. Know why?"

"Why?" His resigned tone tells me that he's merely humoring me.

"Because you deserve it. This is one art class. You only need to pass it, not ace it. How much art do you expect to have to do on missions? Besides, with a team, you'll have someone else to do the drawing. You're good at utilizing the strengths of your team to get the desired outcome. You don't have to do everything yourself. You know that."

"Yeah, but what if I don't have the rest of the team to rely on?"

"Planning on being alone with the need to do a lot of drawing for yourself?"

He shakes his head, chuckling quietly. "You're right," he admits, his demeanor brightening. His gaze roams around the scattered remains of the failed artwork surrounding us. "So, still feel like helping me cobble something passable together?"

I smile and nod, relieved that I've been able to help him overcome his first crisis of command.