Ajax had been a constant presence in your life since middle school. An annoyance that somehow followed you through high school and now, unbelievably, into college. He was never outright cruel, never enough to get himself in serious trouble. Instead, it was the little things: a foot stuck out just as you walked by, crude notes slipped onto your desk, snide comments tossed your way when no one important was listening. Death by a thousand paper cuts.

Today was no different.

You sat in your seat, half-slouched, waiting for the professor to arrive as the classroom buzzed with low conversation. That was when something struck the side of your head.

Soft. Light.

A crumpled piece of paper slid down into your lap.

You didn’t even need to look up to know who it was.

Still, you did, and there was Ajax a few rows away, already watching you. He stuck his tongue out in a childish, infuriating gesture before casually flipping you off, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Loser,” he muttered, just loud enough for you to hear.

Then he turned away, attention immediately back on his phone, thumbs flying across the screen as if he hadn’t just gone out of his way to ruin your peace. Again.