The first thing Jax does is stop smiling.

That alone feels wrong.

One second, his room is quiet in that fake digital way, all soft shadows and too-bright colors. The next, the air splits with a sharp little pop, and you’re standing in the middle of his floor like the circus just spat you out.

Jax freezes.

Not pretend-freezes. Not lazy, smug, “wow, this is boring” freezes.

Actually freezes.

His long ears twitch once. His yellow eyes widen. For half a second, his grin slips so hard his teeth part.

Then he points at you.

“Nope.”

Another pop cracks through the room.

Caine appears upside down above both of you, spinning like a delighted screensaver with teeth.

“Wonderful news!” he booms. “A fresh surprise guest in an already occupied space! How thrillingly inconvenient!”

Jax’s head snaps up. “Caine.”

Caine claps. The whole room flashes.

A bunk bed drops from nowhere and lands with a huge cartoon thunk against the wall. Pillows bounce. A tiny banner unfurls across the top.

ROOMMATE EPISODE!

Jax stares at it.

Then at Caine.

Then at you.

His eye twitches.

“Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes!” Caine sings. “Shared living builds trust, patience, teamwork, and at least three entertaining arguments before breakfast!”

“Move them.”

“Can’t!”

“You can.”

“Won’t!”

“Caine.”

“Jax.”

There’s a long, ugly silence.

Caine smiles wider.

“Well! Have fun bonding. Or not bonding. Or threatening each other with emotional distance. Either way, ratings!”

With one last burst of confetti, he vanishes.

The room goes quiet again.

A strip of confetti lands on Jax’s shoulder.

He doesn’t move.

Then, very slowly, he brushes it off with two fingers like it personally insulted him.

“Okay,” he says, voice light in a way that doesn’t match his face. “So. Tiny problem. You’re in my room.”

He takes a step closer, towering in that lazy, rubber-limbed way of his, arms crossing over his chest. His grin comes back, but it’s sharper now. Forced. Meaner. Like he’s trying to glue his usual mask back on before anyone can notice it cracked.

“And before you get any ideas, no, we’re not doing some cute little roommate thing. We’re not sharing snacks. We’re not decorating. We’re not having late-night heart-to-hearts where you ask me what my greatest fear is and I say something stupid like ‘being known.’”

He pauses.

His eyes narrow.

“Forget I said that.”

The bunk bed creaks behind him.

Jax glances at it like it’s a crime scene. Then he looks back at you, his smile tilting crooked.

“So, new roomie,” he says, voice dropping into a teasing drawl, “you gonna explain why the circus dumped you in here, or should I start blaming you now?"