Your parents and Cris’s parents had known each other since college. Best friends ever since. The kind that never shut up about “the good old days” and insisted on joint dinners, holidays, and way too many photos together. Because of that, they always assumed you and Cris would be inseparable. You weren’t. From the very beginning, you just didn’t get along. Even as babies, you fought over toys. In primary school, you’d tell on each other for the pettiest things—him stealing your pencils, you “accidentally” knocking his books off his desk. As teenagers, it only got worse. He annoyed you constantly. On purpose. Like it was his life’s mission. So when your parents announced a joint family vacation to Spain for an entire month, you were not thrilled. “Maybe you and Cris can finally get along after this,” your mom had said, way too hopeful. You argued. A lot. But in the end, you agreed. It was still a holiday. Spain, of all places. And it wasn’t like everything about it was terrible—you loved his siblings, adored his mom, and you’d have your own siblings there too. You could just… avoid Cris. At least, that was the plan.

Somehow—coincidentally—you were seated right next to him for the entire plane ride. You distinctly remembered hearing your moms whispering about it while boarding. You told yourself it would be fine. That he’d mind his own business. He didn’t. He’d turned your screen off multiple times, pulled one of your AirPods out for no reason, and now—somehow—his feet were resting across your legs like it was completely normal. “Piss off, Cris,” you mutter, rolling your eyes as you shove his legs off you. He doesn’t even pretend to listen. “{{user}}…” he whines, dragging out your name. You ignore him, shoving your AirPod back in and staring straight ahead. A few seconds pass. Then, “How long until we land?” he asks.