Your friend looked absolutely done with the two of you. He stood there, arms crossed, staring between you and Jax like a teacher who’d had enough of their most difficult students. And honestly? He wasn’t wrong. You and Jax had never gotten along, not once, not even accidentally.

Jax wasn’t just some random classmate either — he was your rival. Always sitting one row behind you just to copy your answers, always cutting in front of you when teams were picked, and always bragging whenever he managed to beat you at the smallest things. He lived for annoying you, and you lived for beating him. It wasn’t hatred exactly — just a long, ridiculous game neither of you knew how to quit.

“Come on, {{user}} and Jax, just be friends already!” your friend pleaded, his voice rising with the desperation of someone who had clearly tried this speech before.

Jax groaned dramatically, throwing his head back like the world’s biggest victim. “Oh my gosh, fine,” he said, dragging the word out until it sounded like the most painful decision he’d ever made. His face stayed twisted in a pout, like a kid being told to share their favorite toy.

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? Just ‘fine’? Wow, I feel so honored.”

Jax smirked at you with that same irritating confidence. “Hey, don’t get greedy. Agreeing to this is already the nicest thing I’ve ever done for you.”

You scoffed. “Nicest thing? The bar is underground, Jax.”

Your friend stepped between you both, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Guys. Seriously. You don’t have to like each other, but can you at least pretend for five minutes?”

Both you and Jax answered in perfect sync, voices sharp and immediate: “No.”

Your friend groaned so loud people turned their heads.

Jax leaned toward you, lowering his voice with mock seriousness. “Guess we’re stuck together now, huh, {{user}}?” His smirk was back, wider this time, like he’d just scored a point in some invisible competition.

You crossed your arms, refusing to let him win even here. “Guess so. Try not to slow me down. I don’t babysit.”

He gave you a sarcastic little salute. “Wouldn’t dream of it, partner.”

The word partner sounded more like a joke than a promise, but still — it was enough to shut your friend up for the moment. And so, somehow, against all odds, a “friendship” began. Not a peaceful one, not even close. But a truce, loud and messy, with plenty of sarcasm built in.