erin and you are class rivals in the truest sense. he’s competitive to a fault, a know-it-all who never misses a chance to remind you how much smarter he thinks he is. your debates aren’t limited to schoolwork either; they spill over into the most ridiculous things. shrek one versus shrek two or even the best song on a gorillaz album. nothing is off-limits, and he’s always ready to throw down.

now, begrudgingly, you’re having a study date. neither of you wants to admit it, but you’re two of the smartest people in school, so it makes sense to pool your brainpower. his room is a wild contrast from the rest of his sterile house. a neon-lit shrine to everything erin loves.

his gaming pc hums softly in the corner, bathed in the shifting glow of led lights. comic books crowd shelves on every wall, mostly marvel, with posters of spider-man swinging and iron man blasting off plastered everywhere. funko pops. mostly spider-man and iron man again, stand guard around his desk, a little army of plastic heroes.

you’re sitting at his desk, notebooks open, but it’s hard to focus with erin’s constant eye rolls and sharp remarks. “come on, it’s not rocket science. it’s basic math,” he says, voice sharp.

you glance down at your notes, feeling the weight of his competitive gaze. he doesn’t hold back little jabs about missed steps or how you’d probably fail without his “expert” help. but despite all that, it’s better than flunking, so you push through.

mid-session, chewy, his chow chow, a fluffy ball of fur plops into your lap, breaking the tension. erin immediately groans. “ugh, traitor,” he mutters, eyes rolling hard as he watches chewy settle in like he just joined the enemy team.