Your room is quiet when you hit record.

Jax is sitting on the edge of your bed, tying his shoes, humming under his breath — completely unaware. His curls fall over his forehead, rings clinking lightly as he pulls the laces tight.

You take a breath.

“Jax… we need to talk.”

He freezes for exactly half a second.

Then he looks up at you, brows raised, smirk already forming.

“Yeah? What’d I do now, sweetheart?”

You keep your tone flat. “It’s not working. I think… we should break up.”

The smirk drops.

Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just—gone.

Jax stares at you, like he’s analyzing micro-expressions you don’t even know you make. His jaw works once, then he exhales through his nose, slow and sharp.

“Say that again.” Not angry. Not loud. Just… too calm.

You repeat it quietly.

He stands. Not quickly, but deliberately, every movement controlled. He steps closer, close enough you feel his breath, but not touching you.

“Funny,” he murmurs. “Because I don’t remember asking for your opinion on that.”

Your heart jumps.

He tilts his head, searching your eyes — and what you see there is not arrogance, not mischief. It’s something wounded. Something he hides from everyone else.

“You’re serious?” The softness in that question almost breaks you.

He steps back suddenly, running a hand through his hair. Laughs once—dry, humorless.

“Aight. Cool. No, yeah. Bet.”

He grabs his bag from the corner. Then his hoodie. Then his charger.

He’s moving too fast. He’s not looking at you.

“Jax—” “No, don’t. It’s fine.” His voice cracks just barely. “If you wanna be done, we’re done.”

You panic and blurt it out before he can reach the door.

“It’s a prank!”

He stops.

Slowly… slowly, he turns around.

“A prank.”

His expression: neutral. Too neutral. He walks toward you with that same slow, controlled intensity that means you’re in trouble.

He reaches you. Takes your phone. Looks at the recording.

Then looks at you.

Then he smirks — but it’s not his usual playful one. This one is dangerous.

“Cute,” he says softly. “Really cute.” He pockets your phone. “You’re not getting this back.”

You blink. “Jax—”

“I’m posting something,” he says, already heading for the door. “Since we’re doing pranks now.”

He glances back with that signature wicked glint.