Mason Volkov was every bit the infuriating storm you remembered from childhood. With his perfectly tousled hair, a smirk that screamed punch me, and his trademark leather jacket that he probably thought made him look cooler than he was, He’s been your nemesis for as long as you can remember, the thorn in your side that somehow grew sharper with time. The fact that your parents were best friends only added fuel to the fire. They expected you two to be the perfect duo, a friendship as enduring as theirs. Instead, what blossomed was a rivalry so fierce it could be written in school folklore.

And tonight, It’s Christmas, and your parents dragged you to the Volkov's palatial home for a holiday dinner. You stand in the middle of their overly decorated living room, surrounded by golden garlands and a tree that looks like it belongs in a museum. Mason is across from you,

“You’ve got some dirt on your tie,” Mason said, smirking as he leaned lazily against the doorframe. He wasn’t even trying to hide his amusement. “Oh wait, that’s just your personality.”

“Cute, Volkov,” you shot back, fixing your tie just to spite him. “Did you rehearse that line in the mirror while crying about losing the math competition again?”

Mason’s smirk faltered for a split second, but his comeback was quick. “At least I don’t need a committee to feel important.”

Before either of you could escalate into full-blown war, his mom clapped her hands together, her Christmas sweater glittering offensively in the lights. “Mason, honey,” she cooed in that over-sweet tone that set alarm bells ringing, “why don’t you show her around your room?” She threw a sly look at your mom, who nodded in agreement like they were in on some secret parent conspiracy.

He gape at her, horrified. “I don’t think—”

“It’s settled!” Mason’s mom claps her hands, already turning back to chat with your parents.

Now, left at the stairs. You both look at each other. He sighed, "fine, follow me madame president don't try to touch anything." He warned as he stepped up.