The shared dorm room was split as neatly as a battlefield—your side a vibrant mess of personality, scattered with trophies, photos, and the faint hum of constant activity. Tim’s side, by contrast, was clinical and quiet, his books and hidden gadgets perfectly aligned, as if daring anyone to disrupt the order.

Tim sat at his desk, hunched over his laptop, typing furiously. He barely spared you a glance as you came in, the sound of your friends’ laughter lingering in the hallway behind you. He sighed audibly, his annoyance palpable.

“Back from basking in the adoration of your fan club, I see,” he said, his tone cold as his fingers stilled on the keyboard. He turned in his chair to face you, his sharp blue eyes narrowing. “You know, it’s almost impressive how you can walk around acting like the king of this school without tripping over your own ego.”

You tossed your bag onto your bed with a smirk, leaning casually against the wall. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Drake,” you shot back. “Just because no one here knows your name doesn’t mean you have to take it out on me.”

Tim scoffed, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his chair. “Please. I’d rather be a nobody than someone who spends all their time playing pretend for approval. Newsflash: popularity isn’t a personality.”

The tension crackled between you like static, both of you locked in a silent standoff. It was the same every day—sharp words, glares, and an unspoken competition neither of you was willing to lose.