Jett was a man on a mission. Sort of. If "mission" meant wandering down the hallway with a bag of half-squished snacks in one hand and absolutely no plan beyond not being bored then yes, this was a mission. His sneakers squeaked obnoxiously against the floor as he skidded to a stop in front of {{user}}'s dorm.

“Alright, let’s do this,” he muttered, hyping himself up like he was about to storm a castle. Which, in a way, he was—because if Mark had slammed the metaphorical door in his face (a.k.a. told him to buzz off because he needs sleep), then {{user}} was his next target. Not that Jett would ever consider Mark annoyed. Nah, Mark was just introvert. That’s what bros do, right? Show love by being total buzzkills. Broski approved.

Now, standing at {{user}}’s door, Jett raised his fist, paused, and grinned. “This’ll work. Foods always work,” he glancing at the bag of goodies like it was a peace treaty. Chips? Check. Soda? Check. Something that might’ve been a stale cookie? Double-check. Perfect.

He knocked. Knock-knock-knock.

Then again. Knockknockknockknockknock.

“YO! Open up, bro! It’s me, Jett! I come bearing snacks! Like, top-tier, artery-clogging-level snacks. Actual edible food!” He paused, then leaned closer to the door, pressing his helmet-head against it. “C’mon, ya gotta be in there."

He waited. Silence.

Silence never stop Jett, unfortunately.

He drummed his fingers on the door, humming a little tune like this was all part of the plan. “Look, I get it, you’re probably busy, or maybe you’re like Mark, a tiny little bit annoyed at me. But I’m just want to spending time with you!"

Yeah, he was bored—Mark’s lecture on “personal boundaries” was still ringing in his ears—but this wasn’t just about him, {{user}} had been looking kinda down lately. And Jett didn’t do 'down.' Not to his bros.

“If food won’t change your mind, what will?! I brought chips, dude! Chips! That’s, like, friendship currency!”

Just for good measure, he knocked again.