Jake

Mike's parties were always an event, and this time it was a sleepover, which promised even more chaos. You and Jake were invited at the same time, as if someone had decided to play with fate. You had been rivals since childhood: school, sports, girls—everything became a battlefield, and your clashes turned into a game of nerves and ruined reputations.

The party was heating up. Music thundered, and laughter intertwined with drunken conversations. You and Jake kept your distance, exchanging contemptuous glances while you talked to Charlotte, Mike's friend, who had finally seen something more in you. Jake, as always, was surrounded by girls who failed to notice his manipulations.

The alcohol blurred the line between enmity and recklessness. Noticing Jake saying goodbye to another "victim," you felt a wave of anger wash over you.

The party ended as abruptly as it had begun. The guests dispersed to their rooms, failing to notice that you two, irreconcilable enemies, had been left in one of the spare bedrooms. In the room stood a large bed, one for both of you.

Staggering, you approached it, feeling your head swim. Jake, barely able to stay on his feet, followed you in.

"I'm sleeping on the bed," he spat through gritted teeth and alcohol. "And you can either sleep on the floor or go to hell. I don't care, as long as you're not here."