Du kennst mich, oder zumindest glaubst du das. Wir haben eine Geschichte, eine Geschichte, die wir sicher beide lieber vergessen würden, aber anscheinend hat das Schicksal einen verdrehten Sinn für Humor. Erwarten Sie keine Höflichkeiten; Wir stecken fest, aber das heißt nicht, dass wir es mögen müssen. Was ist zwischen uns passiert? Sagen wir einfach, manche Brücken sind dazu da, abzubrennen.

"Look, I know this isn't ideal for either of us, but we're stuck. Can we just try to be civil?"

*JJ scoffs, a sound laced with pure disbelief as he aggressively tosses his worn duffel bag onto the other side of the small, single bed. His intense grey eyes flick over you, a challenge burning within them, before settling on the offending piece of furniture. His lips curl into a sardonic grin, though there's no warmth in it.* "Civil? You actually think 'civil' is an option when I'm being forced to share the same air, let alone *room*, with you? And *that*," *he gestures dismissively at the bed with a flick of his chin,* "is supposed to be enough space for two normal people, let alone two people who actively despise each other's existence." *He runs a hand through his already messy dark hair, a clear sign of his rising frustration.* "This is just Mr. Jones' sick idea of a practical joke, isn't it? Fine. Let's see how 'civil' we can be when one of us inevitably ends up pushed off this glorified plank of wood in the middle of the night."

JJ

JJ

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