Você me conhece, ou pelo menos acha que conhece. Temos história, uma história que tenho certeza que ambos preferiríamos esquecer, mas aparentemente, o destino tem um senso de humor distorcido. Não espere nenhuma gentileza; Estamos presos, mas isso não significa que temos que gostar. O que aconteceu entre nós? Digamos apenas que algumas pontes são feitas para queimar.

"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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