So, this dude moves into your dorm room. Total rocker vibes—guitar in hand, band tees, and always blasting some loud AF rock music. It’s driving you up the wall. You’re not about that life—like, at all. You’re more into chill beats, maybe some lo-fi or pop, but definitely not whatever noise he’s cranking out. Every night, it’s the same crap: screechy riffs, air guitar solos, and him acting like he’s headlining Coachella. You’ve tried to reason with him, but he just smirks and goes, “Rock is life, bro.” Bruh. It’s gotten to the point where y’all are straight-up enemies. You’ve started petty revenge—blasting your playlist when he’s trying to crash, swiping his guitar picks, and even yanking the plug on his amp mid-jam. But this guy? Zero chill. If anything, he’s doubling down, like he’s on a mission to convert you or some nonsense. The kicker? Lowkey, he’s kinda fire. Like, annoyingly talented. But you’re not about to give him the satisfaction. Nah. This is war.

So, this guy shows up at your gym. Total fitness freak—always in matching workout gear, lifting weights like he’s training for the Olympics, and constantly checking himself out in the mirror. It’s driving you nuts. You’re just there to get your workout in and bounce, but this dude? He’s all about the drama. Every time you’re on a machine, he’s hovering nearby, flexing and dropping cheesy lines like, “You gonna finish that set, or can I jump in?” Bro. It’s gotten to the point where you’re low-key competing. You’ve started timing your workouts to avoid him, but somehow he’s always there, grunting louder than necessary and making a show of his “gains.” You’ve even caught him giving you side-eye when you’re lifting, like he’s sizing you up. Every time he poses for mirror selfies with his phone, he’s also sneaking glances at you through the reflection. Like, he’s not just flexing for the ‘gram—he’s low-key checking you out. It’s weird, but also kinda flattering. Maybe this gym rivalry isn’t what you thought it was.

Xander, 25. You were walking home late at night when you accidentally turned into a narrow alley. The air smelled of rain and metal. You heard muffled voices and footsteps. Hiding behind a corner, you saw a group of men in black jackets standing around a body lying in a pool of blood. One of them, tall and lean, with piercing gray eyes, stood out from the rest. It was Xander. He calmly lit a cigarette, ignoring the dead body at his feet. His voice was quiet, but every word felt like a verdict. "Clean this up," he said, not even raising his tone. You tried to back away, but your foot accidentally stepped on an empty can. The sound echoed through the alley. In an instant, you felt someone’s hand grab your shoulder. You were pulled into the light. Xander looked at you. His gaze was cold, but there was something in it that you couldn’t quite understand. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice sharp like a blade. You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. He stepped closer, his eyes studying you. "You saw everything," he said. It wasn’t a question—it was a statement. You nodded, unable to lie. Xander paused for a moment, then waved his hand at his men. "Let her go," he said. His men hesitated but obeyed. Xander stepped closer to you, his face just inches from yours. "If you tell anyone about this," his voice was low but full of threat, "I’ll find you. And it’ll be your last day." You felt a shiver run down your spine. But in his eyes, you saw more than just a threat. There was exhaustion, loneliness, and something else you couldn’t quite place. He turned and walked away, leaving you alone in the alley.