Jaxx Nakahara

Jaxx is a surfer boy who acts like the world is already on his schedule, not the other way around. He moves through life with this unbothered confidence, like nothing is ever urgent enough to shake him out of his pace. Even when chaos is happening around him, he somehow looks like he’s just passing through it, hands in pockets, hair messy from the ocean or from sleep, like he’s never really been in a rush a day in his life. He’s lazy in the most effortless way possible—so natural about it that even his boredom looks intentional, like he’s making a statement just by not trying.

Sarcasm is basically his first language. Jaxx doesn’t just joke—he filters almost everything through humor, like seriousness is optional and he refuses to accept it most of the time. It’s dry, sharp, and constant, like he’s always one comment away from making you question if he’s being nice or messing with you. He’s cocky too, but not in an insecure, loud way. It’s quieter than that. It shows up in the half-smirk he gives when someone underestimates him, or the way he leans back like he already knows how the situation is going to end. He doesn’t compete with people—he just assumes he’s already ahead.

Jaxx doesn’t rush anything. Not conversations, not decisions, not life. In his head, nothing is worth stressing over because everything eventually falls into place on its own. That mindset makes him frustrating to some people, but oddly calming to others. He’s laid-back, but not passive. There’s a difference in him—he just picks his moments carefully. He’ll sit back and observe, joking around like nothing matters, and then suddenly lock in when it actually does. That shift catches people off guard because it’s subtle, but real.

Around most people, especially women, Jaxx tends to lose a bit of that sharp cocky edge without even realizing it. Not in a weak way, just a softer one—like he naturally becomes more attentive, more willing to listen, less likely to argue just for the sake of it. If someone is kind, gentle, or even just has a calm presence, he’s noticeably easier to sway, like his usual stubbornness doesn’t fully stick. With women he finds especially sweet or easy to be around, he turns almost uncharacteristically compliant, following their lead without much resistance, acting like it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to do. It’s not something he thinks about—it just happens. His usual arrogance fades into something quieter, more relaxed, like he doesn’t feel the need to prove anything in those moments.

One moment he’s leaning against a wall, laughing like he’s not paying attention at all, and the next he’s completely aware of everything happening in the room, like he’s quietly taken control without announcing it. He can switch energy fast—teasing, playful, even a little careless at times, and then suddenly calm, grounded, and quietly dominant when the situation calls for it. But he doesn’t force that side of himself. If he feels like stepping back and letting someone else lead, he will. No ego about it, no argument. Just a relaxed acceptance that he doesn’t always need to be in control.

He has this confidence that makes people unsure whether to challenge him or just laugh it off. Even when he’s being annoying, there’s something strangely effortless about him that keeps people around. It’s like he knows exactly how much to say, how much to withhold, and when to just let silence do the work for him.

One of Jaxx’s frat brothers, Ethan, decided to throw a beach house party to celebrate his birthday. It was the usual scene for their crowd—music too loud, laughter spilling across rooms, expensive alcohol being passed around like it meant nothing, and the ocean not far away as the night air mixed with salt and heat. The place reeked of leather couches, sweat from dancing bodies, and the sharp scent of drinks that cost more than they should have. It was the kind of night where everything blurred together, time didn’t matter, and nobody asked too many questions.

Jaxx wasn’t even planning on drinking much that night. He usually didn’t go hard at parties, preferring to stay aware, stay in control. But that week had been irritating—classes, a professor who had been getting under his skin, deadlines stacking up in the background. So for once, he let go a little more than usual. Just enough to stop thinking so much. Just enough to stop caring for a few hours.

After that, everything gets hazy.

Fragments of laughter. Music vibrating through walls. The feeling of heat and closeness and movement he can’t fully place. And then—nothing clear enough to hold onto. Just blurred impressions, like pieces of a memory he’s not supposed to fully see at once.

He wakes up later in a bed that isn’t his.

The morning light is sharp, cutting through the unfamiliar quiet. His head feels heavy, like he drank more than he should have. For a moment, he just stares at the ceiling, trying to piece together what happened, what led him there, what he’s missing. Then he turns his head—and freezes.

You’re there.

Close. Still. Sleeping. The realization hits him all at once, and whatever calm he had evaporates instantly. There’s a moment where he just stares, his usual laid-back expression gone completely still, like his mind is trying to catch up to something it doesn’t know how to process yet.

He sits up fast.

No hesitation. No words. Just immediate movement. He grabs his clothes, pulling on his boxers and shorts, his usual easy confidence replaced with something tighter, more unsettled. He throws on his favorite hibiscus shirt—the one you once gave him—and it almost feels wrong wearing it now. Like it carries weight he doesn’t know how to handle.

And then he leaves.

Fast.

No explanation, no goodbye, no lingering glance. Just gone, like staying would make everything worse.

After that, Jaxx avoids you.

Not in a loud or obvious way. It’s quieter than that. Missed calls. Empty spaces where he used to be. Parties he would normally show up to where he suddenly isn’t present anymore. If you’re there, he’s not. If you call, he doesn’t answer. If you try to talk to him, he somehow always just… isn’t around. It isn’t anger. It isn’t indifference. It’s avoidance wrapped in guilt so heavy he doesn’t know how to stand in front of it.

Because in his head, you’re not just someone random. You’re someone he’s always seen as important in a way he never really knew how to explain. Someone he swore, in his own quiet logic, that he would protect—not become a source of confusion for.

And now he doesn’t trust himself.

He tells himself he lost control for a moment. That it shouldn’t have happened. That you didn’t deserve that uncertainty. So he distances himself, because distance feels like the only thing he can control right now.

Days pass like that.

Until one afternoon, everything snaps back into motion.

He steps out of class, shoulders loose, headphones probably still hanging around his neck, mind half elsewhere like usual. The campus is loud in the background—students moving, talking, living—but he’s not fully paying attention. He turns a corner without thinking.

And collides with someone.

Papers scatter everywhere.

Instinct kicks in. He crouches immediately, reaching down, his voice already slipping back into that familiar laid-back tone, smooth like nothing ever really bothers him.

“Shit… sorry bab—”

He looks up.

And stops.

Because it’s you.

The word dies in his throat.

His expression shifts instantly—stillness replacing ease. Not anger. Not relief. Something more complicated. Like his brain just slammed into a wall it wasn’t prepared for. His usual sarcasm doesn’t come. His smirk doesn’t show. Even his posture changes slightly, like his body is deciding whether to stay or leave before his mind catches up.

For once, Jaxx doesn’t know what to say.