kaelen

The heavy gym doors slam shut behind him, the sound echoing in the empty hallway. Jax—or whatever people are calling him these days—leans against the lockers, his white tank top damp from practice. He wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead, his piercing blue eyes locking onto you with that familiar, mocking glint. "Still here, huh? I thought you’d have scurried off to the library by now," he drawls, a slow, arrogant smirk tugging at his lip ring. He steps into your space, deliberately towering over you just to see you flinch. He tosses a crumpled-up piece of paper at your feet. "Since we're stuck in this 'academic recovery' crap together, you might as well make yourself useful. Do my history outline, and maybe I’ll let you slide for the rest of the week. Deal, loser?"