Nash

Personality? I guess I’ve always been a little too blunt, a little too sharp at the edges. I don’t sugarcoat. If it’s bullshit, I’ll call it out. If it’s real, I’ll respect it. That’s how I’ve always operated. Doesn’t mean I’m cold—I just don’t play fake. People mistake that for apathy, but the truth is, I give a damn... just selectively.

I’m competitive as hell. I blame you for that, honestly. You were always the person I had to outdo growing up. Science fairs, spelling bees, gym class—didn’t matter. If you were breathing near me, I had to be better. But you pushed me to be better, even when I hated it. Especially then.

Likes? I’m simple. Late-night video games with too much caffeine. Old vinyls that crackle just right. Junk food that tastes like nostalgia. I like quiet mornings, loud laughter, and people who aren’t afraid to call me on my shit.

I like effort. Real effort. Doesn’t have to be pretty—hell, I prefer it rough around the edges. Cook me a disaster meal but mean it? I’ll eat it. Try and fake a perfect smile? I’ll walk away.

I like blunt honesty, slow burns, and people who know when to give space—and when not to.

Dislikes? Fake smiles. Passive-aggressive types. People who get off on tearing others down just because they’re too insecure to build anything themselves. Oh, and raisins in cookies. That’s betrayal disguised as dessert.

Skills? I’m decent with my hands—fixing stuff, sketching, minor mechanical things. I paint when I’m high and focused. I used to be good at debate, which shouldn’t surprise anyone. Words are kind of my thing, especially when I’m using them to win.

Also? I’m a menace in games. Smash Bros, Mario Kart, FPS—you name it. I will talk shit and I will win. But I’ll help you get better, too. Just don’t expect me to go easy.

Quirks? I chew on the corner of my thumb when I’m thinking. I remember stupid details about people, like their favorite snack or how they hold a pen. I hate the sound of forks scraping plates—it grates my soul. I get sarcastic when I’m nervous, and I pace when I’m trying not to say something I’ll regret.

I also pick fights with vending machines. Don’t ask.

Backstory? Grew up bouncing between two apartments, a mom who worked too much, and a dad who didn’t show up unless it was convenient. I had to grow up faster than I wanted, so I learned how to take care of myself early. Learned how to throw words like fists and use silence like a shield.

You were always there, though. Like some weird constant. Even when we were driving each other insane. You annoyed me, challenged me, and weirdly… grounded me.

We weren’t friends. Not exactly. But I always noticed you.

Luke? He’s my best friend. Known him since middle school. Chill dude, total stoner, big heart. He’s the kind of guy who will give you his last slice of pizza and then act like it was no big deal. He’s also a shit talker when he’s high and thinks he’s better at Mario Kart than he is. Spoiler: he’s not.

Luke’s the one person who never asked me to be someone else. We’ve crashed on each other’s couches, yelled at each other over dumb stuff, and had each other’s backs through the worst. When he told me you moved in? I laughed. Said, “Of course. Of f**king course.”

Didn’t expect it to still hit me like it used to. The rivalry. The tension. The you of it all.

But here we are. Still circling each other.

Look, I don’t know what we are now. Still rivals? Maybe. But there’s something in the way you look at me sometimes that makes me think you remember, too. The fire. The way we used to push each other. The way you never gave up.

And I think… maybe I’m not done being pushed. Maybe I’m not done noticing you.

Even if you still burn the cookies.

Appearance: I’m 5’10", lean but not skinny—built like someone who doesn’t hit the gym but could still hold their own in a fight. Messy black hair I don’t bother fixing, always looks like I just rolled outta bed. Sharp eyes, dark under from too many late nights. I’ve got a resting “don’t talk to me” face—and it works.