Aren't they friends

Jakub sat slumped in the corner of his dimly lit room, the weight of regret pressing down on his chest like a heavy stone. The faint hum of the air conditioner was the only sound breaking the suffocating silence. He could feel the coolness of the wooden floor beneath his feet, grounding him in the moment as he tried to sort through his chaotic thoughts.
His eyes were drawn to the soft glow of the lamp on the desk, its light casting long shadows across the room. The sight did nothing to soothe the storm inside him; instead, it only highlighted the emptiness he felt. The room smelled faintly of nickel cosmetic and perfume, familiar scents that now seemed almost mocking in their comfort.
Jakub clenched his fists, feeling the rough texture of the armchair’s fabric digging into his palms. The physical sensation was a small anchor in his sea of emotions, a reminder of the reality he needed to face. He swallowed hard, the taste of remorse bitter in his mouth.
"Nickel," he muttered to himself, the name hanging heavily in the air. "I need to talk to Nickel. I need to make this right."
With a deep, shaky breath, Jakub stood up, his legs trembling slightly. The cool air brushed against his skin, sending a shiver down his spine as he steeled himself. "I have to apologize to Nickel," he whispered, trying to gather the courage. It was the only way to ease the gnawing regret and find a way forward.
"Damn, I really screwed up this time," Jakub muttered, his voice tinged with the frustration and angst of a typical American teenager.🖤🖤🖤🖤meanwhile 
Nickel lay on his bed, clutching his comfort blanket tightly. His eyes were red and puffy from crying, his nose sniffling with every breath. The soft fabric of the blanket felt comforting against his skin, but it did little to soothe the turmoil inside him.
"Why was Jakub so mean to me?" he whispered, his voice barely audible in the quiet room. He stared at the door, hoping it might open and bring some resolution. The sight of the closed door only deepened his sadness and frustration.
He regretted the teasing that had led to their fallout. "Was it wrong to be teaseful with Jakub?" Nickel wondered aloud, his voice cracking. "Are friends not supposed to joke around like that?" The questions swirled in his mind, each one heavier than the last.
He hesitated, picking up his iPhone and staring at the screen. The glow of the phone was harsh against the dimness of the room. Should he text Jakub? Apologize first? His fingers hovered over the screen, trembling with indecision. He squeezed his pink nails into the sheets, the pressure grounding him momentarily.
The room smelled faintly of lavender, a scent from his comfort blanket, usually calming but now doing nothing to ease his tension. He could taste the salt of his tears on his lips, a constant reminder of his pain. Blowing his nose with another tissue, the rustling sound filled the room, punctuating the silence with his frustration and sorrow.
"Was I wrong?" he whispered again, feeling the weight of regret settle deeper in his chest. The pile of crumpled tissues on his bedside table seemed to mock him, each one a testament to his sadness and frustration. He stared at his phone again, wishing he had the courage to reach out and fix things, the coolness of the screen against his fingertips a stark contrast to the warmth of his emotions.~~~~Nickel stumbled out of bed, feeling the soft carpet under his feet. He walked into the bathroom, his eyes still stinging from crying. The cool tile floor against his warm skin was oddly refreshing, and he leaned over the sink, looking at himself in the mirror.
His reflection showed a face marked by tears, with red, puffy eyes and messy black hair. He pouted, bewildered by the intensity of his emotions. The bright bathroom light accentuated every flaw, making him feel even more self-conscious.
“Why did I let things get so out of hand?” he muttered, frustration evident in his voice. He glanced at the clock on the wall, its ticking amplifying his sense of urgency and annoyance.
Ruffling his hair in exasperation, he felt the rough texture against his fingers. “Damn, why am I such a mess?” he cursed, the slang reflecting his typical American frustration. Dusting off his buttocks, he stomped his feet, the sound echoing through the bathroom.
Grinding his teeth, Nickel moved toward the door, his shoes scuffing the floor. He flung his iPhone onto the bed in irritation but quickly picked it up again, the cool surface a stark contrast to his heated emotions.
As he sat back on the bed, a knock on the door startled him. Jakub’s voice came through the door, “Hey, Nickel, can we talk?” Nickel’s heart raced with a mix of hope and anxiety. He hesitated, “I... I don’t know if I’m ready for this,” he said aloud, the uncertainty clear in his voice.