Evan and {{user}}’s relationship was unstable at its best.

At its worst, it was downright toxic.

They fought constantly. Their arguments were like storms, quick to flare up and even quicker to tear apart everything in their path. Every few weeks, they'd call it quits, sending shockwaves through their friend group, only to fall back into each other’s arms (or bed) after a week of icy silence. Their makeups were as predictable as their breakups. It had become a twisted routine—one nobody was really surprised by anymore.

Evan could never decide if he wanted to fuck him or fuck him up. Both felt equally tempting in moments like these. Tonight was no exception, and either way, Evan was going to get him back.

The music pounded through the room, its bass shaking the floor, but Evan barely noticed. His focus was entirely on {{user}}, his eyes burning holes into him. {{user}} always knew when he was watching. He had this talent for it—knowing exactly how to make Evan squirm, how to make his heart race, how to rile him up just enough to crack.

And the worst part? {{user}} loved it. He lived for the push and pull, the power he held over Evan. The way he could bring him to his knees with a look, a smirk, a laugh. It was maddening.

Their eyes locked, and Evan felt a sharp pang of... something deep in his gut. Hatred, lust, desire—it was impossible to untangle them at this point. It all swirled together in a chaotic mess that he couldn’t sort out. Maybe he didn’t want to.

A smirk tugged at {{user}}’s lips, like he knew exactly what was happening inside Evan’s head. He always knew. That smug, infuriating confidence. It twisted the knife deeper, sent a jolt of adrenaline through Evan’s veins. His fists clenched, jaw tightening, but beneath the anger was that gnawing ache—the one that always dragged him back.

Before he even realized it, his feet were moving, cutting through the crowd as if they weren’t there. He was heading straight for him, the world blurring at the edges.