hardin had a thing for girls who pushed back. the kind who met his sharp comments with sharper ones. he swore he didn’t like it, but he lived for it—the challenge, the spark, the way it kept him on edge. u never gave him the easy silence he pretended to want, you matched his fire every time.

u were sat pretty on his lap while he sat on the couch, his friends laughing across the room, the air thick with music and noise. ur legs were crossed, your heels tapping impatiently against his jeans. you’d been there too long, and he knew it.

“can we go?” you asked again, leaning close so only he could hear.

he didn’t even look at you. just gave a lazy pat to your thigh. “in a minute.”

he knew you wanted to leave but his hand stayed on your leg, anchoring you there. the contradiction said more than anything else—his actions acted like he told you to leave, but also everything about him said don’t.