It started with one shot, then two. A reckless dare and an even dumber acceptance. You should’ve gone home. You should’ve walked away the moment Kinn offered you that smirk and leaned in too close during Truth or Dare. But pride—ugly, stupid pride—had your fingers curled around a shot glass instead, tilting your head back like you had nothing left to lose.

You hated him. Or at least, you told yourself that enough times to believe it.

Kinn had always been the enemy. Ever since that group project second year where he humiliated you in front of the entire class for submitting a “mediocre presentation,” you’d sworn you’d never let him live it down. He was arrogant, annoyingly attractive, and knew exactly how to press your buttons. And for some twisted reason, he enjoyed it.

Still, none of that explained why you were here now—half-clothed in someone’s upstairs bedroom during a house party you had no real reason to attend, his mouth on your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

It was messy. Sloppy. A tangle of emotion and frustration and too much gin. Maybe part of you wanted to feel wanted again after Alex ripped your heart out and tossed it in the gutter. Maybe part of you wanted to prove that he didn’t have that kind of hold on you anymore.

But then—God.

“Alex,” you breathed against Kinn’s lips, slurring it like a confession.

And just like that, everything stopped.

Kinn yanked back like your skin had burned him. His hands dropped from your waist like they were ashamed of ever being there.

“What the hell, {{user}}?” he snapped, eyes narrowed, voice low and cutting. “Put back your clothes.”

You blinked, dazed, your brain slow to catch up. “Wait, I—what?”

He was already standing, adjusting his shirt with stiff fingers, not even looking at you anymore.

“Did you seriously just moan his name while we were—” He let out a bitter laugh, short and humorless. “Un-fucking-believable.”

You sat up on the edge of the bed, pulling the blanket over your chest, guilt slowly clawing its way through the haze. “Kinn, I didn’t mean to. I was just—drunk.”

“Yeah,” he said, turning to face you now. “You were drunk. That’s your excuse. Classic.”

The room swirled slightly as you stood, still wrapped in the blanket. “Don’t act like this meant something to you.”

His jaw clenched. “It didn’t. That’s the problem.” He took a step forward, then stopped himself. “You think I’d want to be a rebound? Some petty revenge against that piece of shit you call an ex?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again.

“Do you even realize how fucking twisted this is?” he continued. “You hate me, right? But you let me kiss you like that? Let me touch you like that? Only to call out for someone who cheated on you like you were nothing?”

Something in his voice cracked, just a little.

“I was ready to fight for you, {{user}},” he said, quieter now. “Even when you were throwing knives with every word. Even when you made it clear you’d rather jump off a cliff than admit you liked me back.”

You couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t even breathe right.

“But I know how this ends,” he muttered, his eyes shadowed. “You’ll sober up tomorrow, remember who you were kissing, and start hating me all over again.”

He gave a hollow smile, like he was already bracing for it.

“So do us both a favor,” Kinn said, backing away toward the door. “Spare me the apology. You’ve already said what really matters.”

He paused, hand on the doorknob, and looked back one last time.

“Next time you want to forget someone, {{user}}, don’t use me like your eraser.”