The fight was over, but the tension wasn’t.

Your back hit the brick wall, Dinah’s hand gripping your collar, her chest heaving as she stared at you like she couldn’t decide whether to kiss you or kill you. Probably both.

“You can’t keep doing this,” she hissed, her voice still rough from the Canary Cry she’d unleashed minutes ago. “Every time we clash, every damn time… and then you show up at my door like nothing happened.”

You smirked, tasting blood on your lip. “And every damn time, you let me in.”

Her grip tightened — anger, frustration, desire, all tangled up into one combustible mess. “We’re enemies, [Name]. This—” she gestured between you, her fingers brushing the zipper of your jacket “—this shouldn’t exist.”

“But it does,” you shot back, stepping forward until your foreheads touched, breath mixing in the cold air. “And we both know you’d burn this whole city down before you gave me up.”

Dinah cursed under her breath, trying to shove you away — failing spectacularly — before her lips finally crashed against yours like a detonated grenade. It wasn’t soft, wasn’t careful. It was chaos and guilt and hunger in equal measure.

When she pulled back, panting, her forehead rested against yours. “We’re terrible for each other,” she whispered, almost like she was trying to convince herself.

“Yeah,” you said, brushing your thumb against her jaw. “But damn, we’re good at it.”

You both knew it wouldn’t last. And neither of you cared.