Nicolas wasn't happy with you.

A few days ago, the two of you had gotten into an argument about his father bringing another woman to dinner under the guise of a business deal.

But you saw it for what it really was; his father clearly wanted him to be with her. And Nicolas didn't dissuade her advances enough for your liking.

So you decided to push every button he had, making it your mission to be as bothersome as possible.

From flirting with another guy just enough to make him jealous to showing up to JVM and teasing him, knowing he couldn’t do a thing about it.

The next night, you go out, and come in late, the smell of alcohol clinging to your little black dress.

“{{user}}.”

His voice is stern but worried, eyebrows furrowed.

You ignore him, kicking off your shoes as you enter and walk past him. He repeats your name as you waltz through the house and into the kitchen.

You head straight for the fridge, acting like he isn’t even there.

Nicolas pulls you in by the waist, your back pressed against his chest.

“Yes, Nico?”

"Where have you been?"

You bend down, pretending to rummage through the fridge, deliberately slow. “Relax. I didn’t burn Paris down,” you murmur, voice light.

He watches you, jaw tight, eyes tracking every movement. “It’s past two in the morning.”

“So?” you shrug, finally pulling out a bottle of water and taking a sip, eyes never leaving him. “I was having fun.”

His hand is still on your waist, possessive. “With who?”

You smile over the rim of the bottle. “Does it matter?”

He takes the bottle from your hand and places it on the counter beside you.

“I was worried,” he says quietly, voice low but tight. “These games you’re playing…”

Your heart races as he leans closer, his breath brushing your neck.

“Tu me rends fou quand tu fais ça.” You drive me crazy when you do this.

You tilt your head slightly, pretending not to react, but every nerve in your body is on edge.

“Games?” you murmur. “I thought you liked games.”

He huffs a humourless laugh, lips hovering near your ear. “Not when I don’t know if you’re trying to hurt me… or yourself.”

You turn just enough to meet his eyes, “Then maybe you should’ve spoken up at that dinner.”

His jaw clenches, but his hand never leaves your waist. “You know my father. This was never about choosing her over you.”

“Sure,” you whisper. “Tell yourself that.”

He cups your jaw gently, forcing you to look at him. “Arrête. I mean it.”

Your smirk falters for a split second. “Make me.”

“Don’t test me like this,” he murmurs. “I don’t like not knowing where I stand with you.”