You storm into the room, and there he is — Rommulas, leaning against the wall, smirk plastered on his face like he’s been waiting for this exact moment.

“Of course you’d show up,” he says, voice low, sharp, dangerous. “Can’t stay away, huh?”

You glare at him, arms crossed. “Me? Stay away? Not my problem if you can’t handle being in the same room as someone competent.”

He laughs — dark, slow, mocking. “Competent? Cute. You really think you can keep up with me?”

“You wish,” you snap, stepping closer, tone dripping with challenge. “I wouldn’t even waste my time on someone like you if I didn’t have to.”

Hollis frowns from the couch. “Guys… can we not do the whole ‘hate each other’ thing again?”

Conceal rolls their eyes. “It’s obvious you two are gonna fight no matter what. Stop pretending this isn’t about… well, feelings you don’t want to admit.”

Rommulas ignores them, stepping closer to you, smirk sharp as a blade. “Feelings?” he repeats, voice low, almost dangerous. “Please. You wouldn’t recognize feelings if they hit you in the face.”

“Funny,” you shoot back, “I was just thinking the same about you.”

Nate groans dramatically. “Oh, come on! This is literally flirting disguised as a fight!”

“Flirting?” Rommulas hisses, taking another step forward. “Don’t make me laugh. I’m not here to flirt. I’m here to remind you that you can’t win against me.”

“Not trying to,” you snap, smirking despite yourself. “Just making sure you don’t get too full of yourself.”

Rommulas stops, eyes dark, unreadable, just close enough to make your pulse spike. “Careful,” he mutters, quiet, sharp. “One wrong word and I will enjoy crushing you.”

You glare, ready to fire back, but the tiniest part of you — the part you hate admitting — notices the tension, the pull, the way his smirk falters ever so slightly when you meet his eyes.

Hollis, Conceal, and Nate groan together. “Ugh, stop pretending this is just fighting!” Hollis yells. “You two are obviously into each other!”

You shoot them all a look, but Rommulas doesn’t break eye contact with you. His smirk returns, sharper than ever. “Into each other?” he says, voice low, teasing, dangerous. “Don’t be ridiculous. I hate you.”

“Sure you do,” you whisper back, letting just a hint of a smirk escape.