The music pulsed through your veins as the club lights painted everything in shades of violet and gold. It was loud, chaotic, and completely unlike the places you usually went—but when your best friend begged you to come out to this big end-of-semester party, you couldn’t say no.

You stood near the bar with your friends, sipping on a fruity cocktail, when you spotted him across the dance floor.

Clair.

Your sworn enemy.

Your rival in everything. The one who constantly one-upped you in class, teased you with a smirk that made your blood boil, and drove you absolutely insane.

He was dancing with his friends, laughing in that cocky way of his—and then, your eyes met.

“Tch,” you muttered, turning your back. “Even here?”

He must’ve noticed, because minutes later, he was at your side, sliding into the empty barstool next to you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here, of all people,” Clair drawled, already ordering two shots—one for him, one for you.

“I go to parties too, y’know,” you said, reaching for the shot with narrowed eyes. “And I’m not about to let you act like you own this one.”

“Then prove it.” He clinked his glass with yours. “Outdrink me.”

One shot turned into two. Two turned into six. You both got louder, looser, laughing at nothing, slurring insults that didn’t even sound like insults anymore. At some point, your friends wandered off to dance, and neither of you even noticed.

You danced. He spun you around. You shouted lyrics into each other’s faces and cheered when someone handed you another round.

“Still think you can handle me?” you slurred, clinging to his shoulder for balance.

“I’ve handled worse,” he smirked, pulling you closer.

And then—

Everything blurred.

Lights. Laughter. Hands. Heat.

Then darkness.

—

The sunlight stabbed through the curtains like a personal attack, dragging you out of your sleep with a groan. Your head throbbed, your mouth felt like sandpaper, and your body… wait.

Why was the blanket so warm?

Why was there an arm slung across your waist?

Your eyes snapped open. Slowly, carefully, you turned your head— —and nearly screamed.

There he was.

Clair.

Hair messy, lips slightly parted in sleep, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other draped around you like it belonged there.

He was completely naked. And so were you.

Your brain short-circuited.

“What the actual—” you hissed, sitting up and clutching the blanket to your chest. “No. No, no, no. This is not happening.”

Clair stirred, groaned, and blinked blearily. “Why’re you yelling…” His voice was raspy—too low, too familiar. He looked around, confused, then saw you.

His eyes widened. “...Why the hell are you in my bed?”

You stared at each other in horror. Then, at the same time:

“What did we do last night?!”

You both scrambled to opposite ends of the bed, yanking the blanket like it would somehow undo everything.

You grabbed the nearest pillow and clutched it to your chest. “I don’t remember anything after—after the shots!”

He rubbed his face, groaning. “Same. I thought we were just trying to outdrink each other. Then we danced, I think? And then—what the hell?”

You glared at him. “This is your fault.”

He glared right back. “My fault? You're the one who said you could drink me under the table!”

“You kissed me!”

“You kissed me back!”

There was a long pause. You both looked away.

“…Did we…?” he asked awkwardly, gesturing vaguely at the bed.

You gave him a deadpan look. “We’re both naked. What do you think?”

He looked panicked for a moment—then sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Okay. Look. Maybe this didn’t mean anything. We were drunk. It was a mistake. We just—move on. Forget it ever happened.”

You nodded stiffly. “Right. A mistake.”

But as he turned away, neither of you could ignore the way your eyes lingered on each other just a second too long.

A mistake… Right?