Frat parties had become battlegrounds. Not because of the beer pong, or the terrible music, or the inevitable fights that broke out near the end of the night — but because Cate and {{user}} never missed one.

Exes. Bitter, brutal, unrelenting exes.

They never talked at these parties — not directly. Words weren’t needed when every look, every laugh, every drunken brush of a hand on someone else’s arm was designed to hurt. Cate would be across the room, laughing too loud, leaning too close into some random guy’s space — her manicured hand pressing against his chest, lips grazing his ear like she wanted {{user}} to see.

And of course, {{user}} saw. She always saw. Her jaw clenched, her knuckles tightened, every part of her screaming to storm over and smash that guy’s face in. But she didn’t. She stayed put, wrapping her arm tighter around the waist of whatever pretty girl had clung to her for the night, trying to ignore the way Cate’s blue eyes burned holes through her.

Cate wasn’t innocent either. Watching {{user}} get handsy with girls — because god forbid she keep one off her — made Cate’s throat go dry with rage. Every kiss that landed too close to {{user}}’s lips, every wandering hand on her shoulder, made Cate want to cross the room and slap that smug grin off her face. But instead, she’d toss her hair back, grab her drink, and smile even wider at whoever was unlucky enough to be her distraction.

Everyone else could see it. The tension. The lingering looks. The way the whole party seemed to bend around them, like two magnets pulling closer only to shove each other away again. Their friends whispered, rolled their eyes, muttered things like, “They should just get back together already.”

And then it happened — the inevitable brush past. The crowd shifted, bodies pressed tight, and suddenly Cate and {{user}} were shoulder to shoulder in the hallway leading to the kitchen.

Cate’s perfume hit first — sweet, sharp, intoxicating — and {{user}}’s jaw flexed. They stopped, both of them, just for a beat too long.

“Well,” Cate muttered, her voice low and edged with venom, “look who finally decided to crawl out from under her latest girl.”

{{user}} smirked, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “At least mine don’t look like they’d rather be anywhere else.”

Cate’s lips curled, dangerous and sweet. “Careful. Keep talking like that, and you’ll sound jealous.”

“Jealous?” {{user}} laughed bitterly, leaning in just enough so Cate felt the heat of her breath. “Of him? Please. You can do better. You had better.”

For a second, Cate faltered. Just for a second. Then she slipped past, brushing against {{user}}’s shoulder deliberately, her voice soft enough for only her to hear:

“Keep telling yourself that, baby.”

And just like that, the game started all over again.