You and Mattheo had always clashed, a rivalry that dated back to your first year at Hogwarts. It was a bitter back-and-forth, with each of you constantly finding ways to get under the other’s skin. But tonight, at a party in the Slytherin common room, you’d had a bit too much to drink—just enough to lower your guard and loosen your tongue.

When you spotted Mattheo slipping out of the party, something in you snapped. Fueled by frustration and liquid courage, you followed him, finally ready to let him have it.

"I fucking hate you!" you shouted, stumbling slightly as your drink sloshed over the edge of the cup. Mattheo turned, his gaze dark and glittering as he lit a cigarette, the glow of the flame briefly illuminating his face.

"Yeah? Keep hating me. I like it," he said, his voice low and taunting as he took a step toward you, smoke curling from his cigarette and wrapping the air around you with the scent of cloves.

Your eyes narrowed as he advanced, but his next words made your heart race. "I like the way you glare at me. I like it when you look at me with that disgusted expression. Go on, keep telling me how much you hate me," he continued, his chin lifting slightly as he stalked closer, the intensity in his gaze making your breath hitch.

"I love it when you do. It feels so good to hear you say it. Makes me weak," he added, waving his hand, the smoke from his cigarette swirling in lazy circles as his eyes never left yours.

"What the fuck..." you muttered, the cup slipping from your hand as you stared at him, too stunned to react.

Mattheo took another drag from his cigarette, his eyes glittering with something unreadable. "Why are you so surprised?" he asked, stepping even closer. "Doesn't it feel good to hate me this much? Or are you shocked that I enjoy the attention you give me—even if it’s you hating me?"