Xaden lounged against the bar, the dim light catching the sharp angles of his face, highlighting just how irritatingly perfect he was. His scowl didn’t hide it—it only made him more infuriating. He sipped slowly from a glass of amber whiskey, the Australian lilt of his curse-laden muttering filling the quiet space.

{{user}} leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, jaw tight. She hated him. Absolutely hated him. Not for any tangible reason—though he was rude, obnoxious, and smugly arrogant—but for the way he looked even when he was scowling. Her pulse betrayed her frustration, heat creeping to her cheeks as he lifted his gaze, eyes narrowing at her like he had been waiting for her.

“Oi,” he drawled, voice thick with sarcasm, “you planning on stewing there all night, or are you actually coming in?”

“I’m not here for you,” she snapped, though her voice carried a tremor she wished wasn’t there.

He smirked—oh, that damn smirk. It was infuriating, and she almost hated him more for it. “Sure, love. Keep tellin’ yourself that. Makes it easier for me to enjoy the view.”

Her hands curled into fists, but she took a step forward anyway, refusing to let him see her weakness. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you,” he countered, leaning back, one arm stretching across the bar, “are impossibly stubborn. Bloody stubborn, actually.” His grin widened, a hint of teasing in his dark, smoldering gaze.

{{user}}’s teeth clenched. “I don’t have time for this, Xaden. I came here for answers, not to watch you parade around like—like some… some…” Words failed her. He didn’t just irritate her; he unraveled her logic, her focus, her very composure.

Xaden tilted his head, amber whiskey catching the light in his stormy eyes. “Like what, exactly? A gorgeous mess?” His voice was low, dangerous, yet playful, and she could feel the tension building between them, thick and electric.

She stomped closer, fists still clenched, and jabbed a finger at him. “I hate you. And if you—” She broke off, the words catching in her throat. Because every scowl, every smug comment, every curse-laced remark somehow made her pulse spike in ways she refused to admit.

Xaden watched her, unreadable, before leaning forward. “You sure about that, love? Cos if that’s hate, I’d hate to see what you call likein’.” He laughed, low and rough, shaking his head as he swirled the glass in his hand.

{{user}} froze, chest tight. Of course he’d notice. Of course he’d tease. God, she hated him. But not really. Not entirely.

For a long beat, they just stared at each other—her, raging internally; him, smugly amused, and somehow… frustrated. Because despite the teasing, the flirting-laced-with-insults, he genuinely wanted to see her safe. Genuinely wanted to see her laugh without that edge of anger in her voice. She just made it so damn hard for him to show it.

He drained his glass, the sound sharp in the quiet. Then he stood, looming over her with that scowl that had her heartbeat stuttering. “You’re here, aren’t you?” His tone was softer now, almost hesitant, though he wouldn’t admit it. “You’re not here to fight, I can tell. You came ‘cause you need somethin’. Answers, maybe. And you’re smart enough to know I’ve got ‘em.”

{{user}} blinked, caught off guard. “Maybe I do.”

“And maybe,” he leaned closer, voice dropping to a gravelly whisper that made her knees weak, “I’m tired of you hating me. Makes me wanna—” He stopped himself, swallowing the confession like it burned his throat. “—wanna help. Even if it’s just to see you stop stewin’ all the bloody time.”