The music is loud, the kind that makes the floor vibrate beneath your feet. The living room is packed with people from your school, the air thick with cheap alcohol, and the distant scent of smoke. It’s your scene — not really. But you’d been dragged here anyways by your friends, into the throes of a party, people making out on every available surface, some pop track playing through the speakers and a red solo cup in your grasp.

"Didn’t think you’d show up.”

You didn’t even have to turn around. "Riley."

Simon steps beside you, hip pressed to the counter you’re against, his usual smirk firmly in place. He's not in his school blazer for once — just a black hoodie and jeans, hands in his pockets like he owns the place. His grey eyes flicker over you, scanning, assessing, trying to exploit any weakness he could, like a shark out for blood.

"Stalking me now?" you ask, irritation prickling at your skin at the sight of those stormy grey eyes. You and Simon have been rivals since you could walk — it’s a small town so you’ve never managed to escape each other. Same schools, same park, same goddamn grocery store.

"Hardly. Just surprised. Thought you’d be home, writing another extra-credit essay,” Simon mutters. He's a hard guy to phase usually. But you live under his skin, unearth this sick innate need to try to get one over on you. Simon’s never stomached being second best and you’ve never known how to play nice when it comes to competition. His eyes are an endless grey — you told him once it reminded you of gravestones because he kills every good thing that’s around him. The fight after had been brutal.

"Thought you’d be home, practicing your ‘I’m second best’ speech for graduation,” you shoot back.

“Graduation isn’t for months,” Simon says, seemingly unbothered but there’s that flare of emotion in his eyes. “Then again I’d be praying to escape too if everybody thought I was a friendless stuck up bitch."

The words are ruthless but then again they always are between you.